It was day four of our time in Newfoundland. We met Brian Moser at the North Atlantic Aviation Museum. Brian was the local TV reporter on the day 38 jets were ordered to land in Gander as a result of the 9/11 attack in the United States.
He told us about the hospitality the Gander people extended to the 6,700 passengers that found themselves stranded, their flights canceled. There were not enough hotel rooms so people were welcomed into homes and provided with temporary shelters. Food was collected for the almost seven thousand people and refrigerated in the local ice rink until it could be cooked and served. Clothing and other necessities were distributed to those in need.
On day ten we met with Oswald (Oz) Fudge who was the Gander town constable at the time when the planes landed. He described the scramble for the security needed before people could deplane — they came from many different places and there was the caution that terrorists could be onboard, like the ones on board the planes that crashed in the U.S. He described that after people cleared security they were welcomed to Gander, starting off as 7,000 strangers but ending up as seven thousand family members.
These stories were played out in our experiences while traveling in Newfoundland. For example, Oz came to our rescue when one of our fellow travelers became sick and needed to return home. Oz volunteered to accompany her to the airport and waited with her until she was able to board a plane for home. We were hosted by Captain David Boyd, school teacher, cod fisher and poet. He took time to demonstrate the process of catching, drying and salting codfish. He shared his poetry:
I’m a fisherman!
Nurtured on the salty milk of an island breast
Little earthly wealth I have, but with riches I am blessed.
I have seen traps – full of Cod!
Their streamlined shapes caught in a sliver of sunlight
Then rising full force to boil the morning sea.
Then he put on his rubber boots, pants and coat, stepped into his boat with two other men and waved to us as they set out to check their nets. And we were visited by a Newfoundland farmer. She described the precariousness of weather-dependent farming, the thin soil and the cooperation needed to plant, harvest and market the produce. She effused a joy for the life and hard work of farming as well as for the ability to cheerfully share the fruits of her labor.
We were also taken to a Royal Canadian Legion Hall where we participated in the ritual of “screeching in” that made us honorary Newfoundlanders. Local people were quick to give a helping hand to negotiate a curb onto a sidewalk or to give directions and advice about places to see. Or sometimes, just a greeting from a stranger or a brief conversation.
While in Newfoundland, we experienced only intermittent internet connections and therefore we were for the most part isolated from the daily news. Hospitality, neighborliness and concern for the well-being of one another dominated our days. Faith in human nature thrived.
That is until the day we reentered the U.S. The process went smoothly. The border officials looked briefly at our passports, asked few questions and pointed the way through the border crossing. Walking toward the door, we saw displayed on the wall the words, “Welcome to the United States of America.” However, rather than feeling the joy of coming home, I was suddenly struck with a surge of unease, despair and sadness. Beneath those words of welcome is the scowling portrait of the President of the United States, oozing an aura of scrutiny and judgment, lacking any semblance of welcome or hospitality.
I wonder what visitors to the U.S. must think as they view that disturbing countenance of the dystopian-like portrait. I do know that my experience of Newfoundlander hospitality has sensitized me to the mean-spiritedness of the man behind the portrait. I have been reminded that our president does not represent the true spirit of America, the spirit of hospitality, freedom and justice for all human beings: native born, the stranger, the visitor and the immigrant. Perhaps it behooves us to make an extra effort to demonstrate the friendliness of Americans. A smile and a friendly greeting may clear away the cloud of that portrait. Mr. President, lighten up and join the goodwill of your fellow human beings.
John Buttrick writes from his Vermont Folk Rocker in his Concord home, Minds Crossing. He can be reached at johndbuttrick@gmail.com.