As an immigrant, I inhabited places that brought many bright memories other than our current domicile adventures. A case in point was my “cruise”, complete with sea-sickness, to the United States from Germany. No wonder when the kids asked us parents to go on a cruise to Alaska, I complained, “No! I don’t like boats. They make me sick.”
“But Mom,” they answered, “Today’s big liners are so stable you won’t feel a thing!”
But I did, horribly!
Besides, the new cruise ships don’t do the streamers . . .
The movie Titanic lost its credibility for me in its opening scenes. I kept waiting for the streamers, but there were none, only champagne, cheers and the sound of the horn. You see, I’m a boat person and I clearly remember the sendoff included paper streamers, the sole connection between the people on the dock and the folks on the boat. The boat people would toss them down to the land lubbers. Everyone would strain to catch an end of the streamer (it didn't matter whose), the single link between one another. When the boat pulled away from shore, the streamers would stretch, and stretch, and stretch till the connections broke, leaving us weeping our farewells.
Our family wasn’t alone in throwing those streamers. This link comes complete with photo several pages down on the link:
Paper streamers
Here's a scene sure to raise sentimental memories for mid-twentieth-century transatlantic travelers: S.S. Constitution pulls away from the dock in New York, 23 August 1965, as passengers toss paper streamers to shore!
Those paper streamers were wonderfully symbolic, especially if you had a friend on the dock who caught the far end. You are setting off on a festive journey across the ocean, excited and joyful at the outset of this adventure, yet a part of your heart remains ashore, with the people and places you love. For a few moments, these beautiful, colorful streamers form a last fragile link to shore, then the momentum of the ship and the power of your Wanderlust break the ties, and you are truly at sea!
I fully understand the wisdom of reducing waste and pollution, but we sure gained a lot of pleasure from those streamers at very little expense!
Those paper streamers were wonderfully symbolic, especially if you had a friend on the dock who caught the far end. You are setting off on a festive journey across the ocean, excited and joyful at the outset of this adventure, yet a part of your heart remains ashore, with the people and places you love. For a few moments, these beautiful, colorful streamers form a last fragile link to shore, then the momentum of the ship and the power of your Wanderlust break the ties, and you are truly at sea!
I fully understand the wisdom of reducing waste and pollution, but we sure gained a lot of pleasure from those streamers at very little expense!
My journey wasn’t as festive. I was leaving my war torn homeland, Munich, Germany
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| Munich 1948 |
The X and XX marks where my brother and I stand.
This other link also speaks of the streamers as I remember them.
It was a normal pastime to go down to the docks to see the mailship leave, and this practice continued well into the twentieth century. As boys we often went down after school on Friday afternoon to see the ship leave. Thousands of paper streamers were thrown from passengers to those on shore – it did not matter if you had never met the other person – and as the ship edged out with the band playing, the streamers would break.
Although I came to the US in 1952, those streamers, along with my eleven days on the Greek liner Neptunia, are as clear as yesterday. On her decks I learned to play shuffleboard and hide and seek in the ship’s vents. My brother disappeared during departure sending a wave of fear through Mother. Her frantic search ended at the feet of the orchestra playing Muss i denn, muss i denn zum Städtele hinaus – Wikipedia Mother wanted to cry over the song but couldn’t; her terror at loosing her boy prevented it--and there he was sitting among the musicians.
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| 1952 SS Neptunia |
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