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To the protesters
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Anonymous user Wed May 10, 2006 15:07:58 PDT
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0 responses 2 comments I am the first American born on my father’s side and the second on my mother’s from Italian descent.

When I see all this protesting from illegals it really aggravates me. I have no idea what these people and lawyers don’t understand about the word “illegal.” These people should have protested in the country they came from and tried to get things accomplished and maybe they would not have had to leave the country they love.

I have documents belonging to my father where his brother had to prove to the United States that my father was not incompetent, was in good health, was not deformed or crippled, had never been in a mental institution or jail or prison, and that my uncle, the sponsor, had a job and money in the bank so the U.S. would not be responsible for my father, my uncle would.

I do not resent these rules, they were made to preserve America. Everyone at that time came here to work and make something on themselves so they could have a better life. There wasn’t such a thing as free medical services and handouts in those days, hard work achieved their goals.

At the age of 16, my dad arrived in New York and was ferried to Ellis Island, where he had to strip down and take a shower before any doctors would lay a hand on him. He and the other immigrants were not treated with kid gloves, but herded like cattle. No one protested! They did what had to be done to enter the U.S. legally.

Even though the Italian, Germans, Irish and French were migrating to the U.S. in this era, no one spoke their language, but with hand or head gestures they got the idea of what they had to do and where they had to go.

If there were any concerns about your health you were headed back to Europe, no ifs, ands or buts.

My dad came across the U.S. by train. Again no one spoke his language, but he made it to Buttonwillow, where he reunited with his two brothers.

Dad went to work for Miller in Lux for a dollar a day plus room and board.

Yes, many immigrants did help build our country, but they were here legally. They started with hard work and cheap pay, but they were happy to have jobs. It was certainly better than where they came from or they would have never left their countries or families.

Dad was a farm laborer who worked long hours. His employer provided him a place to sleep –– a long room with many cots that he shared with many men. The dining room was also large, and cooks fixed what they wanted to, not what the hungry men desired. No one protested that the food they had to eat was not what they were used to. They were just thankful to be in the “Land of Opportunity!”

Sometime in the late 1920s, my dad and his brothers were offered land at the Buena Vista Lake bottom by Mr. Houchin. There were no leases signed, just a handshake. This was the start of Ghilarducci Brothers Farms.

Here they lived in cook houses and tents. The cook houses resembled covered wagons, except they were only transported from ranch to ranch and were used only to prepare food. They raised wheat and corn and never got into town until the crops were reaped.

When my dad married my mother in 1930, he hired a local teacher to teach him how to read and write in English and to teach him the Constitution of the United States. I remember later when I was in school and my mom would give my sis and I our spelling words or have us read out load and my dad would sit at the table and do these things with us.

There was no free schooling available to Dad at the time like there is nowadays. With all the free schooling there is today there should be no reason why someone after 20 years in this country needs an interpreter, even when they are accepting cheaper housing from our government, as was printed in The Bakersfield Californian a few weeks ago.

There wasn’t a happier day than when my dad became an American. My mom invited all of our family and friends and cooked for days so we could celebrate. This honor was not given to him. He earned it by learning the language and the laws of the country.

We didn’t have any Italian flags to wave in public or hang in our home. My family respected their adopted country. My sis and I were taught the Italian language, but Dad told us it was only to be used in our home. We had traditions that we followed, and do to this day, but only in our own home and with our own families.

We could have protested for the abuse we got during WWII, but we didn’t. We just had to understand that some of these things had to be done because we were at war.

We did it the right way even though it wasn’t easy.

I’ll end with a phrase that my grandmother, who also came to this country from Italy, would say: “I have had some hard times in America, but I never went to bed hungry, and for this I am grateful. I am an American.

Amen!

Julia McKinley
Student of the Kern City Writing Class directed by Evalyn Daverin

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Comment From: kevinmorrison

Very nicely stated and well written. You're right to be proud of your family. We all should be proud of our families who did it the right way. Thank you for sharing your story. Comment From: