CHIAVARI,
Italy - "God Bless America", my grandmother used to say. My
grandfather used to say something else about America, and it wasn’t good. She
was thrilled to be there and he, well that's another story. This story is about my grandparents who
were two of the two million Italians who immigrated to the United States
at the beginning of the 1900’s.
My
grandmother was fiercely proud of her heritage. She loved Italy; she loved
everything about it: the food, the traditions, the closeness of her family. She
just didn't want to live there, and mostly she did not want to raise her
children there. She was not alone.
Between
1870 and 1920, close to 5 million Italians boarded steamships for America. Only
Germany matched that exodus - one of the largest immigrations in modern
history. Whole towns in Southern Italy, and some of the poorest areas of the
Veneto and Tuscany, were emptied as people jumped at the opportunity for a
better life. And yes, maybe even riches. In all fairness my grandmother and her
family were not starving, it was just that she saw America's open immigration
policy as a once in a lifetime opportunity not only for her children, but for
herself and my grandfather as well.
My grandfather was a furniture maker, but in the impoverished province of Lazio, there
was little money for furniture. To supplement the family income he had turned
to making wine barrels and was managing to make ends meet, but barely.
And then one
day a stranger came to town with an offer my grandmother couldn’t refuse. The
stranger was an agent. His job was to travel throughout Italy spreading the
golden image of America, rich and generous, democratic and open, a country with
endless possibilities for success. And best of all the company the agent worked
for would take care of the paperwork. It was an irresistible combination:
yes, the agents were salesmen for the steam ship companies but the product
they were selling was good.
So
my grandmother made a plan. My Grandfather, and her brother, Joe Bronzetti,
would go to America first. They would get jobs – which according to the agent
there were plenty of - earn money, buy a house and then send second class
steamer tickets for her, my father and my Aunt Louise, who was just a baby. My grandmother really wanted to go to America but not in steerage. I don’t know
how much resistance there was to her idea, all I know is that on Feb
18. 1913 my grandfather, and his brother-in-law Joe were walking
around in that land called America.
As
soon as they stepped off the boat in New York the two men were offered work.
The Pennsylvania Railroad was being built and the railroad company needed men
to lay railroad tracks. So my grandfather and Uncle Joe signed on.
The company offered to provide food and inexpensive shelter along the way, the
cost of which would be deducted from their pay. When the project was completed
they would get the money they had earned, less their expenses.
You
probably already know the end of the story. When the project was completed, there
was no money. The paymaster had skipped town and had taken the payroll with
him. They were destitute. My grandfather and Uncle Joe had heard from
other Italians they had met while working on the railroad that some families
from the province of Lazio had settled in upstate New York, in a town
called Siracusa. Their only hope was to try to get to Syracuse and meet up
with others from their hometown.
Stranded
in a foreign country, and unable to speak English, the two men left
Reading, Pennsylvania and began walking north. To survive the 233 mile
journey they were forced to beg for food and shelter along the
way. Anti-Italian newspaper articles published at the time claimed that Italian
immigrants, especially those from Southern Italy, seemed to beg for the pure
pleasure of begging. Obviously they never met my grandfather and Joe.
When the
two men got to Syracuse they found work, got settled and bought a house. A
year later, on April 14, 1915, my grandmother, my father and my Aunt Louise
boarded a ship bound for America. Uncle Joe went on to own a string of bars,
and I doubt there is an old timer from the north side of Syracuse who
doesn’t recall with nostalgia hanging out in Joe’s Bar and Grill on Lodi
Street, including yours truly.
In
few other countries in the world have the Italians had as much success as those
who went to America. The children, grandchildren and great grandchildren
of the factory workers, masons, laborers, and waiters who landed on Ellis
Island in the early 1900’s have gone on to become senators and governors,
lawyers, doctors, engineers and managers, and yes even journalists. With their
sweat and tears they built America. They are the embodiment of the American
dream.
It was not easy being Italian in
those days. Italians were looked down on and discriminated against. It may have
started when they first arrived in America and were willing to take any
type of work offered and work under the most horrible conditions. And so
they were seen, not just as gangsters, but as unintelligent and only useful as
menial laborers. What their critics didn’t understand was that the Italians
didn’t care what kind of work they were doing, or that they were starting out
on the ground floor. It was just a stepping stone. They were willing to sacrifice
and suffer for the generations to come, to make life easier for me and for many
of you reading this post today. And so they did what they had to do and the
hell with what people thought about it.
What brought on
this wave of nostalgia are the Columbus Day celebrations that will take place
across America today and tomorrow as thousands of us, the descendants of those
who sacrificed and suffered to get to America, celebrate Columbus' discovery.
They are important days for Italian-Americans because with these celebrations
we show our pride in being Italian, and we have a lot to be proud of.
There
are now between 25-50 million Italians in America, three million just in
the metropolitan New York area, 5 million in the Tri-State area of New York,
New Jersey and Connecticut. And according to a study by the Angelli
Foundation, the average income of Italians in America is now 25% higher than
that of the average American. Imagine that. The population that was once looked
down on, laughed at and called gangsters and beggars has become 25% richer than
the average American. Who’s laughing now?
A
few years ago, on a trip back to the United States, I spoke with a number of
Italian-Americans. Many of them had never visited Italy and they were interested
in hearing about life in Italy today. In talking to them I could hear how
curious they were about the land their families left more than a hundred years
ago. It was nice. It was also a major factor in my decision to start this blog.
Also nice are the Italian-American Facebook pages where we Italos celebrate our
Italianness and keep the customs and traditions alive that our grandparents and
parents brought with them in their search for a better life in this country
called America. Happy Columbus Day.
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