2011-11-28T14:05:00.001-08:00

AN UNFORGETABLE JOURNEY

I went to Springfield on a Saturday, September 1, 1979, to fulfill one of my greatest dreams since I was a youngster: to see Lincoln’s house and other things related to him in the area. I got off the Greyhound bus I took from Chicago and, suitcase in hand, began to walk through the city.
On a corner there were two old guys seated on a wooden bench in the shadow of a tree. I asked about a hotel and one of them said, “There, at the end of the street you can see a hotel. That big building. It’s really nice.” The other reacted immediately: “No, it’s too expensive! Here behind this street there’s a little hotel, very nice and, most of all, cheap.” It was exactly what I wanted. I thanked the gentlemen and went to find the Governor Hotel.
It was a really “American” hotel. Iron staircases and brickwalls throughout. It seemed like something from the movies that I went to in the Cachoeira movie house when I was little. After a long and well-deserved soak in the bath I went out, into afresh and lovely evening, to find Lincoln’s house. According to the information given to me by the lady who was the hotel concierge, I went by the old Capitol and as far as the corner of Eighth and Jackson. And there, suddenly, in front of me, was what I wanted to see for a long, long time: a little two story wooden house where Lincoln had lived a good part of his life, before being elected President.
I was inside for a long time observing the details and, when I left, went to visit the other places related to the great man. The station from where he took the train to Washington, the law office, the State Capitol where he worked and everything else that I could see that day. That night, I saw a fantastic sound and light show in front of the Capitol. Unforgettable. Lee J.Cobb was the narrator, Whit Bissell was the voice of Stephen Douglas and Paul Lambert the voice of Lincoln. That “Sound and Light” still remains in my memory until today.
The following day, as I couldn’t leave it be, I returned to Lincoln’s house. After much more time inside there, observing all the details, I left and sat on a wooden bench, almost near the, gate, in the shadow of a tree. I was there for some time observing the people that came to visit that house. I saw people from all over the world: from Japan, from India and other countries. It was there, then, that I perceived that Lincoln was a world figure, not only an American one.That very moment a black man, about 40 years old, sat down by my side and asked me the time. When I replied, he immediately knew by my accent that I was not American and asked where I was from. I said that I was from Brazil and, as I never wasted an opportunity to converse with Americans to practice my insufferable English, told him the story, that I was there fulfilling a childhood dream: to visit Lincoln’s house. “You mean that you came from Brazil over here only to visit Lincoln’s house? ” he asked. “Not just that. Other things too,” I said.
When I looked at him again, he was staring in front of him, as if he were looking at no place, with eyes full of tears, nodding his head affirmatively and saying, as if to himself, “Yeah, Old Lincoln was really a good guy”. That man moved me too.
Immediately he wanted to know everything that I had seen during those two days. “Did you already see the train station? The law office? The Capitol? Did you see…” I answered yes to all. Then he asked, “did you already go to the cemetery to see Lincoln’s tomb?” There I responded negatively because of the fact that I didn’t have a ride there. I said that perhaps I’d do that on the next visit, if one day I were to return to that city.
It seems that that was the answer that he wanted. Quickly he said, “Come with me”. His car was parked nearby and he took me to the cemetery, some miles away from the city. When we arrived he parked in the shadow of a tree and said to me, “You can see everything that you want. I’ll wait here in the car. I used to come here when I was little. Feel free.”
After seeing and photographing everything, I returned to the place where the man was still waiting for me. Then he took me back to the city center and left me at the door of the Governor Hotel. When I got out of the car I had my hand in my pocket, got out my wallet and asked, “How much do I owe you for your efforts?” His answer surprised me: “Absolutely nothing. You were my guest”. I didn’t believe this and insisted, but he determinedly refused to receive a thing. Then I thanked him much and entered the hotel.
The following day, on a Greyhound on its way to Chicago, remembering everything that I had seen on those two unforgettable days, was that I awoke to find I had done something stupid. In all the anxious rush to see so many things, I never in the least got that good man’s name and address, so that later I could send him a thank-you for his hospitality. However, until now, almost 30 years later, when I remember him, I ask God to give him much health and peace and that he be rewarded for his goodwill.
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2011-11-28T12:27:00.000-08:00

MY ENCOUNTER WITH LINCOLN

My interest in Lincoln began in 1956, when I was 12.
My father died when I was 4 and my mother, with her three kids, went to live at our granny's house. In spite of being a big old house, it was a little far from downtown and we were poor. My grandfather, grandmother, my grandmother's sister, two of my mother's brothers, and now there were we, the four newcomers.
I grew up a barefoot boy until 1951, when I went to school.
At that time I had to help my family with all the chores. I had to cut wood for my grandma's stove. I had to bring drinkable water from the spring almost half a mile away from home. I helped my uncles to build fences in the big backyard and a lot of other chores. But at free time I liked to read. I learned with granny. She was always reading newspapers and had some books at home. Most of them were religious books but I liked to read them anyway. Besides reading, I liked to play soccer with other boys of the street, and swim and fish in a brook near our house.
This same year my mother began to work as a cleaning person in the big old school downtown. She had to work to raise her three kids. Besides cleaning she had to prepare lunch for the students. The lunch was a vegetable soup, sometimes with pieces of meat, but not always, onion, tomato and other vegetables. After 5 p.m. she and three other women, had a lot of classrooms to sweep. Then every afternoon I went there to help her with the cleaning.
Under the big building there was a large basement and I always wanted to enter there to explore it but my mother never allowed me to do that. However, one day, after having swept my classrooms I found the basement door open and without my mother's consent I began my exploration. I went up to the last room on the west side, not without a certain fear because it was dark, and there I found a bookshelf with several big black books covered with dust. I picked up one, went near the little window in the thick wall, and opened it. I opened exactly in a full page photograph of a man's face. It was a dark, shaved, thin face. That face caught my attention and I read the name at the foot of the page, written in Portuguese: Abraão Lincoln.
At this very moment my mother was screaming from the basement door. I put the book back in its place and ran to the door where my mother scolded me for quite a while and made me promise that I would never enter the basement again. She said me that in that basement there were cockroaches, spiders and scorpions, and that I was never allowed to return there.
But that photograph and that name remained on my mind. On the way home I asked she who Abrãao Lincoln was. She was angry with me yet and answered with a simple "I don't know!" In fact she did not know. At home I asked my uncle who Abraão Lincoln was and he replied: "I don't know, but you can ask your granny. She is always reading the newspapers and perhaps she knows."
Granny only knew that he had been president of the United States. I was eager to lean more but she said:
" Oh, boy! You always want to know too much! I don't know. Isn't it enough to know he was an American president?"
" No!", I yelled, "I want to know more." And at this very moment I was scolded again, this time by my uncle who was entering my granny's room.
However, uncle Geraldo had a heart this big, and at one of his trips to São Paulo, the capital of our state, he bought me a Lincoln biography, written for children, and in Portuguese, of course. I passed some days reading the book and when I discovered that Lincoln had done all the chores I had to do every day, I never stopped reading about that man. And then I established two to fulfill: I would learn English and one day I would go to the USA to know all the things I had read about Lincoln.
In 1979, when I was 35, I fulfilled that old dream. I visited Chicago and Springfield. Unfortunatelly I did not have the chance to see everything I wanted because of the lack of time and money, but I intend to return there some day. Maybe for the inauguration of the new Lincoln Museum / Library next year.
Today, 46 years later, I don't remember the name of that first book any more, but as time went by I began to buy every book I could find here in Brazil about that great man. It was a hard work to find a book on the subject here, and in all these years I could get a dozen of them, but now, thanks to the Internet I have made friends in the USA and some of them have sent me several books. And some I buy via Internet too.
Now I can say I'm really learning about Abraham Lincoln.

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Para ler estes artigos em português vá até essa página:
http://abralincoln.blogspot.com
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