An Unforgettable Journey

[Sebastiao Albano]

I went to Springfield, Illinois, on a Saturday, September 1, 1979, to fulfill one of my greatest dreams since I was a youngster: to see Lincoln’s house and other things related to him in the area.
I got off the Greyhound bus I took from Chicago and, suitcase in hand, began to walk through the city.
On a corner there were two old guys seated on a wooden bench in the shadow of a tree. I asked about a hotel and one of them said, “There, at the end of the street you can see a hotel. That big building. It’s really nice.” The other reacted immediately: “No, it’s too expensive! Here behind this street there’s a little hotel, very nice and, most of all, cheap.” It was exactly what I wanted. I thanked the gentlemen and went to find the Governor Hotel.
It was a really “American” hotel. Iron staircases and brickwalls throughout. It seemed like something from the movies that I went to in the Cachoeira movie house when I was little. After a long and well-deserved soak in the bath I went out, into afresh and lovely evening, to find Lincoln’s house. According to the information given to me by the lady who was the hotel concierge, I went by the old Capitol and as far as the corner of Eighth and Jackson. And there, suddenly, in front of me, was what I wanted to see for a long, long time: a little two story wooden house where Lincoln had lived a good part of his life, before being elected President.
I was inside for a long time observing the details and, when I left, went to visit the other places related to the great man. The station from where he took the train to Washington, the law office, the State Capitol where he worked and everything else that I could see that day. That night, I saw a fantastic sound and light show in front of the Capitol. Unforgettable. Lee J.Cobb was the narrator, Whit Bissell was the voice of Stephen Douglas and Paul Lambert the voice of Lincoln. That “Sound and Light” still remains in my memory until today.
The following day, as I couldn’t leave it be, I returned to Lincoln’s house. After much more time inside there, observing all the details, I left and sat on a wooden bench, almost near the, gate, in the shadow of a tree. I was there for some time observing the people that came to visit that house. I saw people from all over the world: from Japan, from India and other countries. It was there, then, that I perceived that Lincoln was a world figure, not only an American one.That very moment a black man, about 40 years old, sat down by my side and asked me the time. When I replied, he immediately knew by my accent that I was not American and asked where I was from. I said that I was from Brazil and, as I never wasted an opportunity to converse with Americans to practice my insufferable English, told him the story, that I was there fulfilling a childhood dream: to visit Lincoln’s house. “You mean that you came from Brazil over here only to visit Lincoln’s house? ” he asked. “Not just that. Other things too,” I said.
When I looked at him again, he was staring in front of him, as if he were looking at no place, with eyes full of tears, nodding his head affirmatively and saying, as if to himself, “Yeah, Old Lincoln was really a good guy”. That man moved me too.
Immediately he wanted to know everything that I had seen during those two days. “Did you already see the train station? The law office? The Capitol? Did you see…” I answered yes to all. Then he asked, “did you already go to the cemetery to see Lincoln’s tomb?” There I responded negatively because of the fact that I didn’t have a ride there. I said that perhaps I’d do that on the next visit, if one day I were to return to that city.
It seems that that was the answer that he wanted. Quickly he said, “Come with me”. His car was parked nearby and he took me to the cemetery, some miles away from the city. When we arrived he parked in the shadow of a tree and said to me, “You can see everything that you want. I’ll wait here in the car. I used to come here when I was little. Feel free.”
After seeing and photographing everything, I returned to the place where the man was still waiting for me. Then he took me back to the city center and left me at the door of the Governor Hotel. When I got out of the car I had my hand in my pocket, got out my wallet and asked, “How much do I owe you for your efforts?” His answer surprised me: “Absolutely nothing. You were my guest”. I didn’t believe this and insisted, but he determinedly refused to receive a thing. Then I thanked him much and entered the hotel.
The following day, on a Greyhound on its way to Chicago, remembering everything that I had seen on those two unforgettable days, was that I awoke to find I had done something stupid. In all the anxious rush to see so many things, I never in the least got that good man’s name and address, so that later I could send him a thank-you for his hospitality. However, until now, almost 30 years later, when I remember him, I ask God to give him much health and peace and that he be rewarded for his goodwill.

Sebastiao Albano
Lavrinhas, SP
Brasil