My family's immigrant experience

Anthony Salerno, my Father

A tweet yesterday by the actress Mira Sorvino had to do with telling her own family's immigrant experience. In it, Mira referenced a powerful article about Jennifer Mendelsohn, who has researched a few immigrant experiences of members of congress who are now actively engaged in anti-immigrant efforts.

It motivated me to think back on my own family's experience.

My Grandfather, Carmello was a shepherd in Sicily. Times were tough, and he immigrated to the United States in search of a better life for his wife and two children. So he took a chance, coming across the Atlantic on a boat in steerage. He was one of millions of people who came through Ellis Island during its peak years.

Once in his new country, he worked as a laborer - helping dig out the Holland Tunnel, among other projects. It was difficult, dirty and dangerous work.

Eventually there were eight children. Including my father, Anthony.

My Dad told me that, growing up, the family only spoke Italian in the home. The kids, going to the neighborhood public school, quickly learned English. But my Grandparents never really learned the new language.

The neighborhood in Garfield, New Jersey, where my Grandpa and his family lived was primarily Italian. The local stores were run by Italians. They prospered and quickly adapted to their new country.

My Dad was a first generation American.

Anthony Salerno, during WWII

He grew up, fought for his country in World War II and married my Mom.

They had eight children.

After the War, my Dad and Mom settled in Michigan, where he worked in a produce market, in a hotel as a cook, and eventually for the New York Central Railroad. He worked steadily for the railroad for over thirty years. During that time frame, Dad held a variety of jobs, from pulling switches for trains, to handling hundreds of thousands of dollars of business annually as a railroad freight agent. He showed me by example what it meant to hold down a job and be dependable.

From an early age, Dad instilled the value of an education - frequently mentioning that he had dropped out of grade school because of the Great Depression, to find work. So, all of his children went to college. I remember the day Dad walked me downtown to the bank to set up a savings account for me. "This is for your education only!" he emphasized.

All of my brothers had paper routes (this was during the days when routes were walked by kids, lugging bags full of newspapers). We were used to working from a very young age. One of those routes, Detroit Free Press, involved getting up and delivering the early morning papers before going to school.

We didn't have a car in our family until I was in middle school. One of the first rides we took was to a low-income neighborhood where my Father asked us: "Do you think anyone chooses to live in poor housing? They're not here because they like it." He encouraged us that the whole reason for getting an education "was so that you can help others who need someone to stick up for them."

Taken together, my seven siblings and I have earned two doctorates, three masters degrees, five bachelor's degrees and two associates degrees.

My Father and my Grandfather taught their children the value of work. Of loyalty. Of being a productive citizen. And of having a heart for the underdog. No, they did not assimilate effortlessly. Yes, they faced difficulties and challenges. But they never gave up.

These things are what I learned from my family's immigrant experience. I'm proud to be the grandson of an immigrant!

What about your own family's immigrant experiences? Feel free to share!