My friend Ruth and I had lots to catch up on since she’d been away all winter, so I suggested having breakfast at the Blue Moon Family Restaurant (good food, large portions, and reasonable prices). We were paying the bill when I told her, “My cousin invited me to be a judge at an international arts festival in Albania and wants to introduce me to a film producer.”

“Albania, where’s that?” the cashier at the register asked. I told her it was a small country across from Italy.

“Oh,” she said, “the manager who works here is from Macedonia, and he speaks Albanian.”

The last time I met anyone in Eau Claire who spoke Albanian was in the mid 90s when the Foreign Languages Department at UW-Eau Claire asked if I’d translate for a family that arrived in town on a one-way ticket and no knowledge of English.

I was curious. I approached the middle aged man and asked in Albanian, “Si jeni?” (How are you?).  We had a brief conversation in Shqip (Albanian) and he invited me to a booth so we could continue. While I talked to Ismet (whose name was changed to “Easy” because Americans thought it was easier) I was taking notes in my head. What a marvelous story, a wonderful saga of another immigrant just like my relatives, who came to this country with nothing more than hope and the American Dream.

When my family moved here, it was much earlier in American history. My dad used to tell me, “There were seven brothers and we’d take turns sleeping on the floor in one room.” And while my family faced enormous challenges, I knew that, today, life was more difficult and tougher.

One of the first questions I always ask when I meet someone from out of town (let alone another country) is “What brought you to Eau Claire?”

“I had friends in Chicago,” Easy said. “They knew what kind of work I did, and they knew Albanians in Eau Claire who needed help in their restaurants. So I came.”

“Like networking,” I replied and he agreed.

Easy’s life, which was far from that, began in Macedonia 58 years ago. His mother, who was approaching 80, worked on the family farm. He came to America just like my dad – to have a better life. Easy had jobs such as a waiter, butcher, airport driver, restaurant employee, and factory worker. Sometimes he worked two full-time jobs. He had a chance to stay in Macedonia where he could have a secure career in the military, but he chose not to do that.

I wanted to know (given all his experiences) how he continued to land on his feet, especially since he didn’t know English for many years. This caught my attention, since I taught English to students of other languages.

As I listened, I could see a pattern emerging. Starting out in Chicago offered distinct advantages. Easy referred to the time someone entered his life and told him, “You can do more. You can do better.” Back in his twenties, while he poured water in a glass (as a waiter) for a regular customer, the man told him, “You can do better by being a butcher.”

“I didn’t even know what a butcher meant, but finally agreed,” he said.

How dangerous this work is – even if you know the language. Easy described how he used to watch the meat cutters quickly chopping the meat with their large knives.

“Chop. Chop. Chop.”

“Could you read? I asked.

“No, and there were signs with numbers up. I didn’t know what 16 was.”

Still each day his boss said, “Give it another day, one more day.” Roughly three years later Easy was the manager. Eventually, his job ended when the supermarket moved further from town, so he found another job, this time in a large, expensive restaurant and again he rose to manager.

As we sat in the restaurant with an occasional interruption from customers who obviously wanted to visit before saying goodbye, I grew aware of all the risks Easy took. I wondered how much a plane ticket would cost to attend the International Monologue Arts Festival in Albania?