This story is from Anatole Lokshin:
When we came to the United States, we received help from different people. I think this is something very American: ordinary people saw that we needed help, and they helped.
Our first stop was Phoenix. The Jewish community rented us a small apartment in a modest one-story building. The owner of the building was a retired mailman and a born-again Christian. He came to check that everything was okay, and by his own desire he started helping us with all kinds of small things.
These were not small things to us.
For example, he helped us buy a used car. In those days you looked in the newspaper, called people, and went to see what they had. He found us a wonderful Buick Skylark for $320. It was a 1970, so about nine years old, but it was in beautiful condition.
He also helped teach me to drive.
I had a driver's license from Russia, but in reality I did not really know how to drive. When I went to take the driving exam, the first part was parallel parking. I had never done parallel parking before. I did not even really know what it was. The test ended before it began.
Some young friends, a couple our age with small kids, offered to teach me. They put two of their new cars in such a way that I was supposed to practice parking between them.
I thought, are you crazy? I do not know how to park. I will hit your cars. They said, no, no, it is not a big deal. But I decided this was not a good idea.
So our landlord got me orange cones and set them up for practice. When I went the second time to take the exam, I did the best parallel parking of my life. The instructor was so impressed that he only drove me around a few blocks and passed me.
In reality, I still did not know how to drive very well. I had never driven on a freeway. But after about a month in Phoenix, I was accepted at JPL. They still had to get permission from NASA headquarters because we were from the Soviet Union, but we decided it would be better to live in Pasadena close to JPL.
We sold everything we could, which was not much. We put all our things into the Buick. It was a two-door car, but American cars were big then, and it had a big trunk. We put a disassembled crib on the roof, tied it with ropes, and prepared to drive to Pasadena with my wife, our small child, and all our possessions.
Our landlord saw this arrangement and asked what we were going to do.
I said we were going to Pasadena.
He asked, "Are you going to drive to Pasadena yourself?"
I said, "Of course."
He said, "Look, you have a small child and your wife. I will not let you go alone. I will go with you."
First we went to AAA. In those days, AAA would give you a detailed trip plan, with maps and every turn laid out. They gave us directions from Phoenix, Arizona to Pasadena, California. This was our first exposure to AAA. As soon as we had any money, we became AAA members, and we stayed members for the next forty-five or forty-six years.
Then the landlord got into the car and went with us.
The trip took the whole day. When we arrived, we stayed with my friend Boris Kochman, who had come to the United States earlier and was already working at JPL. He helped me get the opportunity there. Boris had an apartment, but he did not have much furniture. We slept on the floor. Our landlord, who was probably in his late fifties, put three or four chairs together and slept on the chairs.
In the morning, he took a bus back to Phoenix.
We remained friends with him for many years, until his death. We sent him Christmas cards. He was just a wonderful person.
And he was not the only one.
Before I started at JPL, and before we had much money, we bought food at the cheapest supermarkets. To us, even the cheapest products seemed good enough. We did not understand why anyone would pay more. One of these stores was in a poorer neighborhood in South Pasadena.
One day, after shopping there, my Buick would not start.
At that time we were not yet AAA members, and I had absolutely no idea what to do with the car. An older Black man, tall and strong, with gray hair, came over by himself and asked, "It doesn't start?"
I said yes.
He opened the hood, looked around, and told me the problem was probably a temperature sensor connected to the carburetor. Then he went to his own car, opened the trunk, found a sensor that would fit, installed it, and the Buick started.
Then he noticed that I was still nervous parking this huge American car. He showed me how to do it in three parts: aim toward the middle of the next car, go back, turn, straighten, and then slide into the open space.
I am still using his advice, forty-five or forty-six years later.
Of course we had negative experiences in America too. Every immigrant does. But this is what I still remember from the beginning: again and again, people helped us.
The landlord found us a car, taught me to parallel park, drove with us across the desert, slept on chairs, and took a bus home.
Another man fixed that same car in a supermarket parking lot and taught me how to park it.
This was a very positive, very American experience. We did not have much, and nothing was easy yet, but people showed us friendship and good character when we needed it most.