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  I bought a little Citröen with the money hidden in my shoe.   

Shortly thereafter, I called on professorErnst Fuchs. He was happy to see me and wanted to make amends for professor Hausner's lack of "savoir vivre". He offered to certify to the authorities that I worked for him as an assistant. This would avoid any further problems with the ever-present immigration police. His secretary tried to squelch this tentative saying that if the professor paid me any more than the pittance of 2,000 shillings a month, the professor would be liable for social charges and higher taxes. He brushed the comments aside. 

   I met the professor's son Daniel Fuchs who also was a painter (his workshop was located 7, Porcellan gasse). I went to his studio and found him most agreeable and modest, quite a contrast with the rest of the "fantastic realists". He spoke of his problems with finding a personal identity and earning the respect of other painters while being the son of a famous painter. It's as if you were the son of a policeman and that you had your father's gun on your belt... Although both father and son desired my presence, I must say that I had had my fill of Austria. I loaded my car with what remained of my belongings and my paintings and, accompanied my frend Gunther, drove as far as the Hungarian frontier. There customs officials demanded a DM 1,500 charge in order to cross the country in an automobile. I didn't have the money,Gunther paid wit his credit car.. I left my paintings with him as collateral and went on my way in my little Citröen. (16, Pamken gasse 41/29)