Ruminations of an American gastarbeiter: life at Hotel Post, part 2 of 3

“stein shlepen” and nasty comments

Dear reader, a bit of perspective… I was a college student 50 years ago in 1972 when I penned these words. I have left the text largely intact to preserve the integrity of the piece. Please be forgiving.

— LDW

Next summer, think about having your labor exploited in Europe rather than Albuquerque [where I lived at the time]. It is much easier to find a job in Germany, and the pay is usually better. Here, then, is the continuing saga of two New Mexicans who did that earlier this year.

Approximately four months ago [1972] my friend, Ann, and I crossed the Austrian border into Mittenwald, Bavaria’s southernmost town. At the edge of the Austrian Alps, Mittenwald is surrounded by towering mountains, ski lifts, and scenic foot paths. Mittenwald owes its existence almost exclusively to German tourism and imported labor.

There are many large hotels and guest houses in Mittenwald where every tourist whim may be satisfied. Gastarbeiters are always found at work in the least desirable jobs. Floors are blocked, dusted, swept, wet-washed, dry-mopped, and vacuumed. Beds are moved, stripped, made,primped, smoothed, straightened, and dusted.

black mustaches and shaven heads

Outside, the streets and sewers receive almost the same meticulous care. At the many construction sites throughout the town, men shovel sand, haul bricks, mix cement, carry plaster, and drag beams. The abundance of enormous black mustaches and shaven heads indicate that the Turks are hard at work building the German tourist industry.gdreams of big tippers

We fell in love with beautiful Mittenwald. Immediately we found work at Post Hotel. Ann would be a Zimmermadchen, or chamber maid. I was to be “Assistant Portier.’ Only as I began to understand German in the following weeks did I realize that “‘Assistant Portier’ in German meant something like
“janitor-laborer”’ in English. My job had nothing to do with carrying bags and earning tips.

We lived, ate, and worked at Hotel Post. Ann cleaned rooms, halls, and restaurants sixty hours a week. I helped the workmen construct the new wing “immer stein shlepen.” Always carrying blocks, rocks, and bricks. By the bucket, on the back, or over the shoulder, fifty-four hours per week. We earned the typical gastarbeiter wage for this type of work in Bavaria — DM 400. This comes to about US $130 per month after deductions for taxes, room, and board.

they had not seen their children in a year

Siky was the Turkish dishwasher operator. His wife (whose name only Siky could pronounce) also labored over the steaming giant which spewed forth an endless stream of clean dishes and shiny glasses. Siky and his wife had three children in Ankara, Turkey whom they had not seen for nearly a year.

As I learned German, the mysterious, grumbling Siky began to communicate. He hated his work. He knew he was the object of ridicule and prejudice from all our German co-workers and superiors. He knew his wages and working conditions were inferior.

But he was helpless. The year-long contract he signed in Turkey nearly a year ago helped bring him to the land of his aspirations. Only too late did he realize that he was working for approximately one-half to one-third the average
Gastarbeiter wages.

Herr Rademacher, the owner and manager of Hotel Post, rarely spoke to us. Once, however, he told me that the Turks caused a lot of trouble because, “…in Turkey they don’t have enough to eat, but in Germany they want to
earn more than the Germans.”

the German cooks did not like the Turks

Ann and I threw a party in our room one weekend. We had Italian wine, German Snapps, and lots of cheese and Wurst. The German cooks told us not to invite the Turks because, “… if we are friendly with them, they won’t work.”

The party was a great success. Twelve or fifteen Germans, French, Turks, and Americans ate and drank, conversed and enjoyed themselves. A few days later Herr Rademacher again felt obliged to talk to me: He strongly suggested that I have no more parties. Of course I wanted to know why. The reason was that I had, “…invited everyone, even the Turks,”

After a month Siky and his wife left Hotel Post, their year’s contract having expired. Their replacements, a demure couple from a village in northern Turkey, tried desperately to please their German superiors.

As Moslems, the new couple could eat no pork products. They never questioned the integrity of the German cooks who promised to respect the precepts of their religion. In reality, however, the cooks were constantly amused by the willingness of the Turks to accept pork products which had
been disguised in thick sauces and stews.

greener pastures — people moved on

After two months at Hotel Post, Ann decided to return to America to begin her education as a law student. By that time I, like the other Gastarbeiters at Hotel
Post, had become aware of greener pastures. Unlike many Gastarbeiters at Hotel Post, however, I was not bound by contract to remain an additional ten months.

Within a few days I had decided to find work in Hannover, a town in northern Germany about twice the size of Albuquerque. In Hannover, I immediately
encountered two obstacles common to a newly arrived gastarbeiter: the chronic housing shortage, and the mountainous, unceasing reams of German
paperwork.

I could not obtain a residency permit until I had secured a place to live. I could not obtain a work permit until I had first obtained a residency permit. I could not find employment until I had first obtained a work permit. Finally, no one would consider renting me a room until I had proof that I was employed. After several days of this I almost went back to the Greek Islands.

600 single guys and 12 showers

Ultimately I found a room in Hannover’s Handwerkers Wohnheim, a barracks built and maintained by the city. It was specially designed to house gastarbeiters and German outcasts, particularly drunks. Roughly six-hundred single men lived in this pair of multi-storied brick buildings. The small rooms
held between one and four men each. Sinks, toilets, urinals, and showers were centralized on each floor in one room. There were two showers for approximately every one hundred men.

My new job was considerably nicer than the old. I worked in a food warehouse. My take home pay for a forty-hour week was DM120, almost US $280 per month. With the yearly tax rebate this would amount to almost
US $370 per month, an average gastarbeiter wage.

The Wohnheim was an island of soul — outcasts sticking together. On the other hand I worked three weeks in the warehouse before any of my German co-workers said as much as “Guten Morgen” to me. Generally, I was ignored. Sometimes, however, they made sure I heard their smug remarks about the American who was working for them.

The life of the gastarbeiter in Germany is not pleasant. The same forces, however, that adversely affect the gastarbeiter are at work in German society as a whole. In the next and final installment of this series I will discuss the future of the gastarbeiter in German society.

Source: University of New Mexico. “New Mexico Daily Lobo, Volume 076, No 27, 10/3/1972.” 76, 27 (1972). https://digitalrepository.unm.edu/daily_lobo_1972/107 [originally published under the title “Memoirs of an American gastarbeiter.”]