Thank You, America!

The United States of America is my home country, and I am proud of it. The American flag waving in the breeze when returning over the Marco Island Jolley Bridge always continues to fill me with pride. When I hear people complain about our country, I would like to suggest they go live somewhere else. Despite raging political differences, to me, it still is the greatest nation in the world. My wife, Jill, and I are fortunate enough to live the “American Dream.” It has not always been easy and involved lots of hard work and long hours, but unlike stringent restrictions we had experienced in several other countries, the United States of America allowed us to do that. Thank you, America!

In the year 2000, I was granted American Citizenship after trying for fifteen years, jumping through bureaucracy hoops apparently still existing today in one form or another. What an exciting moment it was to receive that document after a lengthy process.

Over the years, I have contemplated writing about my immigration experience and as we are proudly celebrating 250 years of the United States of America, I believe that time has come.

The Netherlands is the country where I was born and raised. Just a short time ago, the name was changed from “Nederland” to “The Netherlands” in English. We do have our own language in my native country, so I am still shocked by the change. When asking the tourism office the reasoning behind the name change, the answer was that it would promote business and tourism to the country. Old-timers like me still refer to the country by yet another name: “Holland.” Originally, the country was divided into North and South Holland, and many people still refer to them as such. I went to school and college there and worked as a European tour guide during the summer months to pay for my four college years in commercial design, photography, and journalism.

Eventually, I ended up back in tourism full-time, traveling all over the world and working in every facet of the tourism industry for two large operators. My degrees came in handy on the sidelines with photo work and stories for newspapers and magazines.

After working and living in five different countries, I learned a lot about culture and economy in numerous areas of the world. During that time, I met my wife, Jill, who was working in Europe. The European conglomerate I worked for looked to establish a new travel company in the United States.

Since Jill was American, it was assumed that it would be easy to get a work permit for me in the United States. However, that turned out not to be the case. I met with the American Consul in Belgium, and her comment was, and I quote: “It would be easier to bring a laborer into the country than someone with a proven track record who wants to start a business.” That was the year 1978! However, eventually, I was granted the much-desired “green card” that would allow me to live and work in the USA.

Perhaps a tiny bit like the old days on Ellis Island, we arrived in New York at JFK Airport with ten suitcases. In those days, passport control at JFK was an adventure with long, narrow lines through an area that certainly was not decorated to promote a welcome feeling. It was the belief of the European company employing us that we had to be in the heart of it all, so we rented a small office space on the corner of Madison & 5th Avenue. And we found a super 17th-floor apartment with a spectacular view over the East River, near the United Nations’ building for the two years we lived there!

Going to work involved walking, taking a taxi, or the bus. Most of the time, the difference in the commute was about the same. My first taste of America included long hours of exiting work, in addition to wonderful culture and new friendships with many interesting people from all over the world. Our riverside apartment complex was a favorite of UN employees. After that time, we had a friendly separation with the European company and began our own adventure, establishing a receptive travel firm in Miami. Our last employer was our first client! It was not the best time to move to Miami, as this was during the Mariel Boat Lift, and crime was rampant there with frequent shootings from cars right on Route 1.

And our home in a new Arvida community was broken into twice. However, unlike so many nations, America always shows its ability and freedom by constantly changing. Today, Miami is again a great tourism destination and much safer.

During this time, Jill and I began to look for the possibility of obtaining my American citizenship. We assumed it would be easy because of her American nationality. Our business took off; we worked very hard and enhanced the US economy by employing Americans. In 1984, we discovered Marco Island and decided to leave crime-ridden Miami and take our chances in paradise. Business-wise, it was a very difficult move, as there were few people on the island. In the beginning, we had the first fax machine on the island and Marriott sent runners back and forth with messages to be forwarded! And Tommie Barfield School had only two half-day kindergarten classes. However, in almost 50 years, we have never regretted it. In those days, a two-lane rural county road connected Naples to the island, and the corner of 951 and 41 was a u-pick strawberry field. When running in the early morning from Tigertail Beach to the Cuban Missile Tracking station, where Cape Marco is now located, I was the only thing moving near the waterfront on the beach and dolphins would swim with me the entire way. We got involved in most fundraising projects and other community events on the island, and through Rotary, we were able to represent the United States in many other countries.

In cooperation with Marriott and Hilton, we formed the first Visitors Bureau in Collier County at the Marco Island Chamber of Commerce.

Through all of this, I was given a total run-around regarding citizenship. Endless forms were completed and lost. Every time something disappeared through the bureaucracy of immigration, I ended up at the back of the line again. I stood in a three-block line guarded by armed officers at the immigration office in Miami. One of the guards warned me to only park in a paid parking lot, otherwise my wheels might disappear! Our company provided employment for Americans. I was given the ceremonial key to the City of Miami Beach for my involvement promoting tourism, as well as the prestigious Rotarian of the Year Award for local support and international work elevating the status of our country abroad. None of these accolades aided my plight. For a second time, I was required to have fingerprints taken at the Collier County Sheriff’s office. Nick Ojanovac Sr. was subcommander here on the island at the time and offered to do it personally so I would not have to go to Naples for it.

However, after waiting several weeks, the office for immigration did not accept my fingerprints. They had assigned two retired part-time volunteers at the Sheriff’s office to do this job for a couple of hours every week. Because the rules were not followed, I was once again delegated to the end of the immigration list in the backlogged requests for citizenship.

And now my fingerprints could no longer be processed in Naples and were under control of the FBI office in Miami. I was summoned on the day before Christmas to drive over for this. And last, but not least, my final oral exam in Miami was directed by an examiner who spoke such limited English that we spoke Spanish for the remainder of the interview to determine if I could receive American Citizenship. I do realize that immigration still needs a major overhaul. However, in the meantime, I am a very proud and thankful American citizen. During some of my photo work in New York City, I decided I really wanted a photo of the World Trade Center with the Orthodox Church in front of it as contrast. The only way to do it was to lie on my back in the middle of the street. I waited for a very early Sunday morning with just the perfect light as two New York cops shook their heads. They obviously thought I was crazy, yet nevertheless they stood guard, ensuring no cars entered the street as I took my picture. Little did I know at the time how much this photo would mean after 911! And I treasure the congratulatory gift of the American flag that had been flown over the U.S. Capitol, presented to me by Marco Island friends.