filled in her annual salary but left blank the space where the applicant is asked to list savings deposits and personal property. She agreed to the provision that asked if she would be willing to deposit a cash bond, if needed, with the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service to ensure that her husband would not become a liability or âpublic chargeâ to America.
She wrote as the reason for her filling out the affidavit, âApplication for permanent resident status of my husband.â Then she signedâUnder oathâMrs. Amy Gerhartsreiter, with the same flair and loops her husband used in his signature.
âAnd after that day in the courthouse, did you ever see him again?â Amy was asked.
âNo,â she said, adding that twelve years passed before she obtained a divorce so that she could marry a man she actually loved. By then, Chris Gerhart had moved far from Milwaukee, and Amy had no intention of advising him of a divorce that would probably mean nothing to him. All she had to do, she testified, was place a public advertisement in the local newspaper announcing her divorce from Christian Karl Gerhartsreiter and it would be final.
âFor the last several weeks of class, he just stopped showing up,â said Todd Lassa.
Nobody in Milwaukee ever saw Gerhart again. He had gotten all he needed from Milwaukee, and all he had had to do was say âI doâ to Amy Jersild and a circuit judge. With that, the welcoming arms of America opened wide to him.
The documents told the story succinctly:
February 11, 1981: State of Wisconsin . . . Certificate of Marriage, Groom, Christian Karl Gerhartsreiter . . . Bride, Amy Janine Jersild. Marriage ceremony held on February 20, 1981. Duly signed and authorized.
April 7, 1981: United States Department of Justice Immigration and Naturalization Service . . . Application for Status as Permanent Resident. Duly signed and authorized.
Once he had a legal wife, Chris Gerhart climbed into his Plymouth Arrow and hit the road to a better future, barreling toward all he could and would become. There was only one destination for a dreamer of his stature: Los Angeles, where dreams are an industry.
Shortly after he informed the Immigration and Naturalization Service of his new address in California (that of Elmer and Jean Kelln), the most important document of his new life was dutifully signed and filed: âJune 16, 1981: Memorandum of Creation of Record of Lawful Permanent Residence, Approved, U.S. Immigration, Chicago, Illinois.â The document was signed Christian Karl Gerhartsreiter.
It was the last time he would use that clunky name. Even his new name, Chris Gerhart, was too dull and German for where he was headed. For the new life he was about to launch, he would adopt something regal and wondrous, a name hinting of Old World money, power, and prestige.
He tried on various names for size on his drive west, including Dr. Christopher Rider, which he employed on a brief stopover in Las Vegas. He had the good fortune to meet a cardiologist in that city, which was such a wonderful coincidence, he told the doctor, for he was a cardiologist too. He said he was moving to Las Vegas and was hoping to find an established physician whose practice he might join.
âDo you think we might be a good fit?â the young man asked.
The Las Vegas doctor was charmed by him, so he offered to drive him around the finer residential neighborhoods of the city to help the newcomer find a suitable house. Along the way, Dr. Rider cajoled and persuaded his new cardiologist friend to lend him $1,500. The doctor gladly gave him the money, but before Dr. Rider could repay the loan he left town without a word.
The young man was still searching for the new name when he arrived in Loma Linda, California, at the home of Elmer and Jean Kelln, the couple he had met while hitchhiking in Germany, whose names he had used without their knowledge as his
She wrote as the reason for her filling out the affidavit, âApplication for permanent resident status of my husband.â Then she signedâUnder oathâMrs. Amy Gerhartsreiter, with the same flair and loops her husband used in his signature.
âAnd after that day in the courthouse, did you ever see him again?â Amy was asked.
âNo,â she said, adding that twelve years passed before she obtained a divorce so that she could marry a man she actually loved. By then, Chris Gerhart had moved far from Milwaukee, and Amy had no intention of advising him of a divorce that would probably mean nothing to him. All she had to do, she testified, was place a public advertisement in the local newspaper announcing her divorce from Christian Karl Gerhartsreiter and it would be final.
âFor the last several weeks of class, he just stopped showing up,â said Todd Lassa.
Nobody in Milwaukee ever saw Gerhart again. He had gotten all he needed from Milwaukee, and all he had had to do was say âI doâ to Amy Jersild and a circuit judge. With that, the welcoming arms of America opened wide to him.
The documents told the story succinctly:
February 11, 1981: State of Wisconsin . . . Certificate of Marriage, Groom, Christian Karl Gerhartsreiter . . . Bride, Amy Janine Jersild. Marriage ceremony held on February 20, 1981. Duly signed and authorized.
April 7, 1981: United States Department of Justice Immigration and Naturalization Service . . . Application for Status as Permanent Resident. Duly signed and authorized.
Once he had a legal wife, Chris Gerhart climbed into his Plymouth Arrow and hit the road to a better future, barreling toward all he could and would become. There was only one destination for a dreamer of his stature: Los Angeles, where dreams are an industry.
Shortly after he informed the Immigration and Naturalization Service of his new address in California (that of Elmer and Jean Kelln), the most important document of his new life was dutifully signed and filed: âJune 16, 1981: Memorandum of Creation of Record of Lawful Permanent Residence, Approved, U.S. Immigration, Chicago, Illinois.â The document was signed Christian Karl Gerhartsreiter.
It was the last time he would use that clunky name. Even his new name, Chris Gerhart, was too dull and German for where he was headed. For the new life he was about to launch, he would adopt something regal and wondrous, a name hinting of Old World money, power, and prestige.
He tried on various names for size on his drive west, including Dr. Christopher Rider, which he employed on a brief stopover in Las Vegas. He had the good fortune to meet a cardiologist in that city, which was such a wonderful coincidence, he told the doctor, for he was a cardiologist too. He said he was moving to Las Vegas and was hoping to find an established physician whose practice he might join.
âDo you think we might be a good fit?â the young man asked.
The Las Vegas doctor was charmed by him, so he offered to drive him around the finer residential neighborhoods of the city to help the newcomer find a suitable house. Along the way, Dr. Rider cajoled and persuaded his new cardiologist friend to lend him $1,500. The doctor gladly gave him the money, but before Dr. Rider could repay the loan he left town without a word.
The young man was still searching for the new name when he arrived in Loma Linda, California, at the home of Elmer and Jean Kelln, the couple he had met while hitchhiking in Germany, whose names he had used without their knowledge as his
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