Forty years ago my job at the Sioux City Journal involved, among a host of other duties, regular travel to call on major advertisers headquartered in other Midwestern cities. Some of those sales calls necessitated air travel.

The Sioux City Airport was only a 10 to 15 minute-drive from our home which made getting to and from the airport quick and easy.

On most air trips, I rented a car at the destination airport and drove to appointments. Chicago presented a bigger challenge. I usually rented a car to make sales calls in the suburbs, dropped off the rental car at a downtown drop-off point and then used taxis to get to sales appointments in the downtown area.

In some of those cases, chatting with cab drivers was a highlight of the sales trip. A few of those conversations were memorable.

On one particular Chicago trip, all my calls were in the downtown area so instead of renting a car, I took a cab from O’Hare airport directly to my initial downtown destination.

From the cab driver’s ID card on the dash, I detected he was of Middle Eastern origin. His accent confirmed that.

Also on the dash was a photo of an attractive, young Middle Eastern woman and a cute two-ish little girl. This was a roughly half-hour ride so I struck up a conversation by asking who the woman and child were.

The cabbie proudly told me about his wife and daughter. This triggered a full-blown conversation which eventually turned to his feelings about the United States.

“Some people talk bad about America,” he said in heavily-accented but good English. “But not me,” he added. He went on to tell me how, when they learned his wife was pregnant, they were worried how they would pay for her medical bills.

He said they shared their concerns with her doctor who explained that he would accept monthly installments prior to the delivery.

With a broad smile, the cabbie said, “That’s what we did. We paid something every month and that’s how we paid for our baby! The doctor was so kind to us. We love America!”

I assured him that their responsible payment plan had surely made them some of their doctor’s biggest fans, too.

On a cab ride from a downtown hotel to O’Hare Airport, the driver told me he was a recent immigrant from Nigeria. His English was broken but understandable.

He asked where I lived. I told him I was from Iowa.

His face lit up. “Oh, Iowa. Potatoes!”

I kindly corrected him. “Potatoes are from Idaho; Iowa is known for its corn!”

After a few seconds, he said, “Corn … and caucuses!”

I agreed. With a more serious expression, he said, “I don’t understand caucuses. Tell me how caucuses work.”

Now I was on the linguistic fence. I had a basic understanding of Iowa’s Presidential Caucuses and had attended a few but how do you explain them to a new immigrant whose English skills are limited?

The cab driver appeared to listen intently while I fumbled with an elementary level explanation of the caucus system.

When I was finished, the cabbie flashed a broad smile and exclaimed, “Very good. Now I understand caucuses. Thank you.”

I’m not sure how much he really understood but, bless his heart, he listened intently. And I felt like maybe I had played a tiny role in helping this immigrant become an American.

Of course, I have never run into that driver since that conversation but his curiosity and his big, bright smile remain in my memory. There were many other sales trips and cabbie conversations over the years; all are pleasant memories.

I am a second generation American and am grateful for the opportunities America offered my immigrant grandparents and their descendants. I love meeting new people and visiting with folks from other cultures. Cabbie conversations were a highlight of many of my business trips.

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2025 by Huisman Communications.