The Fearon family stood in their best clothes on the top floor of the Jamaican airport waving goodbye to the only family member missing from the group: Mrs. Maybel Fearon. Maybel applied to a nursing program that allowed her to travel abroad to America with a visa and temporary job. She sat on the place headed to New York full of determination. Moving to an unfamiliar place was going to be tough but Maybel was not going to let the opportunity pass her by.

Maybel worked as a part of her nursing program for six months within which she experienced the biggest culture shock of her life. Switching from Jamaican dollars to United States dollars, Maybel had a difficult time determining the price of needed items and exchanges of cents and dollars. She lost her way several times in the big city and learned to leave home much earlier in order to be on time. The bus system in New York is also dramatically different from that of Jamaica. Believing it was the same process, Maybel got on a bus and later asked the driver to stop at her desired location. Maybel repeated herself several times since the bus did not stop and thought she was not being heard. She became angry with the assumption that the driver was intentionally ignoring her. After a few angry remarks at the bus driver, a passenger explained to her that she had to signal to be dropped off at a bus stop. It was at this moment that Maybel truly noticed the difference between her new home and her old home. Maybel was also surprised to see all the various ethnicities that defined New York City. The first time she saw Jews on the street, Maybel could not believe her eyes. She had only read about them in the Bible and could not believe that they existed in reality. Although New York was extremely crowded, it was not in the same state of poverty as Jamaica was. In Jamaica, the only distinction made by society was between different economic classes. People with money treated the underprivileged inferiorly. However, in New York, the color of your skin would determine how an individual would be regarded. It was a whole new world and Maybel learned the ways of it.

It was a challenging adjustment to live in New York but over time Maybel was able to adapt. After her nursing program expired, she knew that she could not leave America. She realized the prospects that this life could bring and wanted her family to experience the land of opportunity. She decided that it was up to her to bring her family to New York. She began working for a lawyer’s family as a maid. Maybel considered this job to be disgraceful especially since she had undergone the education to become a prestigious nurse. However, she knew that it was a duty that she had to perform to help her loved ones. Through her employment, she observed how this family would hold extravagant parties and waste so much food and money. She knew her life was drastically different because she would save any cash she could gather to send back to her family. With her dedication, Maybel accumulated enough to buy a plane ticket for her mother and later her two sons, Shane and Dwane. She eventually was able to take the Nursing Board Exam in order to become a registered nurse and practice in the United States. Maybel’s husband Carlton Fearon Senior joined the rest of the family a little later because he worked in the Jamaican Army as a truck driver.  Alas, the family had finally reunited.

It was a bit tough for the boys to assimilate to New York. Spending the most time in Jamaica as the eldest son, Shane holds on to that culture. He frequently complained to his parents that he wished to go back home but he ended up forgetting this demand when his mother bought him a game console. Dwane did not need much convincing because of his young age, but he still remembers his hometown, May Pen, Jamaica. Carlton and Maybel’s mother were both surprised by the American lifestyle but were able to adjust rather quickly with Maybel’s guide.

When the whole family was together, they lived on 54^th Street, Brooklyn between Church Avenue and Snyder Avenue. The area was not in the best of conditions to live in so they decided to move to Kings Village. At first the house that they wished to live in was claimed by another family but the Fearon family very much wanted to have that house so they offered to pay the money upfront. Their new address became 1200 East 53^rd Street. Along with a new home, there was a new addition to the family. Dane Fearon was born. The family was proud but it was tough caring for a baby with two working parents. Carlton was a tow truck driver while Maybel worked eight to sixteen hour shifts as a nurse. As a result Dane’s brothers raised him.

Dane’s family was always very protective of him. They were very distrusting of their American neighborhood. In Jamaica, the Fearons lived on farmland and children were able to wander far without any fear. However, in Brooklyn, Dane was not allowed to walk around the block. They were afraid that Dane would get lost or kidnapped and had a tendency to restrict him as a result. Nevertheless, Dane grew up with an Americanized attitude while he believes that the rest of his family possess Jamaican pride. In this way, he considers them to be immigrants unlike himself.

Through all these events, some daunting and some extremely difficult, the Fearon family was able to withstand it all and achieve their goals. Carlton passed his GED examinations and obtained a steady job. Maybel has many options living in New York than in Jamaica. She gets a better sense of technology and she cannot get enough of the food. She is also able to send money back home to family members. She considers sending her children to college as the biggest accomplishment. They have assimilated to the city and believe that they took a better path as immigrants.

by Saranya Radhakrishnan

My father had made the journey from Chennai, India to New York in order to obtain his Master of Science in Engineering degree and maybe even a prestigious future job. He had never been apart from my year old sister or my mother for the two years of their marriage so saying goodbye was difficult. My father was fortunate enough to stay with a friend who helped him assimilate to the American lifestyle and college life at New York University. Nevertheless, it was all so alien.  Back in India he had both of his parents, his two younger brothers, his younger sister, his wife and child all under the same roof.  Life got really lonely especially in a city as big New York. My father and mother would always exchange letters during this time in order to have some form of contact living half a world away. My mother would always talk about the occurrences of the household while my father talked about New York and college but they both expressed the misery of each other’s absence.

After a year and ahalf, my father was able to bring his wife and child over to live with him. They lived in a one bedroom apartment in Jamaica Estates. Like my father, my mother learned the difficulty of becoming independent. Learning the meaning of nuclear family, my mother only had my sister while my father was in college. After my sister started school, my mother realized that she was no longer confined to the life of housewife in America. After college, my mother had wished to gain further education and have a well-respected profession. However, her dreams were cut short when the talk of marriage came about. My mother did not realize how suppressed she was due to her culture until she came to New York. She was taught to play a submissive role at home and live a life serving only her family. However, America played a new influence and my mother was in the land of opportunity. She went back to school and became a certified public accountant. She even acquired a job at a travel agency. My mother looks back at this time of her life proudly because she was able to accomplish something for her own happiness.

In my family’s neighborhood there was a beautiful red house that my father spotted on Aspen Place. My father would drive by the house occasionally when he had the chance. Miraculously, the house went up for sale but my father knew he couldn’t afford it. My mother encouraged him to take out a loan and buy the house anyway. With much deliberation and cold feet, they finally got the house and we’ve officially paid off the mortgage last year.

I was born a few years later and this red house on Aspen Place is the only place I have ever lived. Luckily, my parents had made friends with other Indians and Americans on our block so anytime I needed babysitting, wanted to play with other kids, or runaway after a fight with my sister I had other family to turn to. Although, it was challenging to adapt to a foreign country, my parents were able to integrate the better qualities of Indian culture with aspects of American life.

Many believe that our ancestry helps shape us; helps make us into the people we ultimately become. I’m not certain whether or not this is the case, but I do believe that the actions of our ancestors definitely help shape where we eventually wind up living. For the most part, my family lives, and always has lived in Greece. Of course certain members of my extended family wound up in different parts of the world such as the U.S, Australia, Brazil, but never anyone from my immediate family’s ancestry. Odds were that a change of scenery would eventually have to happen. Next thing you know, my parents, 2 of my siblings, and myself found ourselves in Whitestone, New York in December of 2001. I was six and a half years old, knew very little English, and was in general terrified of New York because of the things I had heard about the attack on the Twin Towers.

            This trip to America though was not the first time my parents had come here. They had previously attempted to live in New York back in the late 70s. At that time my mom gave birth to my two oldest siblings, my sister, and oldest brother. Things did not work out and they were forced to move back to Greece where my father tried to open up several restaurants (some of which were successful for a time). During that period between the 80s and 2001, my Mother gave birth to three more boys, of which I was the youngest. Due to the ever changing governments, and economy of Greece at the time, the most successful of my father’s restaurants had to be shut down and so he decided to pack things up and move back to the U.S. He took along my two oldest siblings, my mother, and me. My two other brothers stayed in Greece as one was about to start college, and the other was living with his fiancé.

I remember very distinctly how my first emotion in regards to coming to live in New York was utter fear. I may not have been that old, but at six and a half years of age I was old enough to understand the kind of drastic change that was about to undergo my life. The adjustment though to my surprise was not that hard. I didn’t know a word of English that first year, but luckily thanks to some help from my mother, I was able to pick up the language pretty quickly over the summer, and feel like I’ve been thriving ever since. For several years my father moved from job to job. We had a stint in 2007, and 2008 when we went to North Carolina for a business opportunity. Unfortunately things didn’t work out and we quickly moved back here in 2008. Since then, things have really settled down, my Dad opened up a restaurant with my Brother-in-Law (now Ex Brother-in- Law), and an old family friend.  For the first time since I can ever remember my parents can finally breath a sigh of relief with me having started college, and them not struggling financially in every aspect of their lives. Like my ancestors shaped my past before me, I have no doubt that this immigration to America, will shape my children, and eventually their children. The truth is, I honestly can’t wait to see how the rest of my future will shape out.

Immigration and/or assimilation in my family are two concepts I have spent very little time contemplating.  The reason for this is simple – I am a fourth generation Puerto-Rican American whose family has been in the United States for nearly 70 years.  Although Puerto Ricans do not technically qualify as immigrants, the trip three of my grandparents (and one great-grandparent) made to New York City certainly qualifies as a great journey.  The fourth grandparent, my maternal grandfather, was a Sicilian immigrant, but I sooner consider myself to be Puerto Rican.  My maternal great-grandmother made the original journey that placed the first member of my family in the United States.

My grandmother was seven years old living in Guyama, Puerto RIco, with only her mother when my great grandmother made the decision to come to New York.  It was only the two of them – my great-grandmother was a good seamstress and that was what kept them relatively stable.  She had split up from her husband and decided that she was going to find a better place for my grandmother to grow up in.  Their family had friendly correspondents in New York, the Bronx more specifically, and they told her that a seamstress could do well in their area.  So, my great grandmother saved up money over a period of time and was able to purchase fare for herself to travel to New York.  Originally, she could only afford her fare, so she left my grandmother with my great-grandmother’s sister until she later returned for her in 1945.  The two settled in the Bronx as they together learned English and went to work/school.  Luckily Spanish wasn’t the least common language in New York City, so their assimilation could have been harder than it was.

My grandmother grew up in the Bronx and moved in with her husband, my Italian-immigrant grandfather, in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.  He supported her with his bread business and together they had my mother as one of five children.  At the same time my mother was growing up in Bay Ridge, my father was doing the same in the same place.  My father, his sister, and my paternal Puerto Rican-immigrant grandparents also lived in Bay Ridge at this time.

So, it has been a very long time since my immediate family has lived in another country.  Since then, we have unfortunately preserved very little of our original culture; however, we have largely embraced the culture of America.  My paternal grandfather has been a huge Elvis Presley fan since his rise to fame, and my maternal grandmother has loved American television shows such as I Love Lucy since their original air dates.  Only one member of my entire extended family (ending with first cousins) still speaks Spanish.  I’ve decided that this is neither something “good” nor “bad,” it simply is…although I do wish I had the opportunity to learn such a useful language when I was younger.  At the same time, I am very thankful I am not constantly being pulled between two cultural identities. Essentially, I am very happy to be a fourth generation American.

My father is a second generation American. His father, Thomas Neumann, emigrated from Budapest, Hungary to Vienna, Austria, then from Vienna, Austria to Paris, France, and then from Paris, France to New York, New York. Although, my Grandpa Tom was a child while this moving was going on. His father, Gabor Neumann, was a successful banker who was ushered out of Budapest when he refused a job as finance minister of the newly Communist Government of Hungary. When my great grandfather refused the job, he did not realize that there were going to be consequences until his wife pointed out that the Communist Government would not let him off that easy. So he and his wife and my Grandpa Tom fled to Vienna. In the late 1930s, my great grandfather and his family had to flee once again when the Nazis started taking over Vienna, because they were Jewish. This time they fled to Paris. Then, once again, my great grandfather and his family had to flee because of the Nazis, and that is when they immigrated to America. When my great grandfather came to America he and his family were forced to change their name to Newman because Neumann sounded too German during a time when Germans were not particularly popular. My Grandpa Tom was relatively young, so adjusting to American life was not hard for him. My great grandparents, however, had a tougher time letting go of Hungarian traditions. My Great Grandpa Gabor left behind a successful career, an apartment building that he had owned in Budapest, and his relatives. My grandmother’s family, on my father’s side, has been in America for as long as my father can remember.

My mother’s mother, Mildred Milligan, was a second generation American. Her mother’s last name was Huddy, and she emigrated from County Cork, Ireland to Liverpool in the early twentieth-century with her husband-to-be, whose last name was Tuohy. After a couple of years in Liverpool, the couple immigrated to Yonkers, New York in order to find work. My great grandma worked as a maid at Lyndhurst, a mansion in Tarrytown, New York, and my great grandpa worked as a furniture mover at the department store, Wanamaker’s, in New York City. They were both solemn people, emotionally distant from both each other and their children. The both of them had lived in poverty before they came to America, and they both had hoped that America might change that. It did, to a certain extent, but the two of them felt that their hope for a better life was never completely fulfilled. My grandfather’s parents met each other in America after they emigrated from their respective home countries. My great grandfather, last name Milligan, came from Ireland in the early twentieth century looking for work. My great grandmother, last name Kuntschmann, came from Germany also looking for work. The two thoroughly enjoyed their time in America, perhaps a little bit too much because they left their son, my Grandpa Fred, with his Paternal Grandmother in the Bronx.  My great grandmother’s family eventually immigrated to America a couple of years after she had. My great grandfather’s mother was the only member of his family to come to America, and she came a year or so after he had.

In my poverty-stricken hometown of Korce, Albania, electricity, water, and heat were scarce. There were daily blackouts that lasted for several hours. Opportunities for a better future were granted to only those who had connections in the corrupt government. My parents, grandparents, sister and I resided in a small, two-bedroom apartment with no heat. Surprisingly, shortly after moving to the United States, where we had electricity and water everyday, I still wondered if my life would have been better had my family and I had stayed in Albania, rather than immigrating to a foreign nation. Many might find it absurd that I would contemplate such a thought. Who would want to go back to a place where there were no basic necessities? However, the drastic change from the familiar Albanian language and culture that was comforting to me to English and American culture, which was strange, brought me distress. Looking back, I am shocked that such feelings ever existed, as now, after living in the United States for approximately eleven years, I see that American culture has a great influence in my everyday life.

Having completed only one month of first grade in Albania, I was immediately put in second grade upon arriving in America. I failed to speak and understand a single word of English. I did not have any basic reading, writing, or math skills in any language. I felt as though everyone was talking about me because I did not look, dress, or act like every other student. I felt even more of an outcast, and that prevented me from obtaining a meaningful education. The stress, frustration, and humiliation built up rapidly so that I became physically ill. Every morning before school, I would have severe stomach pain, without realizing what was causing the problem. It was comforting to be home, where I did not feel like an outcast.

However, soon afterward, I started learning English, which was uplifting.  I realized that learning a different language was exciting, especially because it meant I could communicate with those around me. I began practicing my speech and writing. With my newfound confidence, I began to socialize more—making new friends. I no longer felt physical pain, but instead, felt as though I was a part of society.

However, while I became accustomed to American culture, I felt that my bond with Albanian culture was beginning to vanish. I learned English well and performed above average in school. Without realizing it, I distanced myself from my Albanian culture and grew less comfortable with speaking Albanian. At family gatherings, I would feel like a pariah because I had trouble understanding certain idioms and Albanian traditions. At school, I would sometimes feel isolated because I was not familiar with American sports, cartoons, and general culture. My childhood significantly differed from that of my friends because they were all born in the United States.

The two cultures clashed, created an idea in my mind that I did not truly belong to either.

I found it hard to accept that I belonged to two cultures and that it was acceptable to be different. Instead of trying to hide my uniqueness and edge, I started to embrace who I was. Different traditions, languages, and life-styles shape my current hometown of New York City; they make it memorable and irreplaceable, just as my different background differentiates me from the rest. Similarly, my culture and lifestyle as an Albanian-American influence my perception and point of view.

Clearly, I have gained invaluable experiences that have shaped my life significantly. I would have never guessed as a young, frightened immigrant that I would be diving into a course discussing the works of literature written by immigrants, depicting stories similar to mine. Perseverance defined who I am today rather than the difficulties I faced. The constant struggles led to my accepting of myself and achieving my dreams. I am grateful that I have had the opportunity to be a part of two incredible, yet distinct, cultures.

Neil Armstrong was the first man to walk on the moon. George Washington was the first President. I am the first son of the first generation of the first family members of my family to step foot in America. Like the many other firsts before me, I have been gifted with the opportunity to be the leader, the trendsetter. I am the first of my family to travel blindly into the American Society: the society that has devoured the souls of men leaving them empty husks for recycling. This way I can be the first to set off the mines and traps society has lain before me. I have been truly blessed.

In all joking aside, I am truly the first of my family to be born an American. My parents came from Guandong, China the unofficial dim sum capital. As my mother described life there, “It was a simple life, we farmed, we harvested and we try to avoid the leeches in the rice paddies. But there was nothing more or less to this kind of life.” Eventually the desire for a better life drove my grandparents and parents to immigrate to America. My parents finally met in college and a few years later married. Then I came along. Unfortunately, I did not come with an attached instruction manual.

My parents, although lovingly raised me, may not have had the clearest idea of how to raise a child. My first few years, my family and I lived in Queens with my paternal grandparents due to financial issues. Eventually, my parents saved up enough money to buy an apartment in Brooklyn. For a while, everything was literally all fun and games. However, when school started so did the “problems”. My parents only experienced the last fourth of the K – 12 education system and their English was still shaky. As a result, my English never truly developed. I wound up in ESL until second grade. Culturally I was more Chinese than American and in a primarily white and Latino neighborhood that led to a lot of unpleasant nicknames and bullying from classmates. Later I “escaped” when my parents moved to Bayside, Queens for the better schools there. Fortunately, my labels and accent stayed behind in Brooklyn. But my parent’s lack of knowledge began to show itself. The specialized high school exam and community service were common information to most parents. I had to constantly pester my friends and counselor for information. In high school, I stumbled my way through the college process, the SAT, and FAFSA all of which have changed since my parent’s time.

Yet, even with all of the bumbling around I did, I still managed to make it to college. Although, I wish I had had half of the information I gave to my little brother. He is enjoying not having to blindly feel his way to college. Yet, I still appreciate the pain and agony my journey brought me. Without it, I would not have the willpower to try to be the first in my family to go to graduate school. I guess being the first does have its perks. If I get into graduate school I can secure bragging rights in my family.

         My maternal great-grandmother, Olga Carew, was born in Tobago in 1902. At the tender age of one, her father, Conrad Carew, a successful pharmacist, was poisoned and died. Soon after, her mother died as well and Olga was left with her eight brothers and sisters. She was passed from relative to relative during her childhood and attended school in Wales and then in Trinidad. At eighteen, Olga boarded a ship to the United States and set sail for Boston to live with her sister Irma and to finally feel at home.

            After a short stay in Boston, Olga moved to New York City with her sister where she got a job dancing the Charleston on Broadway. She immediately met my great-grandfather, Bruce Iles, who was a handsome man from a good family in Trinidad, and after a brief courtship, they married.

            Olga and Bruce had three children: Gloria (my grandmother) in 1924, Grace in 1926, and Horatio in 1928. They raised their children in Washington Heights. When my grandmother, or my Lala, talks of her childhood she says, “Alexis, those people had the nerve to ask me where I came from.” Lala replied and asserted that she was born in America. In her mind, the city rejected her and her identity as a West Indian woman. Today, Lala wonders if I struggle with the challenges she faced growing up. It is true that all my life, people have asked me about my heritage, but unlike my grandmother, I encourage the questions she detested.

            In 1954, Lala married my grandfather, Edward Allen. Eddie was a childhood friend who grew up in the same building as her. His family is of purely Irish decent. Eddie was an intelligent, loving man who dedicated his life to teaching 8^th grade English in Harlem. He was beloved by all. I am proud to say that my grandparents married outside their ethnicity. They married for love and not for what society said was right. Lala and Poppa had my mother, Diane, in 1956. Two years later they had my uncle Frank and another two years later, they had my uncle Tony.

            In 1961, Eddie and Gloria left Washington Heights with their three children and moved to Hicksville, Long Island. Their primary reason for leaving the city was to find a better school system for their children. My mother and uncles spent most of their childhood in suburbia, a town mostly inhabited by Italians, Irish, and Jews. Again, people would ask my grandmother what country she came from: “The neighbors would stare at me and your mother, Alexis.” It was true, my family looked different than the rest of the people in Hicksville, but the discrimination didn’t prevent my mother from marrying the person she loved. Just like my grandparents, my mother disregarded the opinions of her neighbors and married my father, Thomas Romano, a man from Maspeth, Queens who had an Italian father and an Irish and German mother.

          My parents eventually moved to one of the only two cities on Long Island, a place called Long Beach, on the south shore. Long Beach is an incredibly diverse community in which me and my older brother Sean spent our whole lives.

“All crab fine dey hole,” is what my  Lala’s cousin, Gordon, told me on my recent trip to Trinidad. The saying means that everyone finds their place in life. My mother and I went back to Port of Spain, Trinidad this passed January. We felt at home.

Tracing the lineage of the Herrmann/Elstein…I guess it would be simple and sensible to start with the great-grandparents.

In Germany, around the 1920s, Werner Herrmann was born to two German parents.  Despite the tumult of Germany during this time period, the real reason my great-grandparents decided to leave was for a “personal” reason.  They wanted to be together and build their relationship and family in a new place, so they came to Manhattan when Werner was only twelve.  He was drafted for World War II in his early twenties, and granted citizenship on the exact same day (neat little short-cut, isn’t it?)  Somewhere in all this, he met and married my grandmother, Agnes.  She grew up in a coal-mining town in Pennsylvania before moving to New York with her family.  Werner and Agnes moved into the Bronx and started a family together, consisting of my father Peter, and his three other older siblings.

Flash back to Europe, but this time during 1930 and in Warsaw, Poland.  Here we meet my Jewish great-grandparents on my mother’s side, who had just welcomed Esther as their youngest child of three.  Esther’s story is devastating and heart wrenching, but I will attempt to summarize it justly.  Her town-turned-ghetto was occupied by the Nazis when she was just a young girl, and as the families were being rounded up to board trains to the concentration camps, Esther’s mother pushed her out of the line when the guards weren’t looking.  Her Aryan complexion of blond hair and blue eyes acted as a shield for the duration of the war, but especially in that moment when the guards were convinced she wasn’t a Jew and refused to let her back with her family.  Esther desperately wanted to be with her family, even if it meant dying with them, but knew when her mother made that decision that it would be the last time she would ever see them.  Esther was an orphan at twelve, and struggled trying to survive; being so young and alone, hiding that she was Jewish, working as a nanny or maid.  Even after the war ended, Poland was not a safe or welcoming place for Jews, and Esther no longer saw it as home.  She met and married Abba, a Jewish doctor, and together they immigrated to a place they knew would be welcoming of their religion: Haifa, Israel. They had my mother Ziporah there, but moved to Mount Vernon, a town in Westchester, when she was nine.  They saw America as a place they could both broaden their occupations and family.  They had another child, and Esther, being an amazing seamstress, opened a lingerie store.  New York, for the Elsteins, was a place of growth and escape from a difficult past of religious persecution and degradation.  They hoped, and were successful, in finding a place to raise children in a welcoming environment with good education where they too could explore options of higher achievement.

I had never realized how much war shaped my existence, and I think it’s incredible that both of those countries from which I am descended were in such conflict, yet still produced a solid union.  Its always interesting to watch the expression on someone’s face when I tell them I am of German and Israeli descent, but I know that under the circumstances of both of my parents being primarily American, it’s really not so odd.  Given, it was not easy for Ziporah to convince Esther to be open-minded about her boyfriend, but I think in some way, knowing that he was a good man with pure intentions helped break down her bias.  After all, New York was the destination for all looking for a new start, and everyone could relate to that dream.

Even though I am technically not an immigrant since I was born in Brooklyn, I can relate to what it feels like to be an immigrant because of my childhood. I was born in Brooklyn in December 26, 1995; there I spent a majority of my first year. However as my family was having financial hardships, they found it very to difficult to find the time and money to provide and care for me. So, when I still wasn’t a year old, I moved to Poland to live with my grandmother. I spent approximately three years in Poland only coming back to the US for a few weeks in the summer to see my family again. In Poland, I was raised to be Polish with Polish morals and attributes, influenced by Polish culture. As I grew up around the age of 3, I could already read, write, and speak fluently in Polish. I would’ve also went to my first year of school to Polish pre-K but my mom decided that it would be better for me to wait until American pre-K. I understand that she didn’t want me to get too accustomed to living in Poland but the damage was already done.

When I returned to America for good about 4 years old, my whole world turned upside down. These children here didn’t speak Polish like the ones in Poland. I had no way of communicating with them yet other than a few lines of broken English that were well known and commonly used in Poland. I felt like I was born again into a new world this time. I got so used to calling Poland my home that when I was uprooted I went through shock. Nothing mattered to me anymore because I wasn’t in Poland. By the time I began to accept my new surroundings is when I realized that I would have to start all over again. This gave me the motivation to do well in schools here. Even before I started, I forced my mom to teach me simple things like the alphabet and numbers. In school, I struggled for a while both with academics and friends. The way children interact in the two countries was so different in my mind. In Poland, children would be so much more open with each other. They would horse around and rough house and weren’t afraid to get dirty. Yet here, everyone was afraid to touch anyone almost.

Growing up I still had somewhat of an identity crisis. I was not sure where I belonged, whether I was Polish or American. However as I grew older, I began to meet more kids in the same situation as me that they came to America at a young age too. Together we began to form our own hangouts and our own slang. Soon enough we felt we have achieved our own identities as Polish-Americans and did not have to rely on each other as much when it comes to making friends and being independent.  I feel like I have learned so much from being both Polish and American and that I have both of my heritages to thank for the excellent position I am in now in life.

Steve Earle was half right when he described New York City as a “City of Immigrants” in his song by the same title. There exists another subset of people who move into the city and contribute to its culture: the migrants.

Migrants come for a myriad of reasons. Sometimes they are here to stay with family, some come to work, and are some come because they are big fish in small ponds. A place like New York City, with its plethora of cultures and languages, is a dream for many of these big fish, prompting them to say goodbye to their small town, pack their bags, and head for The Big Apple. Take, for example, Sabrina Kostusiak. She was born in Connecticut and raised in Buffalo.  Most of her family lives in Buffalo. Her earliest ancestors came to the United States from Poland, Ukraine, and Ireland before the turn of the 20^th century; her earliest family photo is from 1882. They settled in Buffalo and stayed there.

Sabrina moved to NYC to study as a Macaulay Honors student at The City College of New York and has no regrets for her decision. “I always wanted to live in New York City” she said, a dream that prompted her to apply to the prestigious scholarship program. “I knew I needed to be in The City.”

Buffalo is the second largest city in New York State, but with a population of just under 260,000, it cannot compare to the size of New York City, with a population of over eight million. Everyone knew everyone in her town, and most people stayed in the same place their entire lives.

Sabrina did not live like that. She wanted to live her life at a faster pace than her neighbors and to experience more than what her white homogenous town had to offer. “Everybody dresses the same [in Buffalo]” she noted. She applied to Macaulay Honors College and was more than delighted by her acceptance and the opportunity to become a New Yorker.

And what an experience she had. Her first ever visit to New York City was last April, to visit City College on an accepted students day. The first thing she saw was Santa and Mrs. Claus on the subway. Where but New York? “That was really my first impression of the city,” she recalls.

She is not the first or only person in her family to live here, however. Her father attended college in New York City in the eighties. New York was a very different place then, and his experience was much more negative than Sabrina’s. She tells the story of how her father and grandmother accidently took the A train instead of the C train and wound up at 125^th Street. The first person they met looked at them and said: “You don’t belong here”. At that time, the city was known for violence and crime. This was off-putting to Sabrina’s father, and his view of Harlem contrasts sharply with Sabrina’s modern experience.

Sabrina loves the city, in spite of her father’s apprehension. She noticed the difference right away, as well as the changes in herself. “It’s easier to connect with people here”. People also live at a pace in sync with how Sabrina wants to live her life.  However, she also recognizes that she was different from the natives of her new home.

You can tell that Sabrina is from upstate by the way she talks. “Someone pointed that out to me on the first day,” though she never thought that she had an accent. It’s subtle, but noticeable to those who grew up here. Although she sounds different, the some people in New York sound different to her. She also felt at a disadvantage during the early part of her experience here. “I didn’t know the names of the neighborhoods.” But growing up outside of the city made her more curious and more willing to visit places that define New York, such as Central Park. “I know of some people who have never been to Central Park” she claims. “It’s surprising. You don’t know how great the city unless you move here”.

She is still in the process of integrating herself into the city. “I’ve learned the names of most of the neighborhoods in Manhattan, and some of the neighborhoods in Brooklyn,” she announced proudly. Her ultimate goal is to take full advantage of the culture and resources around her. She feels the change in herself.

Though still connected with her family, Sabrina does not think they can become new Yorkers by listening to her stories. Despite the common language, there are incredibly stark differences in culture. “You have to live here to understand.” She sums up.

The difference is incredible. New York, with its speed, density, and variety never leaves Sabrina bored. She feels the difference most strongly when she is back in Buffalo. “Buffalo is more like a community,” she describes, but the momentum is not there. To her, Buffalo is missing the action she desires.

There is no language barrier for migrants as there usually is for immigrants. It enables a person like Sabrina to make New York City their home. However, statistical data shows that migrants into the city are generally fewer than migrants out of the city, probably because of the expense. This does not faze Sabrina, because she feels she is living her dream.

She describes her journey into New York City with an indescribable amount of awe. She takes the train from Buffalo to Penn Station. On her way there, at a point along the Hudson, the river turns to bring the city into view. She could barely communicate the memory of her emotions, but her excitement was clear. “Afterwards you go underground, and then you’re in Penn Station.” She says, the memory of the excitement and joy prominent on her face.

New York City is everything Sabrina ever dreamed it would be. She plans to stay here for a good long part of her life. She is in love with the city, and has been for a long time.

People, both immigrants and migrants, come to the city for and the energy and dynamic affects them all. In the best cases, as in the case of Sabrina, a migrant finds a perfect fit, someplace they can and will happily adopt as their home.

Natalie Schuman. The Peopling of New York City. Professor Rosenblum. Due: Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Assignment 1: Profile of a story of immigration.

Note: I was absent on the first day of class so I did my interview with a friend, not a classmate.

Charlotte Kohlmann’s Immigrant Story

“Give me your tired, your poor/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

-From “The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarus. 1883.

Despite the often-unfair laws regarding immigration today, these words engraved in the base of the Statue of Liberty epitomize the journey of Charlotte Kohlmann’s grandparents to New York City.

Charlotte Kohlmann was born in Riverdale in the Bronx on February 12^th, 1994. She lives in a red house in a residential area filled with people from all different countries. She identifies herself as American but has roots in Germany and Italy, among other places.

Charlotte’s mother’s father’s name is Feliche Perrela. He was born in a town called Macchiagodena in Italy. Macchiagodena is a town in the province of Isernia in South Central Italy. It is located in the Appennines Mountains in the region of Molise. Macchiagodena was a farm town and there was little work other than farming. In the early to mid 20th century, many residents of Macchiagodena emigrated to other parts of the world including the United States to find better jobs and earn more money. At 19 years old, Charlotte’s grandfather, Feliche was one of those people. Feliche waited until after the 3rd Sunday in May to leave his town. On this day, a huge fair was held to celebrate the patron saint of the town, San Nicola. He feasted and celebrated with his family and friends as he would any other year. Though there was a feeling of sadness around the celebration as they all knew that Feliche was to leave the next day, along with a dozen other men in the town.

Feliche and the men he traveled to New York with were not the first men from Macchiagodena to start a life here. Feliche went to live with his people in Little Italy in the Bronx. Living in this neighborhood sometimes even felt like being back home. He knew people from his old town and the same sense of community in Italy existed in this small pocket of home in this new, scary city. Feliche got a job as a construction worker. When he got his first paycheck, he sent exactly half of it back to his family in Macchiagodena. Feliche continued to send exactly half of his paycheck back to Macchiagodena until he died in 2005.

As more and more men from Macchiagodena traveled to the Bronx, women started feeling comfortable coming too. That brings us to Jesualda. Jesualda was born in Macchiagodena and at 18 years old, her mother took her and her two sisters to the Bronx. Jesualda grew up in a small apartment in the Bronx. Her neighbors in New York were her neighbors back in the hills of Macchiagodena. She and her neighbors in Little Italy shared a thin wall and a communal bathroom while they used to be separated by acres of farmlands.

It was in Little Italy that Jesualda met Feliche. He courted her for a year and eventually they got married and had two children, one of whom was Charlotte’s mother, Emma. For Feliche and Jesualda, New York City offered a new life that may have been hard at first, but it allowed their ability to put food on the table not be at the whim of the weather and how well their crops did. Jesualda and Feliche never went hungry again, and neither did their children or grandchildren.

“We’re leaving now. I don’t know where Papa is.” These were the first words written in a leather bound journal with no name. The journal goes on to tell the story, in French, of Ursula Kohlmann’s journey from Germany to New York City. Ursula is Charlotte’s father’s mother, Charlotte calls her “Opa”. She was a Jew in Germany in 1940 and New York City offered her asylum from Hitler’s hell. She was 14 when she started the journal. It described traveling through Spain, Czechoslovakia, France, all together 15 countries with her mother, until they finally arrived in New York City. Ursula had learned French in school but her mother tongue was German. She wrote the journal in French, left out her name and any clue that she was Jewish to protect herself in case the diary fell into the wrong hands. They took a boat called the “Sepa Pinto” from Portugal to New York City. She still remembers the ride, how frightened she was of both being in a new place, and being caught by the leader of her old country. She remembers her mother threw up on the Sepa Pinto from motion sickness and anxiety.

When she arrived in New York and settled in, her mother enrolled her into a public high school on 153^rd street. Ursula was one of the only non-African American students there.  She missed her home and felt out of place in her new environment. She eventually found other Jews who had come to New York City to escape the Nazis. They formed a group and jokingly called themselves “The Elite”.

Paul Kohlmann was also a member of this group. He came to New York from Germany at 19 years old. Paul was the only one in his family healthy enough to flee so he had to leave them all behind in Europe. Paul and Ursula dated for a few months and eventually got married. Paul wanted to fight in the war, on the side of the Americans. But when he got to the recruitment office, he was told he could not fight Germany because he was not an American citizen. They sent him instead to the Army base in the Phillipines.

For Paul, Ursula, Feliche and Jesualda, New York City took them in and protected them, offered them a new life. Charlotte understands the importance of her grandparents’ stories and has taken it upon herself to record and preserve their history. This year, Charlotte helped her grandma translate the diary she kept during her journey to New York City from French to English. She put together a scrapbook of her grandmothers’ photographs. Pictures of “The Elite” on the beach forming pyramids with their bodies fill the pages of the scrapbook.

Reylyn Roldan was born in the Philippines and lived there for eight years before coming to New York City. However, her first family member to come to America was her great-aunt, Felicitas Bobrow, who left the Philippines in early 1960 for America. During this time the only means of transport was by boat. She sailed the Pacific Ocean and first traveled to Hawaii and from there to California. She came here alone with only a few words of English, enough to carry out a conversation. After nearly a decade of working as a biochemist, she earned enough money to help bring her two sisters and brother in law to the United States. At this point, Felicitas Bobrow moved to the East Coast and conducted research at many prestigious universities such as Rutgers and Columbia. Together with her sisters, they all decided to settle down in Queens. This was only temporary because as soon as Reylyn’s grandparents earned enough money to bring their four sons they all moved to Staten Island to accommodate the increasing number of family members. Finally Reylyn and her mother and two brothers came to America 6 years later in 2003.

Reylyn’s family had deep roots in the Philippines with a lineage that goes all the way back to Spain; her family even has their own family crest. They originated from the northern islands of the Philippines in a rural landscape where they lived as farmers and fishermen. It was hard to make a living however, unless you were born into a wealthy family. There was a large disparity between social classes and a larger gap in the income between the upper and lower class. With government corruption and appeasement, moving up the social system was impossible. That’s why they decided to move to America; to pursue a better life for themselves and their families. Reylyn’s family saw America as the land of freedom and opportunity and in order to improve their living conditions they decided to make the ultimate sacrifice of leaving behind their homeland and immigrate to America. However the whole family couldn’t afford to go all at once because the trip is long and expensive. Instead only a few people at a time – roughly every decade – could make the trip. But now they all live in Staten Island, New York City and they came a long way from the lifestyle they left behind them.

Yet immigrating to New York City is only half the trouble. The second half is finding ones home here. That means finding a community or a neighborhood where one feels comfortable and at peace. One barrier from stopping Reylyn’s family from finding their home was the language. Only Reylyn’s grandmother was lucky enough to know English well because she was a schoolteacher and she was able to teach her four sons and her husband the language. Another barrier is the weather. The family was used to the tropical island weather of the Philippines where the lowest it gets in the year was 70 degrees Fahrenheit. However the weather cannot be changed, so Reylyn and her family had to get used to it. Even though it was hard for them to deal with the weather at times, it was also a new experience. For them, their first snowfall was magical because they never had such a thing in the Philippines  and they were just in awe at its beauty. Another big barrier Reylyn mentioned was the diet change. Not only was the cuisine different from the Philippines but the serving sizes were too. Bigger pizza. Bigger sodas. Bigger plates. Everything in America was bigger. Then there were new tastes for them such as mustard which Reylyn said tasted weird the first time she tried it. The last barrier to be broken is the life style differences between her family and native New Yorkers. New York is such a faced paced city especially when compared to a little Philippine farm village. The way people walk here seemed like running to Reylyn and it seemed that everyone was always in such a hurry to get places. No one looked at each other. There were no conversations. No pleases. No thank yous. No smiles. Everyone seemed to care about themselves and carried on only to their next destination. However Reylyn and her family soon learned that they had to look hard to spot the kindness in people’s hearts here. They learned that people are a lot more intimate here than the people back in their village.

By coming to America, Reylyn’s family’s hopes and dreams were to provide happiness for the rest of their family to provide their children and future generations with the freedom and privileges that were only in America at that time. Here, in America, they had an opportunity to work hard and they seized it. Through this journey they learned to never give up even when times are rough and to remind themselves where they came from and how they got there. Reylyn and her family pass along their traditions, heritage, and family story to their children and hope that they do the same to their children. But now they have a new place to call home and a new place to create new memories and traditions for future generations. As far as Reylyn sees it, her family’s hopes and dreams definitely have been realized in the half century that it took for them to get here and they wouldn’t do anything differently.

The classmate I interviewed was Ledia Duro, who came to America from Albania in 2002. At eight years old, she, her older sister, and her parents moved to Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, as the last of their family to immigrate to America. To Ledia, an immigrant is a foreign born individual who comes to reside in another country. This being so, the relatives who already lived in America when her family arrived included her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Her grandparents and uncle who lived in Bay Ridge were the ones who provided a home for Ledia’s family for approximately six months, allowing the family to get situated. During this time, her parents got jobs and the children were enrolled in school. Today, her family frequently visits them, despite the grandparents and uncle moving to the Bensonhurst region of Brooklyn. Other extended relatives originally lived in other parts of America as well, such as New Jersey and Michigan. However, most of her relatives now live in Brooklyn.

The reason why Ledia’s family moved in the first place was to create better opportunities for her and her sister Marlin, who is now 21. As Albania was very poor and corrupt, with little hope for upward social mobility (meaning that if you wanted to move up in society, you had to know people), her parents believed that their children would have a better education and job market in America. In order to achieve these hopes, her father applied for a lottery aimed at giving children more opportunities by granting them residency in this country. And luckily, his family was one of those selected under her father’s name. After several interviews and documentation, all four of them were given the chance to come to America despite having to buy the plane tickets themselves. To her parents, it was worth it.

In a flight that took less than a day, their lifestyle was drastically changed. They had just taken the first step to fulfilling their version of the American Dream and drawing on such a blank slate would not be easy. For example, Ledia’s father owned a warehouse store in Albania and her mother was a teacher. But the language barrier that came with being Albanian immigrants forced her parents to change their jobs completely. Not only would they have different occupations, but they were also required to go to college again to learn English, eventually working as medical assistants. Taking into account the obstacles associated with undergoing a major cultural transition, this fresh start proved to be a challenge for the whole family. For Ledia and her sister, going to school was difficult since they didn’t have any basics of the language, such as reading and writing. It was even hard to make friends, as they were unable to easily communicate with the other kids. According to Ledia,

“Mine and my sister’s transitions were different. She knew more of the language and was more willing to accept the change. I was a bit more reluctant. I would sometimes get so frustrated and lost in class since I didn’t speak a word of English, I would cry.”

In the present-day she sometimes still feels judged and belittled for being an immigrant because of her accent. Although this causes people to underestimate her, she chooses not to take the judgment too personally and instead lets her actions speak for themselves. This positive, self-assured outlook reflects other aspects of Ledia and her family’s perspectives as immigrants. Despite the drawbacks they faced and the ways in which they have shaped her family, they have each come to view the move as a fulfilled goal. Her parents are proud to know that their ambitions were realized, Ledia being a successful honors student and her sister now in her senior year of Macaulay Honors College. She is planning on attending law school after graduation. In turn, Ledia is also grateful for the sacrifices her parents made for her, knowing that they had happy lives in Albania.

As for the experience of living here for about ten years, Ledia doesn’t even consider living in Albania anymore. However, she has visited a few times and is always happy to do so because she gets to see her family. She appreciates that America is diverse and different, a place with structure and sense of individuality. Here, there are chances for everyone and hope is always present. At home, Ledia’s family speaks a combination of English and Albanian, and she has no problem communicating to her parents in either language. She has said that their ongoing support throughout the whole experience has only strengthened her relationship with her parents and that she respects them greatly for giving her a better circumstance, which wouldn’t have been possible without their initiative.

    By: Italia Hernandez

        Riding on a crowded train car in Manhattan, you can see the world reflected in the faces of the passengers. There are men, women, and children of every language, color, creed and culture sitting side by side, all of them going about their daily business. People from every part of the globe have been immigrating to the United States for decades, and many find themselves making their way in the Big Apple. While they can all call themselves New Yorkers, each individual has their own story about how they came to claim this title. This is Courtney Edward’s story:

        Her family has its roots in Jamaica, particularly the alluring seaside city of Kingston. This southeastern city is the largest in Jamaica and fittingly its capital. While many of us know of the beautiful, dark skinned residents of African descent that inhabit this gorgeous city, it is also home to people of Chinese and East Indian descent as well as other ethnic groups. Kingston was established in July of 1692 as a refuge for earthquake victims, after this natural disaster destroyed Port Royal earlier that same year. Kingston has come a long way since then, and today it is the most economically important city in its country. Many government institutions operate from there and most monetary transactions take place in this coastal location, stimulating the rest of the country’s economy. Being such an important and influential city in Jamaica, Kingston is on its way to becoming an International Financial Center.

       The first person in the Edwards family to come up to New York was the sister of Courtney’s father – her aunt. Engaged to an American man, she was sent for in the 1980s to New York in order to start a new life with her husband, and once she got here, she sent for her mother – Courtney’s grandmother. Upon arriving in this country, she wasted no time working towards getting the family together. She sent for her son – Courtney’s father. When he got here, he immediately sent for his wife and daughter still living back in Jamaica. On November 29, 1989, Courtney’s mother and sister found themselves in New York. With the family finally reunited, they could now work towards the better future they had envisioned when the thought of moving to the States had first entered their minds.

        What defines an immigrant? The dictionary says an immigrant is a person who migrates to another country, usually for permanent residence. But is that the single best definition? There are people who have come to this country at a young age, sometimes being only a few months old. Some only experience aspects of their “native” culture through the traditions of their parents. Many grow up speaking with no accent, participate in American culture, and identify as Americans first. Are they really immigrants? I believe they are only immigrants by definition. According to Courtney, everyone in her immediate family, whether or not they were born here or immigrated here, are not immigrants. They have all been working hard in this country for years, have lost their accents if they ever had one, and are legally considered to be citizens of the United States of America. Even though some of them were not born here, they have immersed themselves in the culture and lifestyle of New York, and over the years have become fully Americanized. Her grandmother, who still speaks with an accent and has yet to gain her citizenship, is one member of Courtney’s family she considers to still be an immigrant. Having been born and raised here, Courtney considers herself to be an American for the most part but is still in touch with aspects of her Jamaican culture.

          Why do people immigrate to another country? Some are driven out by dangerous situations taking place in their homeland, while others have family in other places of the world and hear that life may be better there. For Courtney’s mother, the opportunities presented by relocating were too good to pass up. Not only were there many potential jobs available for her, but America could also offer better quality education. With the future of her children in her mind, Courtney’s mother made a life changing decision and hopped on a plane to Jamaica, Queens. She sought a better life for her and her family. Did she find it?

            The answer is yes. If we were to speak to Courtney’s mother today, she would tell us that she came to this country with a vision in her mind and hope in her heart. It was through careful planning, willful determination, and the support of her family that allows Courtney’s mother to say that she was able to get everything she wanted out of coming to this country. She worked hard to make sure that her expectations would be met, and today she finds herself in Queens Village, Queens. She is a woman who can say that she has managed to check everything off of her to-do list – she has found success and is giving her family the opportunity to do the same.

Michael Tirado, Assignment 1

Guangdong is a province that spans a fairly large area of China.  It is located on the southern edge of the massive country.  Guangdong is neither a city nor its own country; it is a province (as previously stated) that encompasses several Cantonese regions including its capital city, Guangzhou, which was formerly known as Canton.  Guangdong is geographically unique in China for its 3,368 kilometers of coastline, the Pearl River Delta formed by rivers from all over the province, and, unfortunately for its residents, a typhoon season.

More notably, this province was the origin of the maritime Silk Road and is generally known as an area busy with commerce and industry.  Its capital city, Guangzhou, is the political, economic, scientific, and cultural center of the region.  The Canton fair is held here, which provides major opportunities for international trade.  Guangdong takes part in traditional Chinese events such as the Spring Festival and Lantern Festival.  The Pearl River Cruise, however, is something largely exclusive to Guangdong, as it tours the region’s third largest river and is a must-see attraction for tourists.  Also, the Guangzhou International Food Festival and the Yangjiang Kite Festival are prominent and area-specific events to be had in Guangdong.

New York City is a collection of five boroughs of New York State.  It is located on the northeast coast of the United States.  Staten Island is the most suburban borough, and Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Queens are generally second in urban areas to the fifth borough, Manhattan.  Together they make up the most populated city of the United States of America.  Notable characteristics associated with New York City include esteemed theater performances on and off Broadway, extensive mass transit systems, and a wide variety of fashions and cuisine.

These two areas of the world are approximately 8,000 miles apart – yet, somehow, they are connected.  Of course, the natural question to be asked is, how are New York City and Guangdong, China linked?  In a word, Chinatown.  New York City’s Chinatown is located in Manhattan and is essentially the largest sampler or representation of the Chinese culture outside the country of China itself.  Walking the streets of this area of lower Manhattan will showcase the architectural atmosphere, cuisine, and, of course, people that have some degree of history with China.

But Chinatown is more than just the home of the majority of Chinese New Yorkers.  It is an example – Chinatown represents the idea that culture is mobile.  With a little human effort, the ideas and traditions of a group of people that have been formed and preserved in one place, perhaps for centuries, can be upheld somewhere other than that place.  It is remarkable to think about.  Of course, assimilation does not always come without difficulty(in the example of Chinatown, the Chinese Exclusion Act), but it is still very, very possible.

Perhaps what makes New York City most noteworthy is that it is a mix of many different peoples and their ethnicities.  One will find many, many different types of people here and, similar to the concept of the United States, all these different peoples are united under the title of “New Yorker.”  There even exist various cultural areas, such as Chinatown and Little Italy, which directly present elements of lands far from the northeast coast of the United States.  For a large span of history, people of these lands have decided to pursue opportunities provided by the economy of New York and left their homes, often bringing with them little more than the values and traditions instilled into them by their original cultures.  Over time, the ideas brought over manifested themselves in the daily lives of these immigrant citizens, giving them a “new homeland”.  In this manner New York City is introduced to the flavors of different regions via its foreign citizens. So, Guangdong offers a culture and New York City offers a new home – and people are the medium of this transaction.

Andrew Chen is a second-generation American, and more specifically, New Yorker.  He lives in Queens and attends the City College of New York.  Andrew is a Chinese-American – his parents emigrated from the Guangdong region of China.  Both grew up on farms and had visions of a more successful future:  Andrew’s paternal family was rather average and sought better opportunities, while his maternal family was well-established but did not wish for future generations to be farmers.  Suddenly moving to New York was not an easy experience.  Andrew’s father both attended high school and worked as a bartender to support his four-member family, and Andrew’s mother struggled immensely with learning English (neither had known any of the language upon entering high school).  Both did well enough to get into college, however, and that was where they met.  The Americas did indeed offer better opportunities to this family, as Andrew’s father became knowledgeable in computing and likely would not have been able to do so in Guangdong.

Andrew’s parents began new lives in New York with a goal in mind – to ensure that the generations they could have (and did) spawn would grow up to be skilled in a profession that was not simple agriculture.  So far, they are accomplishing their goal:  Their offspring is studying in college.  They uprooted themselves, essentially for his sake, and sprouted a new family tree 8,000 miles from their original home.  When they did this, they indirectly accomplished another feat – by successfully establishing themselves in the United States, Andrew’s parents showed their Chinese relatives in Guangdong that something better was very possible.  They were the first members of their immediate or extended families to immigrate, and by doing so effectively they inspired other family members in Guangdong to do the same.  Thus, some of Guangdong, China is in New York City.

And so, the cycle of immigration continues.  Perhaps relatives of Andrew’s that remain in China will arrive here one day.  Immigrants constantly broaden the spectrum of culture by bringing new things to new places, which meshes different civilizations together and creates a remarkable hybrid.  Basically, Andrew is Chinese and American.

Source for information on Guangdong:

“Guangdong Travel Guide: Tours, Map, History, Attractions, Climate, Cantonese Cuisine.” Guangdong Travel Guide: Tours, Map, History, Attractions, Climate, Cantonese Cuisine. N.p., n.d. Web. 02 Feb. 2014.

Sitting down to talk to Paulina Librizzi, I had no idea that learning about her family would be like listening to a version of The Godfather. Coming from a family who knows very little about their origins, it was incredible to meet someone who not only knows her family’s history, but also has a thirteen-page document about it. The document is complete with pictures of the members of her father’s side of the family and the official documentation of the family’s immigration from Italy to America in the early 1900’s. Since I’ve always only had a vague idea of where my family comes from, I was truly blown away by how interesting and detailed her family’s story is.

The story begins with Paulina’s great grandfather, Santo, arriving in America on February 6^th, 1904. He had left Naples on January 20^th, aboard the ship The Liguria, with only ten dollars to his name. He was twenty-three years old at the time of his arrival and was most likely traveling with a man named Giuseppe Brucato, who was a relative of Santos. Conditions weren’t very good in Italy at the time, so they had left for America in search of a better life. The records show that they were headed to stay with a man named Rosario, who could have either been Santo’s brother or cousin, who was living around Little Italy.

Two years after Santo arrived, Lucia, Paulina’s great grandmother, arrived in New York. She was only fourteen years old and described as being 5’3” with a “rosy complexion and chestnut hair.” She was traveling with her father, who was forty-nine, and her brother, Damiano, who was twelve years old at the time of their arrival. According to the records, they arrived on Ellis Island on April 18^th, 1906, aboard the Nord America. Lucia came to America to wed Santo. Lucia and Santo may have been slightly related, which was more common back then, and that’s why she came all the way from Italy to marry him.

On May 3^rd, 1906, more Librizzis and Brocatos arrived in America from Petralia, a town in Sicily. They were all headed to 3 Mulberry Street in Little Italy to stay with their cousin and nephew, Santo. Since so many people were headed to one address, they were asked by customs if they were polygamists and anarchists. It must have been a very crowded house.

Now here is where the story gets interesting. Family legend has it that Santo and his family had to flee back to Italy in order to escape The Black Hand, an Italian Mafia in New York. The Black Hand was an extension of the mafia in Serbia that had helped in the assassination of Franz Ferdinand, the assassination that started World War II. They were an infamous group in Europe and in the States. They would often send letters to their victims demanding money and threatening their lives. According to the family story, Santo received letters threatening to murder his sons, Victor and Leonard (Paulina’s grandfather), if they didn’t pay the price that the mafia demanded. Instead of paying up, Santo and his family fled back to the safety of Italy.

Santo returned to America on November 7^th 1910 as a thirty year old man. He was traveling alone; leaving his wife and sons, now three years old and one year old, safely back in Petralia. Shortly after this, on May 11^th, 1912, the records again show Santo arriving in New York from Petralia. He must have been traveling back and forth in order to make sure it was safe enough for his family to move back to New York.

Six months after Santo’s return to America, Lucia and the boys came to meet him in New York. They had traveled second class on the Duca D’Aosta, a ship from Southern Italy. Lucia had listed her father, Leonardo, as her closest relative in New York, but stated that she was headed to Rockaway to stay with her husband. Afterwards, the family settled in Queens where they remain to this day. Leonardo, Paulina’s great grandfather and Santo’s son, is still alive and always tells the story of how his father escaped the mafia and saved their lives.

Paulina actually traveled to Italy just a few years ago in order to meet her family still living there. It was the first time she had a chance to meet many her many cousins. Her cousin, Pietros, is studying abroad in London this year. Pietros has two sisters who are ten and twelve, and adored Paulina when they met her. Pietros’ great grandfather is Damiano, Lucia’s brother who came to America when he was only twelve years old. Maybe it was the threat of The Black Hand that drove him back to Italy. Maybe he just missed home.

It’s incredible to think about Santos life and all that he went through to start a new life for himself in a completely different world than what he was used to. He must have been terrified when the mafia tried to take that away from him when they threatened his family. However, Santos bravery and resilience made it possible for the family to continue on with their life in America, all while keeping his story and culture alive in his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.

Paulina doesn’t know much about her mother’s side of her family. Her grandparents on her mother’s side also emigrated from Italy, but instead of holding onto their culture and their story, they became more Americanized in order to fit in. Her grandfather quickly learned English and traded pasta for meat and potatoes. He didn’t tell his children about his life before America.

How regrettable it is to think about all the other immigrants who chose to stay silent and ignore their native culture in favor of a more American version of themselves. In doing so, they lost a part of themselves, an important story that should have been passed down to each generation. All humans feel the need to know where we came from and how we got here, and the only way to truly do that is to tell people your story, especially if it involves the Italian mafia.

For starters, Italia does not consider herself or her family to be immigrants.  That is because she is the 4^th generation of her family, which originates from Puerto Rico.  Her family has been in the United States for so long, and because she was born in America, Italia does not see herself as an immigrant.

Italia’s father came to the United States at the tender age of one month old.  He was born in 1972 in the city of Ponce, which is located in southern Puerto Rico.  He came to New York with both of his parents.

Born in 1947, Italia’s maternal grandmother came to the United States from Guayanilla, located in southeast Puerto Rico and just about 15.5 miles from Ponce.  She was 19 years old and came with her father, Italia’s great-grandfather.  She was more than happy when she arrived in the United States because it was a childhood dream of hers to move to New York.   It was in 1966 that Italia’s grandmother first settled down in Coney Island with her father, neither of them knowing a soul around them.

Even though Italia’s grandmother is technically a United States citizen in Puerto Rico, the quality of life was not the same there.  For that reason, her family came to New York in search of better opportunities.  It was with the intent of helping make money for the family and slowly bringing her siblings over into the US that Italia’s grandmother set out to find work.  Left behind in Puerto Rico still were three of Italia’s grand-aunts and one grand-uncle, and the situation at home was not going well financially.

Italia’s grandmother was not the oldest child.  However, although being a middle child, she was chosen to be the first to come to the United States because of her great desire to live here and because she began working at a very young age so she would have an easier time getting work.  It was entirely too expensive to bring everyone over at once.  This is why only one of the children could be chosen to come to New York.  Her plane ticket cost $46.  The rent at their Coney Island home was $98 per month.  Italia’s grandmother and great-grandfather worked very hard and by December of the same year (1966) Italia’s grandaunt, granduncle, and great-grandmother were able to come up to New York.

When Italia’s grandmother first came to New York, she set out to completely immense herself in American culture.  She would converse with the people around her whenever she got the chance.  She also watched a variety of television shows—Jeopardy was her favorite.  Adjustments to American culture were not so difficult for her.  She continued to cook the same foods that she did when she was in Puerto Rico, so adjusting to the food was not an issue.  For the most part, all that she struggled with was learning English.

Over the past 38 years since they have been living in New York, Italia’s grandmother has lived in about 6 different locations.  First, they lived in Coney Island in 1966.  Within a few years, Italia’s mother was born in 1973.  Her grandmother, great-grandfather, and mother then moved to Sheepshead Bay, where they lived for about five years.  Following that, they lived in Ocean Parkway.  After some time, they moved to Park Slope, Brooklyn where, on Valentine’s Day, Italia was born.  For a while, they all lived on Stratford Road, and soon after, they all moved to Bensonhurst in southeast Brooklyn where Italia was raised.  They finally settled down in Marine Park, Brooklyn, which is where they live currently.

All in all, everything that Italia’s grandmother hoped for with life in New York was realized and her dreams were fulfilled.  Everyone who was left to come into the United States is now living here happily.  It was the best decision for them to come to New York, and they couldn’t be happier.

             Sara’s (Saranya’s) tale of immigration starts with her father. He was a college graduate working for the BHC when he decided that he wanted to go to the U.S. in order to continue his education and further assist his family. Prior to this, he met and married Sara’s mother, who later gave birth to Sara’s older sister. When the time was right, Sara’s father came to the U.S. on a student visa with several of his college friends. While there he obtained his masters degree at NYU and began working for the DEP as a civil engineer. After getting his job with the DEP, he began sending money back to his family in India and wrote what his daughters call “love-letters” back and forth with his wife. This lasted for about 8 moths to a year.

Over time, Sara’s father was able to bring his wife and daughter over. After obtaining a visa, her Sara’s father was also able to bring his parents and a brother over. His brother worked for a while, but eventually returned to India. They’d been living in a friend’s basement, but later moved into a 1bedroom, 1 bathroom apartment in Jamaica, Queens. Eventually Sara was born.

Sara’s mother was excited to come to the U.S. She wanted to study, get a job and be a career woman. Her husband’s parents did not support this however, as it was more traditional for women to become stay at home wives and mothers. In spite of this, she studied at NYU the same way her husband did and became a certified accountant with a CPA. She worked at a travel agency for a while, then later for Urbani Goods Company.

While working, Sara’s mother sponsored three of Sara’s aunts so that they could come to the U.S. They all stayed with her for a while, and then went their separate ways. One now lives in Colorado, another in Queens and the third in New Jersey.

While in Jamaica, Queens, Sara’s father saw a beautiful red house that he’d have loved to make his own. He liked it so much that he would purposely walk home on a path that allowed him to pass by the house. When the house became available, it was his wife who saw that he liked it and convinced him to buy it. He’d told her that it was far too expensive, but she said it’d be fine. In the long run, it was, as they paid off the mortgage on it just last year.

Life in the U.S. had both ups and downs. For Sara’s father, obtaining a job in the U.S. meant prestige for his family back home. For her mother, it meant having opportunities that most women back in India would not. The down side was that they had to be far more independent than they did back home. In India, family was a key component of everyday life. If one ever had a problem, he or she could always find a family member or family friend that they could talk to and confide in. If one had to raise children, but needed free time to attend to other matters, there was always an aunt, uncle, or other family that could babysit. In the U.S., however, Sara’s parents were mostly on their own. This made working and raising children at the same time more difficult. As a result, when Sara was born, she had to spend a year in India with her grandparents.

Other troubles Sara’s family faced included communication, subway issues, slowness or lateness of transportation in general and, for Sara’s mother, trouble travelling while pregnant. When it came to communication in particular, Sara’s parents actually did know English, as they’d been required to learn it in school. However, they still had strong accents that made it difficult for others to understand them.

Cultural changes for Sara’s parent were not as severe. There was a temple in Jackson Heights, which allowed access to traditional religious experiences. Food was able to remain unchanged as all necessary spices could be brought over from India whenever someone visited. They were also able to celebrate cultural holidays such as Diwali: an Indian national holiday in which they invite many friends and family over for a big party.

In spite of separation from culture not being a problem for Sara, there was still a loss of culture from her parent’s generation to hers. Sara does not consider herself to be an immigrant. She does consider her parents and sister to be immigrants. However, she thinks that she is actually more Indian than her sister. She believes this because her sister came to the U.S. when she was only a year old. Thus, her sister didn’t have much of an immigrant experience the way her parents did. While Sara’s parents sent Sara on many trips back to India to maintain her cultural roots, Sara’s sister was in college, and couldn’t always go.  As for Sara herself, in spite of her many visits home, she doesn’t speak her family’s language, and as a result, there is a slight language barrier between her and her grandparents.  She also feels pressured by them to get in touch with her culture more, but she’d prefer not to do so.

Overall, it seems that the immigration story of Sara’s family ended in success. Sara’s father’s standards and work ethic earned him respect within the workplace. When he first came to the U.S., white people mesmerized him, as they were highly respected in India. Now, he has white people working under him. He also obtained and slowly paid for the home of his dreams. Sara’s mother was able to balance working, studying and raising a family and has a career and two beautiful and intelligent children to show for it. Both parents were also able to assist their family members back home and allowed them to experience the U.S. for themselves, whether permanently or temporarily.