Making of the Encyclopaedia | Prof. George Menachery | Part 15

            Saturday Evening Post

Making of the Encyclopaedia

From the Horse’s own Mouth

George Menachery

Fifteen

Tehran and Geneva were the refueling stops in that 1972 trip. During the next trip the stops were Beirut and Paris. As the political climate in Iran and Lebanon changed Air India kept changing their refueling stations. As the plane was circling the airport at Tehran I was thrilled by the thousands of lights from the city which I watched from my window seat. Some hours before approaching Geneva I think the pilot flew the aircraft quite low so that passengers were able to get a glimpse of Michelangelo’s  Dome and Bernini’s Colonnade at the Vatican. This might have been during a different flight, I am not sure.

Finally I landed at the Kennedy International airport, New York around 3 p. m. I did not know what to do. I was told that the city was some two hours’ distance by bus. I looked at the board and got into an airport bus going to New York City Centre, after depositing my pieces of rather heavy luggage in the baggage area under the bus through the side opening.

I sat down near the window. As the bus moved the conductor began to go round collecting the fare. I did not know what the fare would be. I sat with bated breath. When I was asked for only four dollars and fifty cents I heaved a sigh of relief for that amount was well within my wallet’s scope. When I looked up I found the sky very dark. Having read a lot about industrial pollution in western cities I believed that this dark sky was a result of America’s industrial pollution. I felt great pity for the people who had to live under such conditions. After half an hour or so the bus stopped to let out two passengers. When I looked out through the open door I found that the sky was white and blue as in my own village in India. The dark colour I had seen was the colour of the enormous window glass. I felt quite ashamed for thinking otherwise. Probably the long journey and one’s false expectations about a brand new place must have played some trick on me.

Again the bus stopped once or twice and let out more passengers. Then the conductor came near me and enquired where I wanted to get down. I had no idea whatever and when the conductor asked me again I said “Near the church”. Which church, he asked. “Near that very big church,” I replied. You mean the 42^nd street church? “Yes,” I said. “The Holy Cross church?,” he repeated. “yes’” I answered. So the conductor dropped me near the huge 42^nd street Catholic church and placed the various items of my baggage on the paved footpath. I stood on the curb and looked around, wondering what to do next.

Across the street I saw the parish office. I decided to go there and ask for a night’s stay. When I entered the office I saw a Rev. Sr. arranging some books. I told her that I was from India, had landed only a few minutes back, and because my (quite imaginary) friends were not in the airport and that I expect them only on the morrow and hence I wish to have a night’s residence.  She looked frightened. She said that such things are not done there. Then I asked to see the parish priest. She was even more frightened and said that he is a strict person and that he might even call the police.

While we were talking the priest walked in from inside. He was a huge person with a fierce look. But I had to say my say. I said what I had already told the Rev. Sr. and even showed my return ticket to India and the letters of recommendation from the Cardinal. But he was not impressed and said that no accommodation could be given. Then I asked him to allow me to keep my baggage there for one night. At long last he growled, “Keep it here for twenty-four hours. If you do not come and take them away I will throw them into the street.” I had to agree. When he had gone back inside, the Sr. told me that he would really do what he had threatened to do. I requested her to do what she could to keep my baggage safe. And I asked her for the address of her office so that I could come back there the next day. She told me that it was easy to locate the office as it was right in front of the Port Authority Terminal on 42^nd Street between the 8^th and 9^th Avenues. I took pen and paper from my bag and jotted down the address. I forgot to write down the phone number and she also failed to mention it. Then, not having an inkling of what to do next I took out from my bag a copy of the American Catholic Directory which my father’s pen friend had sent him. I don’t think it was the current one, but any way. I stepped out into America.