Home Family History Family Tree Photo Album Reminiscing Reunion Info Family News Address Book From Our Kitchen		Nine to Five in America's Paradise by Jean Loesch Krauklin The way I figure it, the first 20 years of your life are spent where your parents want to live; the next 20 are spent where you think your children should be raised; but the next 20 years should be spent exactly where you want to be...and for me, that is St. Croix, in the balmy U.S. Virgin Islands. Having spent vacations here because the weather was so dependably sunny and the atmosphere so charming, I had decided that later on when I was free of parental responsibility I would live here if I could possibly find a way to earn a living. By the time I was ready to move from the frozen Northeast, I was no longer married but was armed with new skills from a course at a Boston secretarial school which I had attended back in the'40s. After a 25-year hiatus I was ready to re-enter the business world. But the business world in St. Croix is different. Even after you have somewhat recovered from the pleasant shock of realizing that you're a voting resident of this beautiful resort island, there are two big factors to work around: One is the tourist industry itself, with its camera-toting planeloads and shiploads of merrymakers; the other is the huge bureaucracy of the Virgin Islands Government, which employs thousands upon thousands of easy-going Cruzans, with 28 holidays a year, and the conviction that It Can Always Wait. Follow me around for a day as I spin through my varied duties in the real estate business, where I found a job not long after my arrival. Let's start off as we park the VW on the wharf after the 5-minute drive from my little house a couple of hills away from Christiansted town. We pass a laundromat. Glancing in, we see much activity, with every machine in use at 8:15 a.m. The women are not reading magazines while the machines work, however; they are energetically pushing broomstick handles up and down inside the machines, with the cover up, helping the clothes to get clean. Next we see a paper-boy on the street, but he isn't carrying a canvas bag. His stack of papers is carried on his head, and with one hand he steadies the load as he make's change with the other. Coming out of the French bakery we see Dominique, a local hairdresser, carrying three long loaves of French bread under his arm, as he formerly did in France. It seems that almost everybody here came from somewhere else, and that is why it's so fascinating to live here among all the different cultures. We unlock the door of the office. It is in a historical two-story building about two blocks from the sea, with an arcaded sidewalk in front for protection from the sun or the occasional shower. As we open the many shutters on the windows, snatches of conversation drift in as tourists move up and down King Street (or "Kongensgade," as the Danish sign reads.) "Didja get your liquor yet?" "There is no water in my hotel from three o'clock yesterday!" "Do you think a lawyer could earn a living here?" "When's the next boat over to that little island in the harbor?" Several women stroll by, wafting an unmistakable combination of fragrance I call Eau de Tourist: French perfume, insect repellent, and suntan lotion. Four taxi drivers just outside the office are arguing. It is Monday, and they are rehashing yesterday's church sermon, each heatedly giving the others his impression of his minister's hidden meanings. My friend Ernie goes by, and we wave hello and thank him for his excellent program of classical music on his radio show Sunday afternoon. We see Victor Borge coming out of the drug store on his way to his hillside home in town. When you have been here a while you get to know personally many of the prominent people in the islands--the senators, the governor, the newspaper reporters, even a former movie star--just like the small town it is, but it's a lot more cosmopolitan than most. Before we settle down to the in-basket, we take a last look at the calm turquoise water inside the reef in the harbor. It is dotted with boats of many kinds, trimarans, sloops, houseboats, fishing boats, even a Chinese junk. All face east every day, towards the trade winds that blow almost all year. Depending on the clearness of the day, we may see five or six other islands on the horizon 40 miles away: St. Thomas, St. John, Tortola, and the other British Virgin Islands, in light blue silhouette. The office is pleasant and modern inside, with eight people at work. There is air conditioning and wall-to-wall carpet, but when the power goes off, as happens occasionally, a bright yellow bird may fly in and disrupt things; or the rest room may run out of water, and we may have to ask another office nearby to share for a while until we get the cistern filled. While the coffee perks, we'll run out to the courtyard in back and pick a hibiscus or a frangipani flower for the vase on the desk. Bougainvillea vines probably a hundred years old climb the side of the building to the roof level, covering it with festoons of brilliant pink blossoms. The papaya tree looks as if it might yield a fruit for lunch time. (Continued on page 2)
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