Roy Rogers Comes to Roosevelt Elementary
Swen Nater

In the last posting I explained how my sister (12) and I (9) were flown to the United States from The Netherlands, compliments of the TV show, “It Could Be You,” nicknamed, “The Show of Surprises.” My mother, little brother, and stepfather had already been in America for four years, hoping to raise money to bring my sister and I over, but money was tight. Friends of theirs convinced the NBC show to bring us over, they agreed, and we were reunited on national television when the host opened the doors of a miniature windmill on the stage, and we came out to meet our mom and stepfather. My little brother, Ibo, was being babysat at home in Long Beach, just forty-five minutes south.

The Roy Rogers and Dale Evans Show, in Holland
During those four years away from my family, my sister and I lived with a friend of my mother, then in a foster home, and finally in a half-way house for children. The Dutch kept a close eye on the Americans, especially what was happening in Hollywood. The Roy Rogers and Dale Evans Show was very popular in the United States therefore, the Dutch TV stations wanted it also. If I am not mistaken, in Holland, it was a weekly show that aired every Wednesday evening. When living in the foster home, only one family on the block had a black and white TV. Every Wednesday evening, they were kind enough to invite every boy and girl in the neighborhood to come and watch, and I didn’t miss one episode.

To me, Roy Rogers was not an actor; he was a cowboy. The show was so real to me, I never thought of it as a show, with Roy and his wife, Dale Evans, performing rehearsed lines in front of motion picture cameras.  Roy Rogers was so cool. He was slow with the temper and fast with the gun. He was always one step ahead of the bad guys. I liked that. In short, Roy Rogers was everything I wanted to be. I dreamed of being a cowboy, just like Roy Rogers. 

So, when I heard my sister and I were going to America, there was only one thing on my mind—being a cowboy. Even at age nine, people were asking me, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and I would say, “A cowboy.” I remember one lady responding, “Oh, well. Yes, Alright. That’s a good job, I suppose.” She didn’t understand; there was nothing more exciting and important than being a cowboy—nothing.  

Preparing for School
So, with one week of summer vacation left, what did I do? My little brother was kind enough to lend me his holster and guns (cap guns) and, for hours, I practiced in the alley behind our rented house, coming out from behind trashcans, killing the bad guys. He joined in most of the time so it was good he had two guns. I would mimic what he said. “Pow! You varmint! You thought you’d get away with it.” (I didn’t understand what I was saying; of English, I knew only the numbers from one to ten, “yes and no,” and my address in case I was lost.) Nevertheless, in that one week before school, I was practicing being like my hero, Roy Rogers. 

First Day of School
What really surprised my brother was, when we walked out of our front door, heading to Roosevelt Elementary for the first day of school, I was wearing the holster and guns. He warned me to leave them home but I didn’t listen. My mom just let it go because she didn’t want to quench this fresh and excited spirit I had. So, off my brother and I went. It was about a 15 minute walk to school.

Roosevelt Elementary School was 75% African-American at the time. As I approached the campus and saw the kids playing four square and tetherball, some of them saw me. Just the fact a new white kid walked onto the school playground was enough for them to look over and notice. The fact I had a holster and two guns, was enough to get them laughing and to come over and tease me. In no time, I was surrounded by about ten kids who were laughing at me and grabbing at my guns and holster. I couldn’t move. My brother tried to get me out of there but couldn’t. I was just about to unleash a right cross when a tall man moved through the crowd, told the kids something, took my hand, and led me into the building to his office. It was the vice principal. He and I were going to get very close in the next few weeks. 

Going Home After School
My brother warned me not to wear those guns but I didn’t listen. But I hadn’t learned my lesson yet. On the way home, I insisted my brother was going the wrong way. What was I thinking? He knew the way to school and back. He was about to make a right turn down one street when I stopped and refused to go any farther. He tried to convince me he was right but I didn’t listen so he just went home.

I tried to find my way home but got lost, of course. I ended up at Mike Salta Pontiac, a huge car dealership on a Long Beach Boulevard. I was crying profusely because I was so scared. (It's funny now but I was really frightened then. I was in a foreign country and was lost.) A car salesman noticed me and come over. He asked me questions that I, of course, couldn’t understand. Then I remembered what my mother had told me in Dutch, “If you get lost, tell someone your address, 131 East 15th Street.” But when I repeated it to the salesman, I screwed it up. I said, “131 east five teen straight.” He figured it out and took me home. As we approached my house he pointed and asked a question. I said, "yes," one of the English words I knew. He parked and took me to the front door. My mother opened the door and it was evident she had been crying. My brother was behind her and it looked like he was in trouble, but relieved I was found before my stepfather came home. That car salesman was nice.  If I were older, I would have bought a car from the guy. 

Wow! That was an exciting first day of fourth grade. I told myself, ‘This is a little too exciting.’