We sailed from Patras on the Martha Washington of the Austrian American line. I remember distinctly a stop in Palermo, Italy. From then on I was seasick most of the time. I remember nothing more except that we landed on Ellis Island and were to pass through inspection.

I had lost weight and was as skinny as a rail, so I was detained on the island. Three days later I was called for examination. I was worried whether they would let me through or send me back to Greece. When I appeared before the examiner there was a lady interpreter with him who spoke Greek. When she looked at me she saw a skinny, young person, weak and looking as though he would be a burden to the United States. She asked me to show her my hand. When she felt it she asked me how I expected to make a living in the U.S. as young and as weak as I was. I don't know what prompted me to answer her as I did, but my answer was, "My dear lady, there is more than one way of earning a living. Some people earn more by using their ability and their brains than by using their hands, and that's the way I expect to make my living." Fortunately for me, I was allowed to enter the U.S.

By mere coincidence I was to go to the part of the United States where my brother-in law was working. He was the one who demanded more money to marry my sister and was instrumental in having me taken out of school. He was working in a little town northeast of San Francisco, then known as Bay Point, now called Port Chicago.

The other two gentlemen who traveled with me were waiting in New York. Together we traveled on the train to St. Louis where we changed trains to go to Kansas City, Missouri. That was our first stop. My mother's brother, Leonidas Nicolopoulos, was working in Kansas City on the railroad. He was in charge of procuring food and preparing food for the men on the road. We stayed there two days. He told me that this was not a place for me to stay and that my mother was right when she advised me to go to California. He said that my chances were better where my brother-in-law was located.

Three days later we arrived at Benicia, California. The Southern Pacific train was carried across the Carquinez Straits on the ferry to Martinez. From Martinez we took a short train ride to Bay Point, which was only a few miles away. When we got off at this village there was little there then and there is still little there today, which is not much! I met my brother-in-law who worked in a box factory for C.A. Smith Lumber Co. There were about 15 Greek people who worked there. They lived together, did their own cooking and slept 2 or 3 to a room. After a few days I realized that it would be a mistake for me to stay in this town.

I told my brother-in-law that I could not work in that factory even though they were willing to employ me. I wanted to either return home or to be taken to another city where I would have the opportunity to do some other type of work. My brother-in-law conferred with another of my mother's relatives, Uncle George Georgatos who, at the time, was working as a bartender nearby in Pittsburgh, California. He recommended that I go to San Francisco. On the following Sunday he took me to San Francisco where he expected I would stay.

We first went to Third and Folsom Streets, which, at the time, was the center of the Greek community of San Francisco. He introduced me to a man who was operating a restaurant, named the Acropolis Grill, so that I could have somewhere to go and eat and be able to speak the language I knew. Then, I cannot remember how, he took me to a rooming house at Fifth and Tehema Streets. I was left there to sleep with a roommate, a man whom I had never seen before in my life.

My uncle left to return to his work. Not knowing a word of English or any individual of any kind, I was left alone in the city of San Francisco to get started and to earn my living.

Sometime in the evening my so-called roommate arrived and found me in the room. Up to this day I cannot say what he asked me or what I said to him. But I do remember that I told him that I was supposed to be his roommate, that I hoped he had no objection and I started crying. He asked me why I was crying and I told him that I was lonesome, that it was a hard and a tough way to start life in a country where I knew no trade, did not know the language, and didn't know anyone. Then I asked him what type of work he was doing. He told me he was a bus boy in the old Odeon Café which, at that time, was located in the basement at Powell and Market where Gallen Kamp's Shoes is now located. I then asked him if there was a possibility that I could go there with him the next day and ask for work, even though I knew not what a bus boy was or what type of work he was to do. His answer was, "No."

I asked my so-called roommate about some other work and was told to try the American Can Company factory on Seventh and Bryant Streets. I asked him to write down for me a few sentences in English. I wanted as many words as I could possibly learn in a hurry. Then I would be able to answer at least a few questions when I applied for employment. He gave me two words, the first was "Greek," which I already knew, and the second was "job," which he told me meant work. I then told him that I did not believe that it was logical or possible for me to secure work with only two words of English.