Runner Up: Marketa Oliver
Des Moines, Iowa
Congratulations, Marketa!
Marketa’s Bio:
Marketa George Oliver has a background in writing, but it is in writing reports, budgets and capital plans in her role as a City Administrator. Creative writing, though, has always been an interest. Marketa is fortunate to have many interesting adventures and travels on which she can draw. She loves travel and has studied overseas in both Austria and Australia. She enjoys movies, backgammon, cards, The Cure and the Iowa State Fair. What brings her the greatest joy, however, is spending time with the colorful, passionate characters in her life.
Scrounging for Schillings
By Marketa Oliver
Many years ago, I was a student in Vienna. I was on a scholarship to study abroad and was the proverbial starving college student.
Vienna is an incredibly beautiful, almost magical city….in the sunlight. The days in December and January were long, dark and gloomy. It was one of the coldest winters on record and the dorm caretaker, the “Frau Doktor” had taken an extended holiday, turning the central heating to a frosty 50 degrees before leaving.
The dorm was nearly empty. The students who were at there were mostly Americans on the same program as me and some Turkish and Iraqi girls. We roamed around the 17th century structure layered in any warm clothing we could find.
On Christmas Eve, a group of us decided to go to an early dinner. Most of us had been camping out in the dorm for a few days unwinding from classes and hiding out from the bitter cold, so I thought it would be good to venture out. Before I met up with the other girls, I stopped by the “Plasma Haus”, which means exactly what it appears to mean, “Plasma House.” It was a place where starving college students could exchange plasma for Schillings. I should have realized, having lived in Vienna for several months already, that the business would not be open on Christmas Eve. I panicked. I had only a precious few Schillings to last me for the next three days. In 1986, 20 Schillings barely bought more than a yogurt. I would be scrounging to find a few Schillings to eat during the holidays.
My mind raced as I walked back to the dorm. I was supposed to meet my friends in an hour and would either have to make an excuse not to join them or make lame conversation at the restaurant about not being hungry and only wanting tea. I walked along the Roetenloewegasse – the Red Lion Street – almost tearful.
I loved being in Vienna and absorbing the beauty and learning the language, but the financial constraints of being from a humble background and not being able to have a job while in Austria, were wearing on me. My scholarship covered my room and my University tuition, but nothing else. I had been living on noodles and Cream of Wheat for months. As the holiday approached, I had not received any packages from home, which was discouraging and the whole holiday season, which normally was a favorite time of year, was not shaping up to be a memorable one.
I turned the corner and glanced up at the Servitenkirche. The Servitenkirche was a somewhat plain looking (by Viennese standards),yet lovely little church on the corner near my dorm. I walked by it nearly every day and heard its bells every 15 minutes. Sometimes the bells annoyed me and sometimes I found them soothing. They began to ring as I passed. Given that it was four o’clock in the afternoon (which is 1600 in Europe), I knew they would ring 16 times to let the neighbors know the time. For some reason, I was drawn towards the church and sat on a bench in the courtyard in front of it while the bells rang. Today I found the bells soothing. They seemed to lighten my mood and open my heart to some holiday joy. Guilt consumed me for feeling down and I reminded myself how fortunate I was to have this opportunity.
The bells stopped and I reached down to pick up my backpack. I noticed there was a paper stuck to the bottom of my heel. I went to remove it and it blew off and into the courtyard. I started to walk towards the street and then heard a little voice nagging me to pick up the litter, because it was a church courtyard and people would be assembling there later for Christmas Eve mass. I turned around and walked over to the paper, chasing it a few feet as it shifted in the wind. I finally put my foot down on it to trap it and as I leaned over, I noticed the edge of it was blue. When I picked it up I could see the blue edge turned into the green that flowed into the yellow of a thousand Schilling note!
I couldn’t believe it! I looked around the courtyard to see if anyone was there who may have dropped the bill. While I was hurting for money, I was also not going to take from someone else and a thousand Schillings was equivalent to approximately $75.00. I searched the courtyard, but, there was no one there. In fact, the entire area seemed oddly desolate in that moment. And quiet. Like the quiet of a mountain top after a large snow fall. I looked at the bill again, hoping that I had not mistaken some kind of play money for the real note. I had not. It was a real bill. It did have Karl Landsteiner on it. I did not know who he was at the time, but I loved seeing him. I was speechless and choked up. I would feast! There would be no noodles tonight! Cream of Wheat would not be my Christmas dinner!
I remember the feeling of joy and reprieve of finding that bill. To this day when I think of that, I almost cry in relief. Times have changed and my experience in Vienna has enriched my life every day since. I made remarkable friends there and feel I gained a greater perspective on life in general. I do not know where the bill came from, but am convinced that it was a gift from Heaven. It may sound crass to think that God sends money, but I think of it as God sending something to someone in need. I truly needed some good nourishment and that was His way of sending it to me.
I learned a lot that year in Vienna. I learned German, I learned about Viennese culture and I learned to appreciate that miracles do not always come in epic proportions. Sometimes, they just stick to your shoe.
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