26 - To Canada

1966

TO CANADA

         


What an adventure this set out to be. I cannot really say how it all started. We had always thought and talked about seeing more of the world and perhaps to work abroad. My little tax collector adventure still burned inside. Our benevolent government managed to draw 60 % of my income for several months, putting both me and Monica close to starvation and losing a lot of weight, for sure.

I began buying foreign newspapers and replying to ads in them. The reply was always the same,

"Contact us again when you know your date of arrival."

The next step was to contact a few embassies and find out what it took to move to their respective countries. What an adventure that was. We made a repeated trips to Stockholm and talked to lots of "officials".

The worst one for lying was the immigration officer from Australia. There was no end to the great opportunities that were awaiting us there.

"And, by the way, we will pay for your fare as well."

What an offer? On further examination there was a catch.

"You will have to take one of three jobs that we offer you, anywhere."

Anywhere? Where?

"If we find you a job on a sheep farm, that's what you have to take for the contracted two years."

“How about the two of us?”

"You go where we tell you, we cannot guarantee that you end up in the same place."

The whole thing about Australian immigration sounded as if it was a bad joke. It wasn't. It was for real. Some returning Swedes were interviewed on TV that moth. They had gone and experienced all of the above.

So, to further check Australia I wrote to my uncle who had been living in Australia for many years. His reply was swift;

"Don't come here, it's tough place and you will never make much money."

Discouraging findings. Scratch Australia for "confirmed uncertainty".

New Zealand was almost the same, except with the promises of high taxes in addition. They were, after all, running the most socialized country on earth then.

South Africa?

"Please come, what do you want to do?"

Well, some checking with friends who had already been and come back revealed that everything was not well in that country even then. People had to live in fear of the black and take many precautions before going out at night as well as locking up everything. It didn't sound too exciting, or perhaps it did.

Then there was Liberia, a Swedish mining company ran a large operation there.

"Please, come join us."

But, it's contract work for a limited time and then you leave. Very little chance for the wife to do meaningful work. And, all sorts of horror stories came from the people there about how unsafe you were outside of the Swedish workers' compound. Again, perhaps a bit too exciting.

The list goes on. Nothing seemed to be just like the interviewers said.

The U.S.A. was another potential target. They loved papers even in those days. It was a long drawn out process to qualify but once it was done you were guaranteed a visa in very short order. The Swedish quota of immigrants of 24,000 was never filled. There may have been a few hundred, at best, going to USA each year in these days. We did it all, went to the doctor, got a police certificate to confirm our lack of criminal activities and the time came for the personal interview.

The interviewer was very enthusiastic. Everything in USA was seen through rose coloured glasses, everything was perfect and we would become millionaires in no time. The description may not have been in those exact words but the interviewer really loved his home country.

We had returned for a second, final, interview which was going really well until the officer started in on his pre-set questionnaire. Some time in, he leaned to look Monica in the eyes and asked:

"Have you ever earned a living as a prostitute."

Not a good question to a young newly married wife, considering they already had a police report to the negative. Her face looked strained and in a few seconds, she stood up, grabbed me by the shoulder and said,

"We leave now."

- and we did. The interview was wrapped up in the next few minutes and we exited. The immigration interviewer's last words were:

“We hope to see you again, soon.”

Some luck for that... - But we did actually receive a complete set of immigration papers to USA, addressed to us in Montreal about a year later, without any further action on our part. Strangely turns the wheels of immigration departments.

That ended our desire for going to USA.

Now it started to get interesting. So far everyone hadn't told us much in the way of truths at all - everything was too good, it seemed.

Perhaps we, young and newly graduated professionals with a good command of the English language, were as near to "price meat" as these immigration officers would come. We certainly would go to work from the first day and probably never draw on their social support services.

Finally came Canada's call to an interview. They were slow to send all the papers. The interviewer met us in a large office at the top of a Hötorget a skyscraper, overlooking downtown Stockholm and a good part of the archipelago. We were all prepared to listen to more lies and half truths about how good another country was, this time Canada.

Not at all. He was talking very loudly on the phone as we entered his office. Suddenly, he threw the phone down on the cradle and started in on a long tirade about the utter stupidity of the Swedish bureaucrats and how inflexible and impossible they were to deal with.

“They are just as bad as in Canada.”

Wow! Had we met a real person, one who knew the truth?

Then came the interview.

"Canada, is as good as any other country and with just as bad bureaucracy as Sweden."

Well, at least someone who didn't try to rope us in. We started to feel better, perhaps Canada would have something for us, after all.

I returned to my job and we started thinking more and more about what to do in Canada. I knew that, with my Engineering degree, I would find a job quite easily, but where?

There was a small contingent of British people working at Stal-Laval in Finspong. They all seemed to migrate away from there as time went by.

One got a job at General Electric in Toronto,

"Drop a good word about me."

He did, and I got an application form in the mail. Before long I was hired, sight unseen, as a design Engineer II and promised free passage to Canada.

In the meantime Monica got pregnant so her desire to look for a job was greatly diminished. Considering that she was still early in her pregnancy, we still decided to continue the moving process. The arrangements seemed to fall in place.

Now it was time to leave notice to quit in Finspong. A three months notice was the legislated minimum. I did and we started to prepare to leave.

Everything had to go. We were to travel by boat and were allowed a total four boxes of luggage, in total. Still much better than to fly, then your entire new life would have had to be started from one 20 kg suitcase, each.

We sold off our possessions bit by bit, people were coming at all hours. Finally we had hardly anything left, living with a kitchen table and a bed only.

Some stupid mistakes I made. One of them was to let my carefully selected books be sold. Only afterwards did I realize how difficult it is to find a book "that you had but want to look at again".


Austin A 40, 1959 model

My car then was a British made Austin. I had bought it that spring when the old one totally fell apart and wasn't safe to drive any more. I got the Austin really cheap because it "steamed" and didn't run well. I observed it on a drive by and came to the not so difficult analysis, the head gasket was leaking. After a very small investment in a new head gasket and a couple of hours work outside, in the cold rain, that car was almost perfect again. And, oh for the nice leather smell inside.

As it happened, everything in the apartment was second hand when we bought it and fetched very little. The car, by some absolute stroke of luck, was bought by a lady who "fell in love with the smell of leather" and didn't question my asking price. I didn't have the heart to tell hear that it consumed gasoline and engine oil in almost equal proportions. You could follow us by the streak of blue smoke from the exhaust pipe.

So, when we left Sweden, most of the money we had realized from all of our possessions came from a car that I had bought almost for scrap value. Luck, I guess, because on arrival in Toronto I had $ 130, exactly what I needed for the first month's rent and a shopping basket of food before my fist pay cheque arrived.

The day of departure approached in early June. My colleagues did, as was customary when someone were to leave, find my departure worthy of arranging a party. This time at a cottage just outside of Finspong. Everyone was there, good food was served and the music played. We ate, sang and had a good time until the morning sun was over the horizon.

Time for me to drive back to my home. Sweden had just started to tighten up on the drunk driving laws. The legal limit was still high but now it was being enforced. So, what happened to me on the way home?

A red light, a red waving spade and, a nice little discussion with a couple of officers of the blue.

They asked me to sit in the back seat of their patrol car while they checked my papers.

Never have I breathed in, only, for as long as then...

I was in luck, there was no suggestion that I should blow into the little balloon that lay next to me in the seat in a most frightening manner.

The farewells in our home areas were in many respects strange. We went to several good bye and good luck parties. Only our mothers cried a little. We weren't going away forever but we knew it would be a while until we came home again.

I spent an early morning walking around Karlshamn and took photographs of everything that I would like to remember or that I thought would be interesting to look at again. The pictures were quite good. I still cherish them.


My mother on the pier in Malmö.

Finally, time to leave for the boat in Copenhagen. My mother was busy preparing for a vacation trip. She came only as far as to the ferry site in Malmö. She stood as a lone figure, crying a little, on the end of the pier as the Copenhagen ferry pulled out.

Monica's entire family came along on the ferry and to the ship in Copenhagen.

The first view of the Ocean liner, M/S Kungsholm, long since sold to the cruise trade and now scrapped, was impressive. Perhaps we all knew that the days of the ocean crossings by ship were now on the very last legs. Airplanes had taken over and only die-hard ship lovers traveled by boat. Since both Monica had both spent considerable time working on the high seas, we weren't going to pass up on this trip.


No happy faces in this family picture.

Seven members of my Monica's family all came aboard, went for a sightseeing tour of the ship and then it was time for a farewell. In the final moments we all sat in a bar on the ship, overlooking the harbor of Copenhagen raising a last glass for a while.

The boat's whistle blew a second time and all had to leave.

We were on our own. Canada next. - Or was it New York city first?


Party time.

We took part in many activities and "danced all the way". The crossing took nine days, a little slower than most trips that originate in the U.K... I gained two kilogrammes during these few days.

Monica's stomach were showing the definite signs of the growing baby, now in its fifth month.

One evening we went to see a film in the auditorium. We were in heavy sea and I got the all too familiar queasy feeling. - Funny with seasickness, why do some get away so lightly. My lifelong curse, again?

When we approached the North American coast I unpacked our radio and hung it against the porthole. The first voices to reach us were a commercial for a car dealer in Halifax!


The radio in the porthole.

We were starting a new life. Cut away reminders of the old. Well, much wasn't cut, but just left. One remnant was still with me, the 15 year old briefcase that had served me well throughout my entire educational career. It had been a sled in the winter, rain-hood at times, shopping basket when needed and hugely abused over the years. Now it was just a beige limp old leather briefcase.

Dear fish of the North Atlantic, I hope you had a good meal on my briefcase after I threw it out of the porthole.

New York City; We arrived late at night and cast anchor just off the city for a few hours. We stood for a long while on deck looking at the skyline and observing the automobile traffic on the coastal road. What awaited us beyond that shore line? Probably exactly the same questions that all the millions of immigrants to North America had all thought before us.


Me and the Staue of Liberty in fog

We lifted anchor and sailed in early in the morning. We stood on the lookout and peeked through the early morning fog as the Statue of Liberty revealed its full length on the left. On the right we finally made out the details of Manhattan.


Arriving at dock

The shock of arrival was absolute. We were thrown from the air conditioned, controlled and calm, environment on the ship directly into the full speed of a humid, overheated 35o C day in New York City.
The immigration officer wasn't overly friendly or cooperative. I took out all my papers and handed them over. He quickly put his stamp on a lot of them, tore off a couple of strips, and handed the package back to me. This was all over in less than a minute. Unbeknownst to me, he had also stamped my American documents as a landed immigrant to USA. More about that later.

All our luggage had to be opened and inspected before we could proceed. We didn't have much so that procedure was soon dispensed with. The freight forwarder took it all for shipping to Toronto.

Time to get to the hotel. Who, knows, perhaps New York cabbies won't go the shortest way or, perhaps, overcharge you when you are new in town? I put on my best lying tone and talked about my previous visits (!) to New York. Perhaps that helped, perhaps the cabby was honest. The trip to the hotel took a few minutes only and he certainly didn't overcharge us.

Time to explore the great city by foot and subway. We visited several of the major sights the first day. We had made a friend on the boat, a schoolteacher by the name of Ray, returning from a summer in Denmark. He guided us around his home town. The finale was to have Corned beef hash in the theatre district in the wee hours.

Surprises everywhere. One was a little hard to take and all my fault. Living in Sweden we knew all about energy conservation. "Don't leave the light on when you leave the room", was a common phrase. Well, surely I wasn't going to leave an air conditioner running in the hotel room when we weren't in there to enjoy it... So, I switched it off when we left to enjoy walking in the 35 C hot city.

The uncooled hotel room, closed and on the sunny side, was probably at 40 C when we returned. Needless to say, we didn't enjoy that night's sleep.

Next day, take the bus to go and see "the Johnson's", family friends in New Jersey.

We bought a soft drink at the West Side bus terminal before we left. We were served by a young man behind the counter. He was so immensely fat that he sat on two chairs, he could only reach as far as to the drink dispenser on one side and the cash drawer on the other. I often wondered what could have made him so fat and what sort of a life he could have lived - we certainly see more than a drink dispenser everyday at work but that was his life, tied to stay on the top of two chairs.

A strange thing happened during the bus trip. As we drove through a city in New Jersey the bus stopped before several police cars, fire engines and an ambulance. On a ledge, high up on a tall building stood a person that, apparently, was threatening to jump. The people in the street was calling him with bull horns. We eventually got rerouted around that place and to this day I don't know what happened.

Did he jump? Did he step back in through the window. I don't even know, for sure, what city we were in. Perhaps the whole thing was a dream?

Betty and Roy met us at the bus station. Roy drove his 1957 Chevy, already then recognized as a rather special car. He offered me to drive on the way home but told me to be careful, he didn't have any automobile insurance. That was my first surprise about how people lived in U.S.A. -This was certainly not a socialized country of Europe!

Roy had built his own home with his own hands many years ago. It was on the edge of a farm, under some very tall trees, now totally devoid of any foliage. There had been an invasion of "beetles" and they had eaten all the leaves. Strange to see defoliated trees in the summertime.


Lee on his tractor

Lee, my good old friend, took us out to show a bit of his world.

We had to go to this very favourite bowling alley, try some bowling and have "the best Hamburger in America". Not from any McDonald's, though, they were still only opening their first restaurants in the west in those days, remember.

It was a tough evening, riding in a car with open windows, seeing so may new people.

Lee's sister Beverly lived with her husband and newborn daughter in a little house in a valley. They had powerful lights all around and a shotgun near at hand inside the front door. I asked about that; "People can come", they said.


Horse healer

It was warm and humid and one of their horses had a nasty cut on his leg. The sore was infected and full of little worms. I did a little job as assistant veterinarian that evening. Not nice, but the end result was good. I learned that the cut healed completely so we must have done the right in the way of a cleaning and disinfecting job.

Roy took us to see his boat.

"Boat?"

It was more of "a large engine in a hull". It was a cabin cruiser outfitted with a large V-8 automobile engine, perfect for getting to the fishing areas quickly and home again at the end of the day. I was secretly questioning how much pounding the thin plywood hull could stand under the forces of that hugely overpowered engine plant. It worked fine for us. We went some distance, fished for a bit and came home safely.

That gasoline powered boat caught fire a few weeks later, and Roy and his wife were saved from the worst of it by jumping into the water. The were picked up by some other fishermen, nearby. Roy had no insurance, so the boat was gone, never to be replaced.

We dined at a Howard Johnson on the way home. Our first experience of thirty six varieties of ice-cream and eating a meal at a counter.

This was an exotic lifestyle.

We returned to New York City by an early morning bus. Then came the interesting part - getting to Toronto.

We had been told that it was "so simple" to take the train. The ticket agent almost laughed at us when he heard what we wanted,

"A sleeping compartment to Toronto".

They were sold out six months ago. How about a seat? - No, they are all sold out too. This train is full, come back in a couple of weeks?

"What, you are new immigrants? - I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll sell you two tickets, even though the train is oversold, and you figure out a way to get on."

That was certainly encouraging words.

It will forever remember this horrible train trip one of the low points in my life. All the stories, books read or movies seen, had totally mislead us on what to expect.

These were the days when the railroad companies were still trying, hard, to get out of the passenger business. We know now why they succeeded so well.

The train had fewer cars than listed. This lead to total overcrowding and a complete disregard for the seat reservation system, ever so incomplete and inaccurate as it may have started out to be.

We expected a "normal" train ride and had not had any dinner. We were "of course" to enjoy a leisurely dinner on the train, as always on any trip over a couple of hours. - There was no restaurant car, no food service at all on the train! Well, we had a least managed to find two seats in an air conditioned car, surely we can live on candy and water overnight. Neither was to happen.

Our car was one of very few where the air-conditioning actually worked. It was one of the warmest weeks of the year, remember. The trainman who came thorough occasionally muttered something like, "you must be freezing to death in here," and switched off the cooling. I paid attention to where the switch was and got the air conditioning started again each time. This went on for about half the night, then the trainman smartened up and added a large padlock to the switch after he, again, had cut off the cooling. We started to become really sick of this adventure.

As for our candy and water? The candy melted soon enough and we didn't find any water anywhere on the train. It had left New York on a fourteen hour run to Toronto with empty dispensers and empty water tanks. The stench in the toilets was unbearable.

The customs stop at the Canadian border was permeated by angry discussions between some passengers and the Canadian customs and immigration officers. Many were immigrants from Italy, even fresher off the boat than we were, and not all with much mastery of the English language.

The immigration procedure was a breeze for us. The immigration officer took a quick look at our papers, added a few stamps and said: "Welcome to Canada, you will like it here." (We have...)

The train arrived in Toronto several hours late the next morning. Monica, very pregnant, was not in the best of shape. We both needed food, a shower and a "real bed". General Electric had sent a personnel officer to meet at the train. He was in a bad mood, having been forced to wait around for the late train with no specific arrival time announced.

He took one look at my beard and wondered how long that would stay on. I missed the irony of the question, I did learn later on that a beard and sandals was not the proper dress for an aspiring young Engineer in neither U.S.A. nor Canada.

But the car ride from the station? We got on the highway, driving up the most beautiful forested valley, the Don Valley Parkway. We were totally impressed with how good Toronto looked.

That impression was soon to be adjusted.

Our Hotel was called Knob Hill, "Scarborough's best motel", long since gone to hotel heaven in a heap of dirt somewhere. Another rude introduction to North America. A hotel? No, a motel ! Where were the amenities?

We did at least get checked in and found an almost bare dining room. It did have tables and chairs, though. They served only sandwiches for lunch. We had one each.

The new place of employment, General Electric was awaiting. We had arrived on a Friday and I was signed up as an employee and got my Company ID before closing on that first day.

The first night we were invited to dinner by one of my ex colleagues from Finspong. He was well settled in and had a nice house in a suburb. They took us to buy some light clothing and then home for dinner. - Except, his wife didn't feel like cooking that night.

Monica and I had probably lost half a kg each since leaving New Your City. No dinner now? Ouch!

Much, much later that evening, still without any food in our stomachs we ended up walking near the motel and bought us some Hamburgers at "Red Barn". Their greatest claim to fame was,


"Hamburgers, still 15 cents."

They were still 15 cents, not much money but not much hamburger either. We went to bed a little less hungry but quite confused after the last couple of days. the chain didn't last long either.

Perhaps we should have stayed on the boat.

Now that we had arrived, the shocks were piling on.

We had prepared ourselves for our Canada move by studying and reading just about everything we could find about Canada. I had spent hours reading the Statistics Canada annual issue for 1965 and was quite up on various statistics by the time we arrived.

That and talking to friends and colleagues who had either worked in or visited Canada hadn't prepared us well either.

Our language skills were passable, but Monica's were not as well practiced as mine. I still started on my first working day with a Swedish – English dictionary. Fortunately I could put that away quite soon.

We were quite surprised by many things. The cost of food was one. We almost felt that we had to talk quietly to each other about how cheap the food was. We feared that the store owner would hear and raise the prices, perhaps closer to Swedish levels. The enormous sizes of the packaging were quite surprising. To by anything that big was not practical where we came from.

The bread counters smelled of freshly baked bread. How could they? We were used to the heavy Swedish bread, delivered from far away. Here, the bread was baked right in front of our eyes. What a service. - But in all fairness, the breads may have been fresh but not near as tasty.

I must admit, I took an instant disliking to the many huge cars we saw. We had left little regulated Sweden where all cars had to be designed for economy and inspected annually. Here, enormously large, very rusty cars with a misfiring engine seemed to be the rule. I couldn't believe my eyes, seeing the odd car with the doors held closed with a rope. My friend's car was so rusted out that he had placed a large baking sheet where the floor would be in front of the driver's position.

People in general seemed to be nice and helpful, none of the hesitance about talking to a stranger that could make Sweden so cold, at times.

The TV! Wow, such TV programs, so many and so varied. We had left with only two channels, and one of them was only on for a few hours every night.

Here, our rabbit ears pulled in five stations, and they even showed cartoons. Cartoons were considered “low brow” and to dumb down the people people in Sweden. The Flintstones was about the only one there, ever. Here, I celebrated the cartoons by spending one complete Saturday, sitting in front of the set, eating snacks the whole day. - It did give me a headache and a bit of a tummy-ache but it was all worth it. – Cartoons all day. Imagine!

We couldn't believe our eyes on the first day of school in early September. It was still a nice and warm day, of course. The children were walking down the street, bundled up with scarves and all, as if it was mid winter. How would they be dressed when it got really cold. We found out later, they were dressed the same way but now the parents drove them to school.

Children were still walking to and from school and seen around the various shopping areas then. It was a never ending surprise over the years to see how afraid parents have became of letting their children out of the house.

In preparation for our move, we had gone to some spring sales in Sweden and bought us some nice, modern clothes. That may have saved some money, clothes seemed to be more costly in Canada then, but put us totally out of style, or at least out of style with most people.

Monica's dresses were way too short, and my clothing was cut too slim in comparison to what most people wore. My light summer coat became almost useless. We had no cool summer days and the few we had in the fall didn't allow me to wear it much. That coat went to recycling bin, almost unused, years later.

I decided to get myself a suit. I didn't like the offerings in the stores. This was the time when men wore white socks and too short pants that ended some 3 cm above the shoe, showing off the white socks. It was totally offensive and ugly in my eyes.

Off to a “Swedish Tailor”. He was a real tailor but had one problem, he combined his sewing with drinking as we found out. My jacket was perfect and the length of my pants too. But – he must have slipped with his measuring tape as he made the pants to fit a waist about 10 cm smaller than mine. It all got corrected but I never again bought a tailor-made suit.

Shoes were different. European shoes, then as now, were made with a slim sole and rather low uppers. Mine were perfect. It took a long time for me, and many comments from my colleagues before I acquired a pair of brogues, resembling working booths in my eyes.

Oh for the restaurants in Toronto. To go to one in Sweden was always an event, here people seemed to eat out all the time.

I had my first pizza on Yonge Street. As he was spinning mine in the air, I reminded the chef to “make it good, it is the first one in my life”. He looked a bit puzzled but came to our table and asked how we liked his “best pizza”. Another pleasant surprise. In Sweden a waiter would be stiff, take your order and never be seen again, we always thought. Here, a waiter was talkative, human and cared about the food we got and how we liked it.

I guess, working for tip is a good motivator. Wait-staff in Sweden were, then as now, paid by salary only.

Driving was a surprise. Swedes drove like Germans, by the rules. Nobody was shy to raise a finger or otherwise direct errant drivers. Sure, that did create a bit of irritation. All were best and showed it.

Drivers in Toronto went hither and dither. Lane markings were advisory and not hard barriers not to be crossed. Nobody seemed to care much about the other person, just trying to stay clear was enough. Speed limits were loosely attended to, a few km/h over the limit seemed to go unpunished. In Sweden you could lose your drivers license, driving 55 in a 50 km/h zone. Oh how much simpler driving was in Canada.

Monica found cooking to be quite difficult. To encounter recipes in degrees F was a real obstacle in itself. How to measure in cups and spoons were baffling. How big is a cup? This seemed very loosey-goosey. Was everything done on the fly?

The oven in the stove did, then as now, create its own problem. The principles are different. European stoves heat all round, Canadian ovens only from the bottom. We enjoyed our share of half baked breads until Monica learned to master the difference.

Sure, I knew the language from my earlier world wide travel, but I had never worked in English. In those days, you still had to figure out your relationship before you could address any one in Sweden.

“Du” (confusingly enough you in English) was strictly for family. Also, after permission had been given, formally, you could never address any non-family as “du”.

“Ni” (again you in English) was official. You addressed older people, officials, waiters and all people you were not related to, or had been given permission to address as “du” with “ni”. I haven't even described when to use the “ hon”, “han”, “henne” or “honom.

Are you confused yet?

We were. The five different ways of addressing people socially in Swedish were totally eradicated in English. All were spoken to as “you”.

Are we all bests friends, brothers or sisters? It took me months to become comfortable dealing with bosses and strangers, all addressed as my immediate family. This, of course applies to any one coming from any non-English language. We were not unique.

The drug stores were nothing less than amazing in our eyes. Was everything legal? No, of course not. But, a drug store in Sweden was a place where you entered, took a number, stood back and waited forever. Where do we do that here? Nowhere. A drug store sold everything we saw, even sandwiches and food over a counter. This we took an instant liking to. No line ups, no surly clerks here.

............................

Back to our days of arrival.

My friend with the lazy wife had done a good job of introducing me at the plant. He had done it far too well as I was to learn soon enough. They had had some tricky engineering problems and I was introduced as the new guru capable of the most intricate calculations and evaluations.

Not so. I may have had a good basic engineering education, but I was no scientist. The first weeks were very humbling.

The very fourth day on the job I was trundled into a chartered aeroplane and flown to “the centre of the world” as far a General Electric went, Schenectady, NY. Monica was left all alone in an apartment with a mattress on the floor, a box for kitchen table and two aluminum chairs. It was a scary moment for us. But, I had to go. Business first.

In those days, the Schenectady works had 27,000 GE employees in about 65 buildings. The entrance road intersection had 22 traffic lights, as I counted one day. It is all gone now. There may be 800 employees left and the huge intersection looks barren with about four traffic lights remaining

There I met with some really sharp business types, all ready to interview me and tap into my great, previously promised, wealth of knowledge. Was this a case of mistaken identity, was I thought of being someone else?

Not at all. The first night we went to a very plush club, on the water's edge, for dinner. The subject was going to be – how is our Canadian operation going, where are they failing? - I had been in the Toronto office three days!

Nevertheless, I did, with the aid of my never to be used again, Swedish - English dictionary survive quite well, they gave me credit for not knowing all the technical words. I never did convey any insight of the failings in the operations of their Canadian subsidiary.

These GE bosses were quite nice people and we did have some useful exchanges. I came back to Canada, rather better prepared for what needed to be done.


A typical turbine installation for me. 
Lakeview, Ontario, torn down 2014.

I can never say that I enjoyed my time at General Electric. The atmosphere in the offices were charged, with many different political forces at work. The turbines under production were slavishly copied from old US designs and didn't call for much creative technical input.

A few months later I made contact with the Montreal office of my last employer in Sweden. I was re-hired and came to Montreal before Christmas our first year in Canada. All in all I spent ten years for that company.

There was one issue, played out in the first 10 seconds of my pre-employment interview. My future boss held up his hand as I stepped into his office:

"Are you here to tell me that you will be wearing a beard. Or, will you not?"

I got the hint, as well veiled as it was. I shaved off my beard before reporting for work.

With beard 

Without beard

My General Electric office became unionized the following spring. That was instantly followed by a several month's long strike. Rest assured, I counted my blessings for not still being there then.

Next summer was the year for Canada, Expo 67. Fifty (50) million visitors came, and we housed a few of them. Many of our good friends and ex-colleagues from my General Electric days stayed with us. It was a grand time for all.

But that year I was 27, worthy of a different story again.

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If you want to read my memors, "The seasons of Man", buy the book here:


https://www.amazon.ca/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=bengt+lindvall+the+seasons+of+a+man