Bert the Immigrant

30 September, 13

Susan's family teems with immigrants: 50% Swedish, 25% German and 25% Polish. I am 100% Mutt. Her dad, Bert, immigrated to the USA when he was a boy, way back in the 19-Teens. He was old as dirt. In fact, he was older than my mother-in-law's mother. Weird.

Bert was in his 80's when I first met him. He was not as spry as he had been in his old days, but he was still sharp. I remember studying before making a visit to his Palm Beach, Florida home, in preparation for the onslaught of questions. I could not even get in the house before he was grilling me about interest rates and depreciation schedules on our rental properties. 1,001 questions.

“What's the vacancy rate on your mini-storage?”

“When are you going to refinance?”

“What’s the product mix on your storage units?”

“How long will it take to build another one?”

It was like drinking from a fire hose, and I loved it.

Bert was an incredible encourager for me. He always pushed me to take risks, while at the same time, coaching me on potential pitfalls. When I stepped on the inevitable financial land mine, he was always ready with an anecdote from his past about one of his failures. Bert was like a second daddy to me.

He was Swedish, and about Elizabeth's age, when he came to the USA. This was back when we welcomed immigrants with open arms:

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows worldwide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

with silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” 

(Emma Lazarus, 1883)

His family came with nothing more than Swedish farmers from Varmland could be expected to bring. Bert finished high school and never attended college. One day he told me that was the best thing that ever happened to him, because if he had attended college, he would have ended up in a Corporate America cubicle.

Instead, he struck out on his own, going door to door, to sell new roofs, in the 1920's. One day he hit it big and came into a lady's tea party. He sold five jobs on the spot. Bert went on to build a big construction business in New York City and Long Island. He retired at 55 and moved to Palm Beach to raise his family. 

Bert recognized something vital. People are more important than things. He had plenty of things, nice things, but they were merely trinkets. His great joy was his wife and kids, to which he devoted all his time and energy.

Bert died 12 years ago, but I still have conversations with him in my head. He pushes me forward and provides guardrails as I go. Without Bert, there would be no Spain. 

Te quiero mi amigo!