de-en  Dt. Lausbub in Amerika, Kap.12 Medium
In the signs of the newspaper.
Widow Dougherty. - The world of books. - Passion for Kipling. - A Kismet guide. - My first literary crime. - A fractured leg as a stroke of luck. - I become a translator of telegrams with a big German newspaper. - Enthusiasm and curiosity. - Every beginning is easy! - A journalist "girl Friday". - Being German in America. – The oath against the potentates. - About seeing and learning. - Out again in the cold world. - Wanderlust!
The woman with the sharp lines in her face and the mistrust of one of the clan of offering lodgings who had been burned by life once too often, gave me a scrutinizing look once over and mumbled: "The room costs two dollar a week, young man, and who does not pay on time in advance, gets kicked out!" "What do you mean?" "Gets kicked out, there you go, goodbye - the widow Dougherty didn't rent out her rooms just for the fun of it. But I have nothing to say, sir - I only have to have my money. Coal costs ten cents a pail, and if you want to cook, I'll lend you the dishes. Whoever pays is the gentleman! Will you take the room?" Brother Happy-Go-Lucky, sober with his wealth of forty-three greenbacks from the land of dollars, paid wisely for a whole month and made himself at home in one of widow Dougherty's tiny rooms, the first evening blissfully dreaming between his own four walls with countless cigarettes. He was elegant again, the scallywag, and he had money in his pocket! It was no wonder that he cared little about future plans and future needs. The struggle for the future was basically immensely simple! ; terribly simple!! You - yes, you - well, you went, followed exactly the prescription of friend Starkenbach, into a skyscraper and had yourself be known in the different offices - well, and talked - everything will sort itself out. There was no hurry; the world was beautiful... The next morning I climbed from one tram to the next and drank in the bustling bustle of the Mississippi city with the self-confidence that came through good clothes and dollar notes; the busy street scene, the skyscrapers rising into the sky, the confusion of the giant city, until coincidence led me into the building of the St. Louis Public Library, into the world of books. ...
Hundreds of thousands of books on wide shelves filled the large halls. Cleverly arranged card catalogues in the anteroom provided an excellent overview. Kind young ladies brought the books within seconds, the titles and numbers of which one had written down on a small sheet of paper, and then the flexible armchairs in the big halls enticed reading and dreaming.
At 11 o' clock in the morning I had come to the library - until late in the evening I stayed, without even thinking about food and drink; blissful amid the splendour of books. And punctually in the early morning of the next day the scallywag was back again - like a hungry man I devoured one book after the other, as if I had to make immediate amends for the long months of primitive life; I felt like Hans in Luck, the work with sooty copper kettles lay in the far distance like a bad dream that was long been over. It was so quiet and cozy in the noble rooms, and the books!! I read haphazardly and without any specific order, sometimes in German, sometimes in English, sometimes in French; yes, even the specters of school days, the Odyssey, Cicero, were revelations of beauty for the former kettle scrubber, to whom the digging around in the classical languages, the awareness of Learning, gave a feeling of renewed self-confidence to stand tall once again. ... Thinking practically, it was a complete waste of time - the flippant rascal belonged out on the streets and should have been looking for work. Instead, he digested a dozen novels a day, from the Marlitt to Sudermann, from the Indians of the good Fennimore Cooper to the African secrets of Rider Haggard, with a piece of Iliad and a chapter of Kant or Schopenhauer in between ... One of the books, which had the strongest influence on me, was strangely enough, the Confessions of an Opium-Eater by Thomas de Quincey; not for the sake of opium dreams, which sometimes seemed boring to me, but for the indescribably beautiful pearls of English words. A scholarly aesthete had borrowed beauties from all the languages ​​of the world and artfully mingled them among the simplicity of the plain English language; without a thorough knowledge of Latin and Greek, it would have been impossible to understand the book. And there was Kipling, the master of the modern English narrative, who painted pictures in words with such vividness that the reader felt as if he could touch them; who as if by magic could transfer the pictures of British soldiers and glaring scenes of Indian life into his reader's mind so that you felt at home in the fairyland of India, as if you had lived there since childhood. This English magician, who seems pale and dull when his skillful words are translated into other languages, has, at times consciously and at other times unconsciously, remained my model for years; it was his colourful soldiers who inspired me with the longing to portray, people, a whole class, a profession, or an individual with all his peculiarities as he did so that they came alive to the reader; to describe landscapes as he does in such detail, that when reading, you see the country and the people right in front of your astonished eyes, as if you are standing in front of a painting.
It was recklessness; indescribable recklessness, but I feel as if the days in the St. Louis Library had been milestones of; signposts to Kismet, which led Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky to new paths.
1 Like a penny-pinching cheapskate, I saved money in order to be able to extend the joys of the books for quite a long time; I made myself coffee in the morning, drank a glass of milk at noon, ate a roll somewhere near the library and in the evening bought one like a good house-father, only to cook and fry it on the tiny iron stove. Quite often, however, I was plagued by a twinge of conscience, and I definitely decided to start my walk in the skyscrapers the next morning. But when the morning came, he surely found me again in front of the library, creeping around the portal like a cat in a frenzy, only one more day, just reading a few books, just a little more!! May the devil take the hindmost - because up there it was so beautiful, so beautiful ... "But we close at three o'clock - right now," said the young lady with a smile at the book table; "Don't you know that it's Christmas Eve tonight, you insatiable bookworm?" I crept back home sadly, and because I did miss the books so much, a little devil gave me the idea of ​​writing something myself. It became a horrible concoction; a whiny tale of a German lieutenant, sunken in bitter poverty at the hotel of the poor and wretched on the Mississippi shore, after a terribly long monologue about the misery of the world and the horror of things in the glow of the stove, a bullet was shot through his martyred head ... And since this crime of a sketch put me naturally in the most beautiful mood of misery, I deeply regretted though this solitary Christmas Eve from the bottom of my heart and wrote a long letter to my mother for the first time in a long time. A whiny letter - which I shamefully tore up in a hundred shreds on Christmas morning with the intention of writing only when I would be fine. But I made a nice and neat copy of my German lieutenant story and sent it to the editorial staff of the Western Post, the big German daily paper of St. Louis. ...

Trembling with excitement, I sat on the rickety chair next to the copy desk littered with paper and stared into the round face and the spitefully sparkling little eyes of the local editor. ...
"That's right!" said the local editor, "I wrote you that you should come and see me. ... Well," (he rummaged among the papers on the table and pulled out my manuscript) "I must first of all draw your attention to the fact that, according to the practical rules of life, a poor devil with his toes peeking out of his boots and hunger gnawing at his stomach, would not possess something as valuable as a revolver to use to shoot himself dead. He would sell it, my dear sir! So let your German lieutenant eat his gun first and then hang himself on a rope. ... Or throw him in the Mississippi; that's a beautiful death! Were you an officer?" "No." "Well, then why do you insist on your lieutenant's whining?" ... Off with him! You know what - let's kill the unfortunate suicide chap one more time!" (Whoosh, the red pencil went over my three beautiful introductory pages.) ... "And what does the man blab all together!" (Rip, zip, my long monologue went to the devil.) ... "That way! Now we've swept the stable, my dear sir, and what's left is the good description of a low-class flop house, which I will gladly feature." I almost fell over with pleasant surprise - "Well, for specific reasons, I would like it," he continued, 'if you would tell me what you're doing in Malheurika!" "... Hm," he finally grinned, "this rolling over is typical, most of them are like that! Now listen: Our second telegram decoder broke a leg on New Year's Eve because he slipped on black ice, indeed, and other reasons, and we need someone to help out until poor Dr. Morgenstern is well again. ... You'd like to give it a try, wouldn't you? ... The fee - fee means gratuity - is 12 dollars a week. Then for God's sake head off to my dear friend and adversary, the telegram Editor, give him my greetings and tell him you will be working for him. ... Out there - to the right - down the corridor! ... Good morning, Mr. Colleague!" Mr. Colleague! Mis-ter Col-lea-gue! Marvelous! It's so beautiful, that you have to cry! Very happy the brand-new colleague rushed out in the corridor and saw in a kind of narrow shed of glass walls a grey-haired, little man, sitting on a high swivel chair. Awkwardly, the little man was blowing his big, fire-red nose with an even redder handkerchief and furthermore was stuck up to his ears in a veritable mountain of sheets of paper as thin as silk. ...
"My name is Carlé - I'm the temp and I'm supposed to report to you!" I spluttered. ...
"My pleasure. My name is Schulze, Doctor Schulze, Mr Colleague, and I am a cozy Saxon.... Are you a specialist, Mr. Colleague?" " No, Mr. Doctor!" " Oh, hell's bells, but this is uncomfortable - I'm completely up to my neck in work in this mountain of Associated Press copy. Just start right away, Mr. Colleague, hopefully, it'll turn out OK!" He handed me a bundle of papers, which were as thin as silk paper and led me into the next room to the empty table abandoned by the man with the broken leg. ... A gentleman sitting at a second table - he was the police reporter - stood up, clicked his heels and introduced himself: Pressenthin!
"A Mr. Carle, dear Mr. trainee," explained the graying man, "who would help me get the tricky stuff from the Associated Press features into decent German. Translate at your discretion, Mr. Colleague - skip the crap and spin out the better things a little bit. Fabricate good headlines and keep the originals for me, please. Well, we'll see, indeed!" I set to work with ardent zeal and found that translating the newspaper telegrams, which had been copied on thin tissue paper with a typewriter, was child's play. The first telegram was already appealing: a pathologically abnormal Chicago doctor had allowed himself the strange pleasure of kissing all the ladies he met in broad daylight on Madison Street in Chicago and, of course, had been locked up in jail. As I translated this genuine American sensational news, a headline occurred to me - a quote by Heine, which fit perfectly: "Doctor, are you in league with the devil?" I thought the dateline was so nice that I chuckled happily to myself. After half an hour, the dispatch editor came back: "Let me take a look, Mr colleague. Is this all ready yet? Boy, I like that! Huh! Hoh! Doctor, are you insane or what? Excellent, my boy; ha, good idea - we'll both get along!" So I was a cog in the big machine of the daily press; a tiny little wheel, of course, a crass recruit in the army of men of the pen. The news dispatches of the Associated Press from the Wolff Bureau in the United States, came of course in English and had to be, not only translated into German but also edited. Because in the original they were dry as straw and sober as a Gotha royal calendar. The Associated Press provided her Majesty's press with bare facts and nothing but facts. For the first few days I translated smoothly, but the little gray-haired man with the funny nose was a journalistic genius, an enthusiast who masterfully managed to give invaluable hints in a few lisped words.
It's a bony skeleton, "he used to smile. "Let's conjure some meat on the skeleton bones! Presto! One, two, three - the stories are awfully simple ..." And then he padded a meager dispatch with a few sentences of a finely stylized introduction; with a clever word here, with a spotlight there, he made the dry message interesting, without ever laying hands on the reality of the facts. For a cobbler must be able to handle his awl and a journalist must be able to deal with the subtleties of the written language.
It's a rough trade, my boy. But the fine instruments of the newspaper industry are located in the skull, and to sharpen them you have to read - ten thousand times as much to sort out what you write. ... Read, dude, read, if you can, and someday you will be grateful to the old journalist." I was enthusiastic about the work for the newspaper. The tiny little room at the widow Dougherty only saw me at bedtime, for the narrow, uncomfortable, noisy editorial offices of the West Post were a paradise that enticed me irresistibly. I was the first to come in the morning and the last to leave late at night. In the early morning when I was studying the editor's copy and marking the dispatches I'd been editing with red pencil, in youthful vanity, I was proud as a king and modestly found that a huge part of the newspaper had come from my pen ... And when the good old Saxon doctor grunted: "You're improving - you're improving, my boy!" then I wouldn't have switched places with any dollar-king in any dollar-skyscraper. I think I was really peacocky, as Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky indeed had to be after the giant leap from the kettle-cleaner to the working in an editor's office; and often I thought with this kind of respect with which one thinks of prophecies fulfilled about the words which my old principal of the high school in Burghausen had once written into my leaving certificate: "This pupil's performance could have been far better; what is to be noted is a certain skilfulness writing essays in German and his interest in the English language." Hoh! This agility and interest brought me now twelve dollars a week and dreams worth hundreds of thousands among brothers. And blissful letters I wrote home, as proud as if my appointment as editor-in-chief was only a question of a very short time - - If the rascal was ridiculously vain, he was just as curious and three times as enthusiastic. In the enthusiasm of rosy red youth, who overcomes the most difficult difficulties with a hop hop, because he doesn't recognize them at all! Years later I once heard at a dinner of newspaper people in New York a toast by Jacob Pulitzer, the great newspaperman who had driven up the circulation of his "World" newspaper to half a million in barely a year and shot himself a few years ago because he had turned into a poor nervous wreck under the stress of his prodigious schedules.
"Gentlemen, a toast to youth!" saluted Jakob Pulitzer. "The youth live; the great shameless youth of the newspaper, gentlemen, who are full of capacity to work and full of enthusiasm; who are still enthusiastic enough to see an earth-shaking event in a reporter piece! Give me youth, gentlemen, who ask for nothing better than to be allowed to work twelve hours a day, who know nothing of money and women and the art of living, who rush on and naively describe what they see - and I will show you the way to a great newspaper success. Men who are made wise by experience as commanding generals as the heads of the departments, and great young people to form the rank and file! ... We only direct. We observe. ... But the raw values are created by youth. Long live the youth of the newspaper, gentlemen!" My enthusiasm knew no bounds; It seemed to me as if the old adage had been turned around - as if it would have to be said: Every beginning is easy! To the boy, who knew no responsibility and would have whistled at it had he been acquainted with it, and who had barely learned the basics of journalism, the workings of the newspaper seemed a game. The swift work of translating the dispatches left much free time for me to read dozens and dozens of English newspapers a day and snoop around to my heart's content. I stuck my nose into everything. ... Mr. Pressenthin, nicknamed Mr. Trainee Lawyer, which he used in the new country because of his having studied law in Germany, was in charge of the important department of providing information that came up with the police department and hung around with the police and the courts all day. ... When he came in the evening, the giant with the cozy, softly reddened face and the jolly beer-eyes was grief stricken. And when he had finally sharpened his seven pencils and had laid out his notes, he first of all got a bottle of beer - and then he began to moan: "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, life is hard and time consuming – Oh God, Oh God, what on earth am I supposed to write about this crap!!"... Five minutes later he had gotten so bogged down in some ghastly participial construction that he almost cried. For me it was actually a personal honor to be allowed to just work, and I have woven many a dreadful police story while the good Trainee was pacing back and forth with his beer bottle and provided the facts to me. ... In return, he always had the same praise: "Man alive, you're agile as a monkey"... And there was in next room a consumptive poor devil, a quiet young man, is always leaning deeply over the drawing table.
"May I watch?" I used to ask Mr. Westermann, the illustrator. "But it's an honor, my dear colleague." Then I could watch for hours how the steel needle dug lines and hatchings in the chalk area. It was a peculiar illustration system, now long outdated, I believe. Mr. Westermann drew the illustrations of the current events with a fine steel stylus in thick zinc plates laid out with rigid chalk. With marvellous skill. As soon as the stylus (scratching through the chalk layer) reached the zinc plate, the gray zinc background becoming visible showed the actual line, broad or fine, depending on the area exposed. ... These chalk plates, poured out with lead by the stereotyper, resulted in a negative, which then were stereotyped and as a result produced the positive in the printing process. ...
Or suddenly the fire alarm shrilled, which connected the newspaper office with the central fire department - one, two, three beats, major fire - pause, one, two, seven beats - in the 7th District. A look at the fire district map hanging on the wall, and helter skelter I scampered together with the fire reporter and the illustrator down the stairs. ... While the fire reporter gathered the important facts together, the cause of fire, the amount of insurance and the like, I stood and watched, and then in a mad rush, wrote down a pictorial impression of what was seen, happy as a lark when the local editor typeset the words of my impression in bourgeois.
My luck reached its high point when, after the first few weeks, I suddenly received fifteen dollars a week's salary and was sent to all kinds of independent reporter tasks in the big German clubs and on their balls, because it was carnival time. One was received solemnly at such balls, the complimentary ticket of the West Post was a talisman which produced quite mechanically the nicest bows from the gentlemen of the association, presentations on the left and right, courtesies of young ladies, and – above all, a neatly written list of the "prominent" participants, along with the Doctor (me!) ... wouldn't forget anyone from the Western Post. And the Doctor was always invited to champagne - clear and sharp the peculiarities of German-Americanism emerged at the balls and festivities of gymnastics clubs and singing societies. ... The strange fight between old attachment to the homeland and the need to adapt to the new country. For the most part, the St. Louis Germans of the affluent social circles had already become American citizens long ago and made use, somehow as best as they could, of the old German-American motto: "to us, our Germany is our mother to love and honor; the land of the Stars and Stripes is the wife with who you accompany through thick and thin ..." They kept alive German singing and German "Gemütlichkeit", drank German beer and imported German potatoes from the Vierlanden region because these did indeed have a different flavor than those watery American ones. ... They railed against the damned bigoted hypocrisy and the "women's work" in American society, and worked with money and influence against the sanctimonious Sunday observance that hermetically sealed theaters and restaurants on Sunday. But they also fragmented themselves in the trivialities of the exaggerated importance of their associations' business and personal jealousies; they splintered in such a way that the tremendous political power that the German culture of St. Louis meant could never be collectively thrown into the balance. They felt German at their feasts, but in everyday life the demand of the hunt for dollars, the informality, the haste, the forward whipping of the "American" businessman had them in its claws. 1 As naive as I was, I laughed when a strange German gentleman, who had been described to me as very rich and "prominent", once said to me at such a ball: "There is something nice about German sociability, but with the dollar the cordiality stops. My son laughs when I want him to speak German and says he can not make any money by speaking German! Even at the German balls, the young people spoke only English and at the mostly talked a barbarous mixture of German and English with their parents : "Poppa (Papa) gib mir ein wenig small change (Kleingeld); ich mecht mir ein ticket (Karte, in diesem Fall: Los) für die lottery kaufe! Es gibt schene prizes von valuable (wertvolle) Gegenstände –"And just as barbarously the brave Mama is admonished while the dad is pulling change out of his pocket: "Geh nur, mein Kind; aber tanz' mer net zu much« (viel), »damit du mir keine Kohld ketsche tust!« (to catch cold – sich eine Erkältung zuziehen.) And a beautiful young lady once told me as the highest compliment: "You really don't look German at all!" Brother Happy-Go-Lucky learned a lot in those days without even knowing it at all. Unthinkingly, just as a child sucks on the bottle of milk, he sucks in all kinds of valuable knowledge. He was hanging around the typesetting machines and learned to read the negative of texts set for printing; he got used to the fonts and their names; he learned the basics of stereotyping. ... The old editor-in-chief Pretorius of the Western Post, who had once been governor of Missouri, and whose voice was still being listened to by official America today, gave a wonderful example of brevity and clarity in his short editorials - the telegram editor taught me fluent style and took me there to be able to distinguish between the essential and the trivial - the local editor preached again and again: "Learn to see! Wherever you may be rolling in your young life and whatever else you do with yourself, you will learn to see! It will be of indescribable use to you. It is only when you see the details that you acquire an eye for the big attraction of the whole. From the gift of seeing clearly, the ability arises - for the newspaper man and everywhere in life. At this desk here once sat a man who was one of the greatest in this art: Karl Schurz. Yes, Karl Schurz was once editor-in-chief of the West Post and is still a shareholder. He, the German national, who managed to become a minister in America, had the ability to observe, and that is why he could describe what he saw with incredible beauty - since he used pictures in everything he wrote and narrated, he captivated the masses an moved from victory to victory in his politcal career. ... Learning to see! Out of the fine lines of many details the grand picturesque narrative emerges!" Most of all, from the daily reading of countless American newspapers and magazines, a sharp picture of American things is crystallized in completely automatic and instinctive comprehension. The battles, the objectives of the two major political parties of the country. The hustle and bustle of the day. Thousands of illuminating details about women, society, customs. Then technical things: the subtlety of the headlines, the narrative in sensational processes, which were a splendid example of how the great impression could be created from a myriad of small pictures. It was learning unwittingly, a being forced to think, to being part of the process of observing the spinning wheel of the events of the time. ... And then there was the young man's naive awareness that he was backed by the power of the big newspaper. That gave strange self-confidence! The business card with the notation in the lower left corner "on the editorial staff of the Western Post" opened all the official doors, and inquiries in the town hall or with the police were handled with unbelievable courtesy. ... The American knows how to appreciate the power of the press. ...
I cannot forget the subtlety with which St. Louis's Chief of Police one time made use of me for his benefit. ... The police headquarters had been phoned, you would like to send an editor and because Pressenthin was on a trial, I had to go there.
"You speak English as if you were born in the country," said the man with the close-cropped moustache and sharp grey eyes when I introduced myself in a few words. I am always happy to see again and again with what talent educated young Germans are familiarizing themselves with our language and our way of speaking. "Do you smoke?" (The Chief of Police offered me a cigar.) ... It is my principle to always speak to the gentlemen of the press without reservation, so that the respective case is clear. ... Therefore, I will tell you all about the case, what I myself know, on the condition that you suppress such details which I note in particular. Do you agree with it?" "Yes, with pleasure." " This is a murder, and it's a particularly interesting case for your paper. This morning at 5 o'clock in the house number 763 of the Sunbury Avenue ( that is one our most prestigous mansion streets, as you certainly know) was called for help. The policeman on patrol came running and found a maid, ringing her hands, who led him to the first floor. The house is a small villa. There in a bedroom lay an old lady, shot dead, on a floor covered with blood. I was taken out of bed and at 5.30 am I was on the spot with my detectives. The following are the determined facts: The house belongs to a Mr. Nolden, a German-American, a cashier at the Schlitzschen brewery. Mr. Nolden is currently on a business trip in the South. The woman who was shot was his wife. No weapon was found, and all indications point to murder having been preceded by a fight, as the furniture was in disarray and the carpets were shifted. ... On the floor we found a torn off button, with a piece of cloth hanging off it, a button from a light brown coat. Footprints of a man's foot were also found, but only on the stairs and on a place in the forecourt. The gunshot wound is probably caused by a 32-gauge revolver. Now, with the exception of the maid and Mrs. Nolden, there was no one in the house, and there were no signs of forced entry at either the windows or the doors, suggesting that the maid had let a lover in, and that he was the murderer, with or without her knowledge. We didn't arrest the maid, but she is guarded to arrest the murderer if he should approach her. Please don't bring up anything about the maid.. Or no, indicate a bit mysteriously, that the chief of the police himself questioned her two hours and that the girl hasn't been imprisoned. She is an Irishwoman, pretty, very pretty, so excited about the terrible misfortune, that she hardly could be heard, probably we will find through her the key to the crime. "Thank you very much, I've already had detailed information put together for you - here you are", (he passed me a few sheets covered with typescript). "Everything worth knowing. Precise location description and so on. Thanks a bunch," I hurried to the editorship and wrote and wrote while the local editor himself drove to Sunbury Avenue without finding out anything new. ... It was already all set when late in the evening a policeman brought an urgent message from headquarters: "Mrs. Nolden's murderer was arrested this afternoon by the police chief and the detective sergeant O'Hara. The maid Lizzie Roberts, the murderer's mistress, is an accomplice. The killer's name is Patrick Rafferty, and he's a waiter. The arrest was made at his apartment in Doverstreet 73. You can use what I said this morning about the maid." I got more details about the arrest on the phone and then thoroughly developed the interview with the chief of police ... "By Jove," said the local editor, as I enthusiastically praised the amiability of the policeman," You're an innocent sheep!" "How come -" "Because you don't notice anything. Because this cunning Captain Green is never amiable if he doesn't have the best reasons. You see, in four weeks' time, the elections will be held. He himself stands and falls with his party, the ruling party in the town hall, which boasts in the election announcements especially of its good police organization. The chief of police needs advertising right now, you know what I mean? He has managed everything, done everything, arrested everything!!! And I bet my head, you innocent lamb, that when he spoke to you, he already knew about Patrick Rafferty long ago and just wanted to increase the suspense. Do you get it? But the story looks good - and therefore let's give him a pass on it. In this country, as elsewhere, one is only then kind to the press when one want to something from it, my young friend!" I was just busy working on a long dispatch. Then the local editor entered - and with him a fat gentleman who limped a little bit. A frightening suspicion arose in me ... "Good morning, Doctor Morgenstern!" shouted Pressenthin. "Congratulations on your recovery! Now tell us sincerely: Was it the punch or was it really the black ice?" "Both - both, you more curious policeman," laughed the fat gentleman.
While I was bowing and was introduced, I wished the heavyset guy the plague, cholera and a second break in his leg and neck from the bottom of my heart, this fat angel who drove me, the poor devil, out of paradise. ... I must have made a face like the proverbial tanner to see one's hopes dashed!
That was the end; a miserable end, it seemed to me, the two months of happiness, a dry business end. I received a bonus of twenty-five dollars as a special recognition. And at the next opportunity, I would be hired by the editorial staff - and I should be seen quite often... When I stepped out of the editorial office on the street, I felt like an outcast. Like one to whom Saint Petrus has slammed the door to the Kingdom of Heaven in his face. I ran quickly into my beloved library. But the books seemed to me stale and the silence in the halls depressing, and I think I would have preferred to cry at that time. What a donkey was Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky - what an indescribably foolish, stubborn boy! ... Sensitive as a gold-beater's skin and impractical as a girl in a boarding school, despite all the courage to face life and hard experiences.
So clearly the way lay there, so simple everything would have been! The good people in the Western Post would have supported me here and there, were more amiable than the others, and without a doubt given me a position in the St. Louis German community, and in the course of time I would have been a duly-appointed editor of a large newspaper. A path clear as daylight! ...
It may have been Kismet that I was terribly embarrassed during the few visits I made to the editorial office; that a strange unrest and discontent came over me. Any sensible person would have thought I was a fool - for one evening I boarded the San Francisco direct express at the St. Louis train station without knowing at all what I really wanted to do in San Francisco!
It was wanderlust. Great rolling forward. Unconsciously thinking about Billy and our plans from the old days. The decision to travel thousands of miles took five minutes; the decision cost a little more time: should I travel secretly on platforms or pay good civilian fare? No, pay for it! The vagabond trip of that time had lost its romantic charm, because the romanticism of work was a thousand times more attractive.
unit 1
Im Zeichen der Zeitung.
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 9 months, 1 week ago
unit 2
Witwe Dougherty.
1 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 9 months, 1 week ago
unit 3
– Das Reich der Bücher.
1 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 9 months, 1 week ago
unit 4
– Kipling-Begeisterung.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 9 months, 1 week ago
unit 5
– Ein Wegweiser des Kismet.
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 6
– Mein erstes literarisches Verbrechen.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 7
– Der Beinbruch als Glückszufall.
2 Translations, 5 Upvotes, Last Activity 9 months, 1 week ago
unit 8
– Ich werde Depeschenübersetzer bei einer großen deutschen Zeitung.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 9
– Enthusiasmus und Neugierde.
1 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 9 months, 1 week ago
unit 10
– Aller Anfang ist leicht!
1 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 9 months, 1 week ago
unit 11
– Ein journalistisches Mädchen für alles.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 12
– Amerikanisches Deutschtum.
4 Translations, 5 Upvotes, Last Activity 9 months, 1 week ago
unit 13
– Der Schwur gegen die Potentaten.
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 14
– Vom Sehen und vom Lernen.
1 Translations, 5 Upvotes, Last Activity 9 months, 1 week ago
unit 15
– Wieder draußen in der kalten Welt.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 16
– Reisefieber!
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 18
Will aber nichts gesagt haben, Herr – nur mein Geld muß ich haben.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 20
Wer bar bezahlt, ist der Gentleman!
3 Translations, 7 Upvotes, Last Activity 9 months, 1 week ago
unit 22
Elegant war er wieder, der Lausbub, und Geld hatte er in der Tasche!
1 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 23
unit 24
Das Ringen um die Zukunft war im Grunde gigantisch einfach!
1 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 25
; furchtbar simpel!!
1 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 28
Hunderttausende von Büchern füllten auf breiten Regalen die riesigen Säle.
1 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 33
Es war so still und wohlig in den vornehmen Räumen, und die Bücher!!
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 51
Er verkauft ihn, Verehrtester!
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 53
Oder werfen Sie ihn in den Mississippi; das ist auch ein schöner Tod!
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 55
Weg mit ihm!
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 58
»So!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 61
Wollen Sie es versuchen, ja?
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 62
Das Honorar – Honorar heißt Ehrensold – beträgt zwölf Dollars wöchentlich.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 64
Da draußen – rechts – auf dem Gang!
2 Translations, 5 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 65
Guten Morgen, Herr Kollege!« Herr Kollege!
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 66
He–err Ko–ll–ege!
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 67
Fabelhaft!
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 68
Zum Weinen schön!
3 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 72
»Sähr angenähm.
4 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 73
Ich heeße Schulze, Doktor Schulze, Härr Kollege, und bin ä gemiedlicher Sachse.
3 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 79
Fabrizieren Sü gute Überschriften und heben Sü mir, bitte, die Originale auf.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 84
Ist das schon alles fertig?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 85
Menschenskind, das gefällt mür.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 86
Häh!
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 87
Hoh!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 88
Herr Doktor, sind Sie des Teufels?
4 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 94
»Düs üst ein knochiges Skölett,« pflegte er zu lächeln.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 95
»Zaubern wür dem Skölett ein bißchen Fleisch auf die Knochen!
3 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 96
Presto!
2 Translations, 7 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 99
»Das üst grobes Handwerk, mi fili!
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 103
Ich war der erste, der morgens kam, und der letzte, der spät nachts ging.
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 110
»Meine Herren – es lebe die Jugend!« toastete Jakob Pulitzer.
3 Translations, 5 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 114
Wir lenken nur.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 115
Wir sichten.
3 Translations, 5 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 116
Die rohen Werte aber schafft die Jugend.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 120
Überall pfuschte ich hinein.
5 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 127
»Darf ich zusehen?« pflegte ich Herrn Westermann, den Zeichner, zu fragen.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 131
Mit fabelhafter Geschicklichkeit.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 135
Distrikt.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 140
von der Westlichen Post auch ja niemand vergaß.
7 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 155
Es wird Ihnen unbeschreiblich nützen.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 161
Sehen lernen!
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 163
Die Kämpfe, die Ziele der beiden großen politischen Parteien des Landes.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 164
Das Getriebe des Tages.
2 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 165
Tausend beleuchtende Einzelheiten über Frauen, über Gesellschaft, über Sitten.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 169
Das gab merkwürdiges Selbstvertrauen!
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 171
Der Amerikaner weiß die Macht der Presse zu schätzen.
3 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 176
Rauchen Sie?« (Der Polizeichef bot mir eine Zigarre an.)
5 Translations, 5 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 182
Das Haus ist eine kleine Villa.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 186
Mister Nolden befindet sich augenblicklich auf einer Geschäftsreise im Süden.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 187
Die Erschossene war seine Frau.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 191
Die Schusswunde rührt wahrscheinlich von einem 32-kalibrigen Revolver her.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 194
Bitte bringen Sie über das Dienstmädchen gar nichts.
4 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 198
»Alles Wissenswerte.
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 199
Genaue Örtlichkeitsbeschreibung und so weiter.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 202
Das Dienstmädchen Lizzie Roberts, die Geliebte des Mörders, ist Mitschuldige.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 203
Der Mörder heißt Patrick Rafferty und ist Kellner.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 204
Die Verhaftung wurde in seiner Wohnung Doverstreet 73 vorgenommen.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 207
Sehen Sie, in vier Wochen sind die Wahlen.
3 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 209
Der Polizeichef braucht Reklame gerade jetzt, verstehen Sie?
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 210
Er hat alles geleitet, alles gemacht, alles verhaftet!!!
3 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 212
Kapieren Sie?
3 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 213
Aber die Geschichte macht sich gut – und so mag es ihm hingehen.
5 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 215
unit 217
»Gratuliere zur Wiederherstellung!
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 222
unit 224
unit 225
Schleunigst lief ich in meine geliebte Bibliothek.
4 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 229
So klar lag der Weg da, so einfach wäre alles gewesen!
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 231
Ein sonnenklarer Weg!
3 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 234
Reisefieber war es.
3 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 235
Tolles Vorwärtsrollen.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 236
Unbewusstes Denken an Billy und an unsere Pläne von damals.
3 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago
unit 238
Nein, bezahlen!
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 year ago