Walking Jett and Lilac in my long socks and heavy skirts these days …
Jett & Lilac♥️♥️:
A big Thank You! to Dorrie for gifting me this cutie vintage autumn-rain coat! Lined and cozy😊! Perfect for walking Jett and Lilac in October!: pics/text: Rose T.
Yesterday was Jackson Browne’s birthday. I’ve been listening to him since senior year Burncoat High School.
I have this lp, bought YEARS AGO, somewhere. Real and beautiful picture of life on the road, according to a lighting technician I loved at UMass/Amherst who toured with Billy Joel, Madonna and was planning on accompanying Marvin Gaye (but Gaye was murdered by his father!):
October is National Disability Employment Awareness Month (NDEAM)!
Announcing RespectAbility’s New NDEAM Webinar Series!
The Right Talent, Right Now!
Fighting Stigmas and Advancing Opportunities for People with Disabilities
If you have been working in disability employment, inclusion or workforce development for any length of time, then you should know that October is National Disability Employment Awareness Month (NDEAM). This month marks a key opportunity to celebrate the incredible contributions of employees with disabilities.
It also is a good time to educate employers about strategies for recruiting, training and promoting people with disabilities. The theme for 2019’s celebration of employees with disabilities is “The Right Talent, Right Now.”
As such, RespectAbility is delighted to invite you to join us this October for an exciting webinar series promoting best practices in disability employment, employer engagement and workplace culture. Each webinar is FREE, includes open captioning and features a subject matter expert sharing their insights, perspectives and strategies-you-can-use in your own work.
🌞First up, on Wednesday, Oct. 9:
We invite you to join us for a conversation with James Emmett
about “Structuring the Workplace for Long-Term Success.” Emmett has been closely involved with some of the nation’s most successful workplace inclusion projects and will be there to share his insights with all of you.
🍂After that, on Wednesday, Oct. 16:
We are delighted to be hosting two private-sector titans of diversity and inclusion to talk about “
Disability Inclusion, Assimilation and Success.” Learn from
Jim Sinocchi, Managing Director of the Office of Disability Inclusion at JP Morgan Chase about launching “new era of disability inclusion” and “hiring professionals with disabilities into the robust culture of the firm.” Likewise, Vincenzo Piscopo, Community and Stakeholder Relations Director for Coca-Cola will talk about the key work that Coca-Cola has done to bring greater diversity to their team, their culture and their brand.
🇺🇸Lastly, on Tuesday, Oct. 22:
We will shift gears to how the workforce development system can
successfully engage employers
and get more jobs for people with disabilities. To do that, we are hosting leaders from Iowa’s Vocational Rehabilitation System
who have built up a robust network of business partnerships and have had great success serving rural communities. We hope you will join us for this great learning opportunity.
All our webinars are FREE to enjoy and will feature accessible slides, captioning and downloadable materials.
If you have any questions or need more info, go to RespectAbility.org
🍁Structuring the Workplace for Long-Term Success with James Emmett
Date: Wednesday, October 9, 2019
For years, James Emmett has been at the forefront of promising practices and proven strategies for getting more and more people with disabilities jobs. Join us on Wednesday, October 9th for a special conversation where James will share key insights from his trailblazing work in the private sector. Learn from him about taking an integrated approach to recruitment, accommodations, and promotion to structure the workplace for the long term success of employees with disabilities.
🍁Disability Inclusion, Assimilation and Success – Lessons from JP Morgan Chase and Coca-Cola
Date: Wednesday, October 16, 2019
🍂Join us for a special conversation with some of the nation’s leading experts on disability, inclusion and success. Jim Sinocchi and Kevin Sylvester will speak about their efforts to launch a “new era of disability inclusion” at JP Morgan Chase, by “hiring professionals with disabilities into the robust culture of the firm.” They will share key lessons they have learned about how to identify, training and promote professional with disabilities.
🌻Likewise, Vincenzo Piscopo will talk about the key work that Coca-Cola has done to bring greater diversity to their team, their culture and their brand. From the new Unlabeled ad campaign to his personal experiences as a leader in the firm, Vincenzo will offer insights from a globe-trotting careers as a successful inclusion leader.
🌄Iowa Voc Rehab’s Stories of Successful Business Engagement and Disability Hiring
An intensive workshop where Fellows will gain the tools needed to revise and refine their pilots and navigate a changing industry landscape
The great state of Iowa has been at the forefront of outreach work to educate business partners on the bottom-line benefits of hiring more and more people with disabilities.
We invite you to join us for this webinar to learn how Iowa’s Vocational Rehabilitation system has built up a robust network of business partnerships with Kwik-Trip and other diverse firms. We are also excited for our guests to speak about the unique challenges of meeting the workforce training needs of youth with disabilities in rural Iowa.
Brilliant! GREAT IDEA, Team Beto!
Go, Beto, go!!!
From Beto for America:
Credit cards have enabled many of America’s mass shootings in the last decade:
For example, the man who shot up a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, got away with buying $11,000 in assault rifles, gas masks, grenades, and ammo. He just charged it to his credit card.
However inadvertent or deliberate, credit card companies and banks profit off of those who terrorize our communities. And we know that in this moment, no one can sit on the sidelines. Everyone has a responsibility to do their part.
These companies are no exception.
That’s why today we’re calling on the financial industry to do their part to cut off the sales of these weapons of war. …
We’re calling on banks and credit card companies to:
Refuse to provide services for the sales of assault weapons.
Stop processing transactions for gun sales online or at gun shows without background checks.
Stop doing business with gun or ammo manufacturers who produce or sell assault weapons.
If this Congress and this president won’t act, the least the financial industry can do is stop profiting off of sales of these weapons.
If enough of us speak out, they’ll consider it!
The financial industry has played a part in government efforts to stop the illegal drug trade, trafficking, and other violent crimes. It’s time for them to step up now and stop the easy flow of assault weapons to terrorists.
If enough of us make our voices heard now, we stand a chance to make that happen.
To contribute to Beto’s presidential campaign via check, please address it to Beto for America campaign, P.O. Box 3628, El Paso, TX 79923.
Wild animals must stay in the wild! Not tortured, exploited, slayed …
Yay, presidential contender Joe Biden! 💚💚💚💚
Did you know Democratic Presidential Candidate Julian Castro HAS AN ENTIRE ANIMAL RIGHTS PLATFORM? To HELP ALL ANIMALS💚: wildlife, dogs and cats, puppy mill dogs and more:
WE LOVE YOU, JULIAN!!!! 🇺🇸🇺🇸
Did you know Democratic Presidential Candidate Cory Booker EATS NO MEAT or Animal Products – has been vegetarian for years?
Thank you, Cory and AOC!❤️❤️:
We miss you, George Jones! Today is your birthday:
Cutline … above: Cecelia, Rose’s late mom, leaving for work, about to head down our backstairs to walk Lafayette … our old Philco TV in the background (we now have a color Zenith!), the casual resting spot for Ma’s laundry basket filled with damp just-washed clothes ready for our old clothesline, pictured, also.
Ma never owned a car but she did plenty of shopping – especially grocery – on Millbury and Water streets during their – and her💛 – heyday. Lots of Green Island women – single and married – did. Their vehicle of transport? The receptacle for all their goods and goodies? The trusty White’s Five and Ten “shopping wagon” – a steal at $10. Ten bucks for a foldable, relatively light weight, metal, portable shopping wagon. They must have had them in the shtetls of Eastern Europe because when I was a little girl growing up in Green Island I saw a bunch of them pulled by the married and single Polish and Lithuanian women of Green Island/Vernon Hill. For grocery shopping all along Millbury Street, maybe Water, too. Millbury was lined with scores of tiny mom and pop stores!
My mom’s White’s shopping wagon went clickety clack behind her as she walked down the cracked Millbury Street sidewalk in her beige, sensible work shoes – the Hush Puppies she had bought for herself at Lisbon’s Shoes – on Millbury Street.
My friend’s mother, who was married to a Pole who survived the Russian work camps after World War II (he did lose his hearing in one ear) was used to deprivation. She pulled her metal shopping wagon with a ram rod straight back, head held high, looking directly ahead, never turning her narrow face to catch some distraction, like a cool car or stray pup, never cracking a smile – even though she was a good, sweet person and an INCREDIBLE POLISH COOK – everything bought on Millbury Street, everything made from scratch, even her delicious egg noodles! She and her husband owned a few three decker’s in Green Island and Vernon Hill (where they lived with my school buddy, Barbara). Mrs. K made weekly walks to Millbury Street from her family’s Vernon Hill three decker apartment, her White’s Five and Ten shopping wagon behind her – pulled by her strong work hands, tightly held. Her husband had a truck but that was for his landlord business – he’d never think of giving his older wife a ride down or up the big hill for grocery shopping! Women’s work!
It was many years ago when Green Island/the Kelley Square area was a shopping mecca – for the local working class and poorer folks from the ‘hood but also for shoppers all over Worcester who came for the ethnic specialties at shops like the Bueller Brothers Market – sausages made from scratch – Polish sausage. Ma loved her kilbasa – boiled in water, sliced then placed between two pieces of pumpernickel, one piece of bread slathered with mustard. I loved my kilbasa sandwiches, too! Or the outsiders from the other Woo ‘hoods came to Widoffs or Lederman’s bakeries to buy a dozen or two of their freshly baked, pillowy, fragrant, warm bulkies … always given to us shoppers in brown paper bags. They’d be eaten up by the evening, so why plastic??? Hundreds of folks flooded these two bakeries after going to Mass or services on Sunday mornings – a Worcester tradition that was both homey and a little extravagant for us!
The ol’ Water Street: the side of the now gone Weintraub’s Deli
My old neighborhood was home to grocery stores, fish markets, bakeries, Bueller Brothers, diners and dairy bars with takeout, the iconic Charles Restaurant and Messier’s also with takeout, the unforgettable Widoffs and Lederman’s, and a billion barrooms with a few flop houses thrown in for good measure. All shoppers rubbed shoulders in Green Island /Water Street! No one was elite on shopping days in my old neighborhood, now the gentrified Canal District where the local poor are disrespected and shut out of the activities. Nope, back then Ma pulled her shopping wagon filled with groceries before Charles Restaurant where she’d wave to some of the politicians who were going in for a famous Charles seafood lunch – they’d say, Hi, Cel! She was their counter girl at the dry cleaners where they brought in their suits to be cleaned and pressed. She smiled at her beloved customers – like the good hen admiring her cute chicks.
There was a young guy on Lafayette Street, several houses away from our old three decker, who had his own shopping wagon. He was severely crippled, his skinny legs sticks that were permanently bent like number 7s, yet he could walk wicked fast, at an angle, and with gusto! He was in his 30s but had a paper route just like the kids in our neighborhoods. He couldn’t carry the newspaper satchel on his crooked shoulders. So he had his newspapers in his own personal White’s shopping wagon – from which he grabbed his newspapers and flung them onto our back porches.
The late Tony Hmura’s mom lived in my ‘hood, too – on Scott Street. She was older – the same age as my Bapy. She looked a lot like her, too. I’d see her maybe once or twice a year walking home with her White’s shopping wagon filled with brown paper bags stuffed with groceries. But mostly Tony, who owned Leader Signs, or his sister, did the grocery shopping for their mom – using their cars.
The always controversial Tony!
One older lady who worked in the envelope factory kept her White’s shopping wagon outside her back-door area. I could tell because she lived directly across from us – a tiny front yard separated the back porches of our two three deckers. Every Saturday night, as a little kid, I’d stand on our back porch and I could see Jenny sitting alone on her back-stairs, quiet, to herself (she didn’t even own a car!) nursing a beer. Jenny was in her late 4Os; she had lived alone her whole adult life … nursing a bottle of beer every Saturday night outside her apartment, on her wooden back stairs. Tight curly perm, no nonsense dusters from White’s … shopping every Saturday afternoon on Millbury Street. She was carless just like my mother, but Ma was happy: she lived with, was surrounded by, people and pets (the people: Bapy, Jaju, her three little girls, sometimes Daddy), plus the German Shepherd mix and Old English Sheep dog pup I talked her into adopting for me, AND later a tabby kitten, my pet hamster Joy and two newts which I kept in a big muddy aquarium in my bedroom. One escaped! and Ma found him emaciated by the toilet (his brother was so fat and healthy in the aquarium). Ma didn’t seem to mind all the work and grocery shopping … Everyone in our neighborhood knew Jenny, and she was always a quiet, polite neighbor. Years later, I see: a lonely woman, a life of “quiet desperation.” Alcoholism, too. I wish I could go back in time, give Jenny a big hug and invite her to our Lafayette Street three decker flat for one of my mothers’s raucous Sunday baked chicken dinners – with all the fixings! So delicious! If I only knew then what I understand now …
Finally, when we were older, teenagers, Ma gave her big shopping list and cash to my beautiful kid sister who dutifully took up the White’s shopping wagon and made the trek to Supreme’s, the fruit store, sometimes even Widoffs, every Thursday eve. The saint of our family, she shopped right after working in Boston! She grabbed Ma’s rickety old shopping wagon and still in her pretty secretary dress booked it down Lafayette Street waving to neighbors, smiling to all, saying Hello! I see her now, walking home, lugging a wagon full of food, looking a little tired … long day. I rush downstairs to help her carry up the bags of groceries. She is so pretty, yet her brown eyes seem so sad …
“She was gold,” my mother’s best gal pal once said to Ma.
This Labor Day, as I make myself a late lunch … 🍅🍅🍅🍅 pics: R.T.
I remember … onions.
I photograph onions!
I praise onions!
I eat onions!
I always have a bag in the house:
I eat one now!
Whole, raw – just like that!
Just like a good Polak!
… while my lunch cooks …
And I remember the story that “Ma,” my late mother, told me: how my Jaju from Poland (her father, my grandfather) got ready for work, real labor, at the textile mill in Douglas, where he was a dyer. He made two or three onion sandwiches for his work day, she said, and she gave me Jaju’s recipe. My Jaju, a poor immigrant who never learned to speak, read or write English, liked to cook, but he was a master carpenter! He built my mom a backyard glider-swing for her Lafayette Street backporch when I was just a baby! So I could be rocked to sleep!
He loved working with his hands!
He loved onions!
And mushrooms and blueberries, too! He picked both with my mother, when she was a little girl and he was young, in the wilds of Worcester! Together they rambled o’er Vernon Hill, my mother way ahead of my Jaju, and my Jaju worried about his favorite daughter whom he nicknamed his “Scravonik” – “Little Sparrow.” Ma had been sickly as a toddler and almost died – she was such a skinny little girl now! Every winter Jaju gave his oldest daughter Jane this assignment: Sew your little sister the best new winter coat … made of wool, with a thick lining. Thicker than last year’s!
I have Bapy and Jaju’s pedal sewing machine on which Ma’s coats were made by Aunt Jane. It’s in my bedroom:
Here is Jaju’s onion sandwich recipe, which he followed meticulously on Bigelow Street, in his and Bapy’s tenement in The Block. Before heading to the Douglas textile mill … (a guy from the neighborhood worked at the mill, too. He had a car, so he picked Jaju up every day, and they rode in together):
2 slices of Wonder Bread
1 whole onion
Miracle Whip Mayonnaise
Slice the onion into 1/4-inch-thick rounds. Place the rounds on one slice of your Wonder Bread.
Spread mayonnaise on your other slice of Wonder Bread and … Voila! A tasty, healthy veggie lunch!
My mother helped Jaju get ready for work: she took his little metal rolling machine, his can of tobacco, and little square tissue papers and rolled his cigarettes – unfiltered – for work. She did this in his bedroom, where Jaju liked to smoke!! after work – and play his harmonica.
Every day Jaju took the cigs my mother made for him and his onion sandwiches and left for Schuster Mills which my uncle, his son, called “Pa’s Hell,” after working a summer vacation there side by side with his dad – who never complained about the working conditions – or anything – but was SO PROUD WHEN HE JOINED THE UNION! I have, tucked away in a desk drawer, Jaju’s union booklets, cards … He saved EVERYTHING union!
Earlier in the morning, Bapy had made Jaju a big scrambled eggs breakfast, and she’d be cooking his from-scratch, homemade supper all afternoon. She was in love – wild about her husband – until the day he died, 50 years after their wedding day. A half-century of marriage.
Theirs was a true love story: Bapy, 18, and Jaju on their wedding day. Other pic: The Bishop
Jaju’s onion sandwiches were just snacks! Before the Worcester Board of Health shut it down, Bapy and Jaju raised rabbits on their back-porch for stew. Jaju once made me a white rabbit’s foot keychain!
In the 1930s/40s when Ma worked in Springfield, along with her two older sisters, as a housekeeper/maid for the Bishop of Springfield she would make herself onion sandwiches when she was lonely – missed her family and their food. She was farmed out to work in Springfield by my grandparents when she was just 14, during the Great Depression, and stayed there for 10 years. Such good Catholic girls! So lucky to have food, room and board and a job/$$ when half the country was starving and unemployed! “Ma,” left, and her sister Mary at the Bishop’s during their day off.
So now it’s my turn … My turn to remember my mother on Labor Day and how she, a single mom, worked 60 hours a week for minimum wage at the dry cleaners on Millbury Street to support her three girls … how she ate, like a man when she had worked up an appetite, onion sandwiches at our ugly painted green kitchen table in Green Island. She was pretty back then, but she was worn out: her back slightly hunched, her hands veiny and arthritic. When I was in high school I was ashamed of Ma and her onion sandwiches – they were so poor. I cringed at all the Polish peasant dishes Ma cooked for me and my two sisters on Lafayette Street: Cabbage. Pigs feet/knuckles. Beets. Potato pancakes. Hard boiled eggs. I ate them all, embarassed. But now they are the suns and stars of my culinary universe! The beautiful latke! The perfect onion! The crimson beets on their cracked plate – a beautiful painting! The scrap beef floating in broth … and the potato pierogi brought down special for Bapy – who LOVED PIEROGI – by Aunt Jane, after she had made a few batches at her house.
So I chop up a small onion and throw it into the tomato and rice dish I’m making on the stove. I look at the onion’s layers and peel them off each other slowly this Labor Day. I do not cry …
Lamartine Street School class photo: Rose, seated, first row, far right.
When I was a little girl growing up in Green Island, back-to-school time, usually right after Labor Day, was not about buying stylish back-to-school clothes or wearing the coolest designer sneakers or bragging about exotic summer vacations in Africa or France … or the recent purchase of your new portable TV for your bedroom – just for you – by Dad. My mom, a single mother who worked 60 hours a week for minimum wage at the dry cleaners down the street, couldn’t afford any of that upper-middle-class social/academic enrichment.
It wasn’t about sports, either – though sometimes it was about trying out for varsity or jv football teams for our cousins – the boys. Baseball practice for them in springtime, too.
But mostly for us kids, like it was for lots of first-generation Americans and their off-spring in the 1950/60s, September signaled the start of another school year, another 10 months of intense ACADEMIC COMPETITION between mothers, aunts, uncles and even grandparents who treated us kids like the finest thoroughbreds – raced against each other and all the other students in the Worcester Public Schools for the grand prize: highest A in math class, the A+ in spelling … the coolest styrofoam-ball solar system model in science class!
TO ACHIEVE IN AMERICA! LAND OF FREEDOM AND OPPORTUNITY FOR ALL – IF YOU WORKED HARD AND HAD EVEN A SMIDGEN OF ABILITY! Our mothers, aunts, uncles and even grandparents believed this (myth???) to the very narrow of their bones. They picked their faves (one of us) and set their dreams squarely on our tiny shoulders or tall, lanky frames, knowing, just knowing!, that we kids – students all! – were going to be their American Dream realized.
Our lives would be their gifts, bought with their minimum wage jobs in the dry cleaners – for 60 hours a week – or their toil in the hellish heat in the Douglas textile mill (my grandfather from Poland). We kids were our family’s, AMERICA’S, BEST AND BRIGHTEST. Gold to parents and grandparents, the sod busters of Ireland, the turnip diggers of Poland, the grape pickers of Italy, the factory or mill workers of Woo’s Quinsig Village, Green Island and South Worcester. We kids were gonna wash the grime out from under our fingernails to become … professionals! Courtesy of America’s public schools – the Worcester Public Schools!
Our parents and grandparents meant business when it came to public education – we kids attended school every day, unless we were dying. Unable to get out of bed because of a high fever, chicken pox, a burst appendix. They didn’t care if our teachers were racist, classist, insensitive or even nasty. To our parents, even the most ignorant and/or incompetent teacher had knowledge we could squeeze out of them. Make lemonade from lemons! they seemed to tell us. Our parents backed up our teachers at parent-teacher conferences, too – and when it came to discipline, they didn’t challenge the schools. Usually, they double-downed.
In my extended family, we were not allowed to fritter away Monday through Friday with Barbie dolls or Tonka Trucks (that was for the weekends when we kids got to play, play, play). During our “work week” we were expected to work hard at being students … We would get straight A’s at Lamartine Street School, study our hearts out at Providence Street Junior High School (even buying our homeroom teachers little Christmas presents) and come in early to help our chemistry teacher set up the lab before first period at Burncoat Senior High School. If we did all this – and I did! – we would grow up to be brilliant American professionals, dressing in skirts and blouses for the girls, suits and sleek, black pointy shoes for the boys. Working with our brains – not our hands. Making good money just for THINKING! For being a smart person! Only in America would we get this chance! We Dumb Polack kids or swarthy Italian kids or Irish Mick’s who were still outsiders in WASPY America – the places our parents wanted us to be. But we didn’t know anything. We were just kids. We were kids who were being scrubbed with a hot soapy wash cloth behind the ears, under our armpits, by our moms or getting our hair cut at drunken Molly’s on Green Street for day #1 of the Worcester Public Schools – we Lituanian-, Polish-, Irish- Swedish-, Italian-American kids whose parents or grandparents dared to believe in America. Many of them couldn’t write very well, or even read. So they put all their eggs in their kids’ baskets! My mother told me the story of a boy she knew as a little girl living in “The Block” on Bigelow Street. His parents kept him locked in his room and, when he got out, he would grab a newspaper and run to his friend, an older kid, begging him to teach him to read! She was telling me: We were the beloved! Look! she said to me. Uncle Joe bought his son, my cousin Tommy, a doctor’s bag! It is “just” a toy, she said, but the black stethoscope inside the bag is almost as impressive as Dr. Piekers’s, our pediatrician’s. The doctors bag (back then docs made house calls, with doctors bags) also came with 5 Band-Aids, 2 fake orange plastic syringes (no needles), 1 plastic thermometer, a fake head lamp for the doctor … and a Red Cross sticker.
I wanted to be a teacher, so Ma walked to White’s Five and Ten on Millbury Street and bought me pens, pencils, rulers, note pads, drawing pads and crayons so my two kid sisters and I could play school in the living room, after real school. I was the teacher. Sometimes my real first grade teacher at Lamartine Street School would have to go to the classroom next door … and she would make me get up and go around the classroon to help the other students with their reading. I was the teacher! That’s because I was the best reader – already she knew that and accelerated my course work – had me reading second- and third- grade books.
At night, at the end of their work days, my mother and Aunt Mary took turns telephoning each other to compare notes about their kids’ school days!! – really to brag, to compete. Very American. My mom bragged to her sister, my Aunt Mary, about my A+ book report. My Aunt Mary matched that news with her son’s, my cousin Fred’s, 100% correct math test! Math was harder than reading, she intimated to Ma. So the next night my mother called my aunt to announce: Rosalie got 100% in her math test! My cousin was a year older than me; he was a grade ahead at his school in the Burncoat neighborhood. So we were pretty evenly matched. No comment from my aunt. This “contest” went on three or four nights a week – between Ma and Aunt Mary – for my entire WPS career, K – grade 12.
My mother never expected less from me because we lived in a ramshackle tenement on Lafayette Street and my cousins lived in a cute cape off Burncoat Street. I don’t remember her ever using the word “poor” during my childhood or teen years! And I never felt poor! Just loved by her … To Ma, I was as strong in the I.Q. department as my boy cousins – a bit stronger, I think. She believed I could do or be anything. Powerful stuff for a little girl growing up in the 1960s/70s!
My kid sisters and I, thanks to Ma, were well fed, well rested, well behaved. So why not excel at school and go on to college? Why not be a writer? Or a painter – just like my Italian cousin who went on to paint sets in Hollywood! Why not have her Rosalie take free violin and accordion lessons at Lamartine Street School? The Italian side of my family was full of musicians – banjo players! My Uncle Al had a jazz band during the Depression – he was the conductor. His band had a girl singer – they called them “chirps” – who wore sexy evening gowns. They played weddings, reunions, parties, and they made good money. They were professional musicians who didn’t need day jobs to pay the bills, my late uncle used to crow: Rose’s uncle and his band✨✨
In the end, thanks to the WPS, both my boy cousins went on to Holy Cross college where they majored in pre-med. Then they went to and graduated from med school. One’s at U Michigan, working in the radiology dept; the other’s in Western Mass – a sports doc who cares for the elderly.
My other cousin, my other aunt’s girl, was pushed and prodded by my aunt to be perfect! Auntie could be so much more “strict” and demanding than my mom or Aunt Mary. My cousin’s goal, per my aunt? To be “the smartest person in the world”! WPI almost got “Janey” there! She was part of the old Worcester Polytechnic Institute second-generation of female engineers. Just a handful of young women back then – WPI was filled with guy engineering students – girls weren’t encouraged to major in math or the sciences. As a little girl, Janey’s hair was brushed – by my aunt – 100 times every night. To circulate the blood in the scalp, my mother used to tell me, looking a little afraid. Ma was not my Aunt who was married to a physically abusive house painter. My aunt wanted my cousin to escape the abuse, be safe and self-sufficient! This meant being the best in the Worcester Public Schools!
Sometimes they’d visit us in our Lafayette Street flat, my aunt and my beautiful cousin, who was always red-faced, always so crushed-looking, always on the verge of tears. My aunt was stern with her, my uncle brutal … but her pets saved her. The family had a cat, two guinea pigs – Daisy and Lil’ Abner – who lived in a big double story hutch my uncle had built for them – and painted a happy red – and, of course, their Dobermann pinschers. My aunt adored the breed – she had Dobies from when she was 25 to 81, an old lady who lived alone in her house off Webster Square, with her last beautiful Dobie, Fawn. My cousin loved all her pets. When she became an engineer and moved Out West with her husband, she ran her own little animal rescue farm: two horses, five dogs, a bunch of cats, a hamster or two.
Sometimes my mother, who left school after 8th grade at Girls Trade to work as a maid at the Bishop’s to help support the family during the Depression, got into my school work. Big time! She wanted me to read my little essays to her – sometimes she’d suggest a different ending, one with a little more pizzazz! She would show me how she would draw the cover to my 7th grade book report for Mrs. Nedwick’s English class at “Prov” Jr. High. This was after an 11-hour day at the dry cleaners! But now I see: she was relaxing, dreaming … for herself, through me.
Why is it so different today in the Worcester Public Schools? Kids hitting our teachers. Their parents jumping into the fray! Showing no respect for teachers, books, learning, education … the American Promise!
No excuses! The WPSchools were racist, tough, classist in my day. But if any kid was serious, did the homework, respected the teachers – even if the teachers had blindspots, were jerks, even – YOU GOT SOMETHING OUT OF THE SCHOOL DAY.
I remember a junior high class field trip to a Worcester weather station. One of my classmates, a sweet kid who had been kept back twice and struggled to read two grade levels below our class level, ran to the big black swivel chair behind the weatherman’s desk and grinning from ear to ear, jumped in it and began to swivel, trying to look impressive – clearly impressed with himself! And having fun!
Our teacher, not a very nice person, said to him: Well, John, at least you can pretend!
John’s face went pale, froze up. His smile floated away like a cumulous cloud. He stopped swivelling.
I was devastated! Johnny was such a good kid! Always nice to me, my classmates and his teachers! He didn’t – no one did – deserve our teacher’s meanness!
The field trip ended, we got on the big yellow school bus to go back to Prov. When I got home from school, I didn’t discuss our field trip with Ma or my sisters … didn’t talk about Johnny in the weatherman’s chair and what I had learned that morning.
“The General vs. the President: MacArthur and Truman at the Brink of Nuclear War” by H.W. Brands, Doubleday, New York (2016, 437pages)
Reviewed by Steven R. Maher
One of the reasons I write book reviews is to educate my readers about the historical origins of some of today’s global and political challenges. With that in mind, I decided to look at the issue of Korea and nuclear arms. To understand why so many older Americans are freaking out over President Donald Trump’s antics, the reader might want to take a look at The General vs. the President: MacArthur and Truman at the Brink of Nuclear War by H.W. Brands. It is a good starting point for explaining the history and background of the countries and characters involved.
The Korean War
In June 1950 North Korea invaded South Korea in what can only be described as a naked act of aggression. Our President at the time was Harry Truman, who became President after Franklin D. Roosevelt died during his fourth term in office, near the end of World War II, in 1945. Truman was informed that the United States had developed a nuclear bomb. He ordered the bomb dropped on two Japanese cities: Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Japan surrendered.
Douglas MacArthur was the Pacific theater commander in World War II. He developed an “island hopping” strategy in which he used amphibious squadrons, with Marine units, to invade deep into enemy territory.
The Marines cut off Japanese supply and communication lines by seizing well picked and strategically placed islands (Tarawa, Iwo Jima, Okinawa). When the Korean War began, MacArthur employed these tactics against North Korea. He devised a brilliant flanking amphibious assault at Inchon, far behind the North Korean supply lines, that cut off and destroyed the North Korean army.
As the author Brands details, the U.S. then invaded North Korea to reunify the country under U.N. auspices. It would have been a tremendous U.S. victory at the dawn of the cold war. Both China and the Soviet Union warned they would enter the conflict militarily if U.S. forces approached their border. MacArthur said these warnings were empty saber rattling the Chinese couldn’t back up militarily. MacArthur said the Chinese lacked the armed forces to effectively intervene and told Truman at a Wake Island conference that U.S. airpower would slaughter the Chinese if they intervened.
In November 1950 the Chinese attacked the U.S. forces with an army of 300,000 men. In a considerable gaffe, Truman stated at a press conference that the use of nuclear weapons was under consideration and that the decision of where they were to be used would be left to the theater commander, i.e., MacArthur. This was hastily clarified, but MacArthur’s reputation was such that British Prime Minister Clement Attlee flew immediately to the U.S. to explain how unnerved America’s allies were by the thought of MacArthur being able to order nuclear strikes: “The story that lead the day’s news was his [Truman’s] threat to use atomic weapons against China.”
As the allied forces staggered back in retreat in late 1950, MacArthur urged the deployment of nuclear technology. He wanted a “Super-Inchon” where he would seed North Korea’s borders with radioactive nuclear materials, sealing the country off from China and the Soviet Union. Once again, this set off alarm bells in U.S. government circles, showing the danger of nuclear technology.
The U.S.-Korean history shows how dangerous miscalculations can be. Both sides miscalculated. North Korea underestimated how the U.S. would respond to a Hitler-style blitzkrieg against a U.S. ally, which led North Korea into a conflict where North Korea’s own army was destroyed. The U.S. and its allies effectively ignored Chinese warnings not to approach China’s borders with U.S. troops, resulting in a bitter and bloody war that went on for years.
One can only hope that the Trump era’s conflict over North Korea’s nukes can be resolved diplomatically – something that has evaded U.S. governments, whether Democrat- or Republican-led, for decades.
On August 20, 1619, the first ship of enslaved Afrikans reached the shores of the United States. Official documents record “20 and
odd negroes” aboard a ship landing in Jamestown, Virginia, marking the
beginning of chattel slavery in the United States ofAmerikkka.
2019 marks the 400-year anniversary of this monumental moment
in our country’s history – though it is rarely ever acknowledged, if at all.
While this history and others like it are swept under the rug nationally, it is deeply important for us to hold space for and remember the forgotten narratives of those who came before us with our family, friends and community.
Please BE THERE, Worcester!
While there is no way to ever know exactly how many people were stolen from West Afrika and brought to the “New” World, scholars have estimated approximately 10 million Afrikan people survived the three-weeklong Middle Passage, ending up in parts of South America, the Caribbean and the United States.
The enslaved and slave owners.
Enslaved people were forced to labor under the threat of constant gratuitous violence.
The fear that they or someone they loved could be beaten, killed or sold away lead to enslaved people laborin exhaustively on plantations and/or running away and seeking a new life in the North.
Regardless of who or where they were, Black people always resisted the oppressive circumstances they found themselves in – and still do.
The beginning of chattel slavery in the western world makes Europe and
Amerikkka the “world powers”
we know them to be contemporarily.
There is no amerikkka without the forced labor of enslaved Afrikans. For the last 400 years, the descendants of those people have continued to face institutional anti-Black violence – the education system, the healthcare system, mass
incarceration, hyper-policing and brutality to name a few. This uncomfortable truth has been swept under the rug in this country for centuries.
It is important we remember the past for a multitude of reasons. We must honor the lives, traditions, work, struggles and triumphs of those who came before us. It is important that as we conduct
our day to day lives, we keep in our hearts and minds those who came before us, as it is their shoulders we stand on.
Additionally, it is up to us to push back against the erasure of
Black histories and remember
forgotten realities at the grass-
All of this is to say that we must always act with Sankofa in mind. Sankofa, roughly translated to “go back and fetch it” is an Adinkra symbol from West Afrika depicted
as a bird whose body is facing for-
ward and head is facing backward.
Sankofa reminds us that we have no
future without reconnecting with
and respecting our past.
In Worcester, on Saturday, August 24, OurStory Edutainment invites you to remember the ancestors of the middle passage, chattel slavery and freedom movements as a community from 4 pm to 6 pm
at Green Hill Park. You are welcome to bring photos of those who have passed for our communal altar
and flowers for our remembrance ceremony by the water. We encourage those who are able to dress in
white clothing, bring a chair and a small dish for sharing.
This is the first step for us to pay homage to those who came before us and make it clear to the generations who come after us that it is our responsibility to reclaim and take pride in the struggles and stories of our ancestors.
We hope to see you there.
FROM BETO O’ROURKE:
Beto for President!
I went to a gun show the other day. As soon as I walk in, a guy says, “Hey are you Beto? I’m a fan.” That was the last thing I expected to hear at a gun show.
He invited us to see his booth, where he was selling AR-15s. Before we walked over I said, “I’ll be honest with you, part of the reason I’m here is because I’m concerned about gun violence, that we lose 40,000 people a year. I want to listen to everyone on this. So I came here to listen to you. Tell me what you think. How do we fix this?”
I kid you not, the next words out of his mouth shocked me. He said he should not be allowed to sell weapons because he is not required to conduct a background check at gun shows. But he goes on to tell me that if you’re 18-years-old, can prove it, and have a pulse, he’ll sell you a gun. And then he says he doesn’t think that’s right. Even though he’s profiting from this current system, he knows the current system is broken.
Another guy, a Trump voter, tells me he has an assault weapon, and says he doesn’t know if it will do any good, but he would be willing to turn that weapon in if it’s better for this country. I was floored. Here are two guys literally at a show telling me we should close the gun show loophole, have universal background checks, and do something about assault weapons.
One of the things we learned from the Senate race in Texas was how important it is to not write anyone off. No matter where they live, who they voted for in the last election, how red or blue their county is. Never write anyone off.
That’s why we just traveled to some of the forgotten states in the Democratic primary: Mississippi, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and Missouri. We’re going to run everywhere. We’re not ceding an inch to Donald Trump.
I believe that if we do that, we will not only win the presidency in 2020, we will win it in a landslide. Democrats can take on Republicans, and win, in places we didn’t even think we could compete. And in doing so, we can bring this country back together again.
As you can see by my photo in this coming issue of CECELIA, another year living next to WPI students begins. They just don’t care about laws, as they seem to think rules don’t apply to them. I took this photo last week. Not only was this person blocking a fire hydrant, but being parked where they were made it impossible to turn down a two-way street if another car was already at the stop sign!
I did call the WPD police non-emergency number to report the car and waited about five minutes to see if someone was going to come ticket and tow, but I left after no one showed up. You would think the City of Worcester would be concerned that one of their fire hydrants was being blocked – as well as the two-way street!
It is no surprise that I have less than warm fuzzy feelings for college students! Having lived among them for more than 20 years hear in Worcester, it has been an uphill battle trying to get them to understand that they live in a neighborhood. With people who work, have kids, care for their families… That all this surrounds their college – that they are off-campus in the apartments near my house but they are NOT living on campus! Granted things have changed over the years; now most of the housing in my neighborhood is rented to WPI or Becker students, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have to abide by city laws. Every year it gets worse.
Last year, there was a girl with a Jeep who lived on my street. I was always wondering how she managed to get the same parking space in front of her apartment – every day – until I was leaving my house one day and saw her put out City of Worcester DPW cones to block her space! I had seen the cones but thought they were placed there because the City of Worcester was going to be doing some construction!
I stopped my car and told this thoughtless and entitled girl she couldn’t block the city street to save her parking space.
She told me “To go fuck” myself.
And mind my own business.
Well, not taking that too lightly, I parked my car and took her cones and asked her if she wanted me to call the Police right then and there. I told her they were not her cones, and she could not continue to block the street to save her “spot.”
I simply do not understand why the WPI campus police have no jurisdiction other than on the WPI campus, seeing that the majority of their students live off campus because they have very little housing.
If there is an issue with a WPI student or noise complaint, you have to call the WPD and then the WPI or Becker campus police. T campus police cannot go deal with an issue without a WPD officer.
How does this make sense?!
The WPD should not have to baby sit WPI students. Plus, noise complaints – even after 11 pm – are low on the list for the WPD to respond to on a Saturday night.
And if you are lucky enough that the police do show up, in most cases they just tell the kids to “keep it down.” I have rarely seen them break up a house party or ask to see the id’s of the students who are drinking. We all know the drinking age in Massachusetts is 21. But if at least one or two of the kids are 21, they buy for the others. That is why they are at house parties – they are not old enough to go out drinking in public!
If City of Worcester officials are trying to make Worcester more student friendly, then they should also hold the students accountable for behaving dis-respectfully in the Worcester neighborhoods in which they live.
I know residents surrounding Holy Cross college seemed to have won the battle with students in that area, but I think it is time for the City to take action in the neighborhoods that surround WPI and Becker college.
Once again, I will jump on the band wagon that the students are NOT paying property taxes to the city – nor are their colleges.
In addition, most of them are not paying Mass excise tax or our car insurance rates, as their vehicles are registered elsewhere.
So tell me again why the City wants to make Worcester more student friendly?
I have had several conversations with the deans of students at WPI and Becker. They tell me their hands are tied, that unless they know the names of the students that are living in the problem houses, they can not bring them in. I found out last year that students are not putting their names on mailboxes for that reason!
If I call the dean of students and tell them an address, they send out their campus police to see whose names are on the mail boxes and, low and behold, none “exist” – or students from many years ago have their names on the boxes – and they have moved out! These college kids seem to have it all figured out! And the joke is on Worcester!
And my last rant for this week: someone needs to teach the kids how to dispose of their trash and recycling! One year a student from WPI decided they were not going to buy yellow city trash bags to dispose of their trash. Instead, they just kept putting it out on the street in white trash bags which got ripped open. Trash was everywhere.
One day I had had enough. As smart as these kids think they are, I found a name and address in one of the trash bags and threw the bags of trash on the porch where the student lived.
I called the landlord.
She seemed shocked – shocked! – that one of her student tenants would do that. She got defensive and asked me how I knew it was one of her prized ski team students!
I told her the name of the student whose name I had found printed or written on several boxes and papers in the trash bag. She confirmed that he did live in one of her apartments.
I should move, right?
Not that easy. My home is one of the only single family homes left in the neighborhood. It would take someone who wanted to live among students to buy it or someone who wanted to invest quite a bit of money to convert it. Not to mention, where would I go? The housing and apartment market in Worcester is beyond my means! I could not even rent a one- bedroom apartment for what I pay for my monthly mortgage.
If there is someone out there who would be seriously interested in buying my house, I would seriously be interested in selling it to you! Tomorrow. If not today!
FYI: Great Brook Valley and Curtis Apartments Block Party!
Saturday, August 24
12 PM to 4 PM
Great Brook Valley
Explore the Worcester Housing Authority Block Party at Great Brook Valley and see the finished POW WOW WORCESTER murals on Saturday, August 24.
We woke up a little while ago …
… to sad news. The prejudices of small people …
This just in:
THE NEW CANAL DISTRICT SHUTTLE BUS IS NOT HANDICAPPED ACCESSIBLE!
ADA – the Americans with Disabilities Act – activists have gone to Worcester CITY HALL to make some noise – and remedy this DISCRIMINATORY bussing situation!
Sure, Fletcher and pals’ new lil’ bus is not public transportation, but all private businesses open to the public – shops, big-box stores, grocery markets, restaurants, playhouses – all businesses open for business in any American city or town – MUST, per the ADA, MAKE THEIR BUSINESSES open and accessible to ALL – that INCLUDES people with physical disabilities! Folks can be in wheelchairs, wear braces on their legs, have artificial limbs, walk with the help of a cane, be very old and frail … and they must, like every other customer/visitor, be accommodated. They must be ABLE TO GET IN AND OUT OF DOORS, SIT AT RESTAURANT TABLES, ENJOY MUSIC OR PLAYS IN CONCERT HALLS OR ARENAS, USE THE BIZ BATHROOM – or BOARD Allen Fletcher and friends’ Canal District Shuttle Bus!
The Canal District shuttle bus is FINANCED BY CORNERSTONE BANK – but it’s THE BRAINCHILD of Canal District money$$$ guys/developers Ed Murphy, Fletcher and “Dino” L. who run their shuttle bus all over Kelley Square and Green Island – to pick up the CD customers. Then to tote them back to the Canal District’s chi chi businesses where folks can buy and eat a lot of trendy crap. These three “visionaries” have created this special, elite bus service – no regular bus riders allowed – for their trendy, white, upper-income customers. Why? Because the Paw Sox, their Stadium and ancillary services/buildings are moving into Kelley Square (my old neighborhood) within a few years. Construction has already begun! All the activity – stadium building, hotel erecting, market-rate-apartment-complex digging, street reconfiguration – is sucking up all the area’s convenient, often free parking spots … and you know Worcesterites.
But Fletcher and his pals are all in! Their urban entertainment oasis is coming to fruition! Their Canal District, without a canal! Who needs what Lowell has? – A Canal District with their REAL, ORIGINAL canal – water flowing, huge scary locks. MAJESTIC. Canal history MUSEUMS, BUILDINGS and displays and art that really teach people about the original neighborhood and its Industrial Age workers. I’ve been there – none of it is a lame afterthought, like what we have in Worcester’s Canal District.
Ed Murphy and gang pretty much own the entire trendy Canal District – and the Paw Sox means more growth for them, more of their ilk. Less of mine, of course. Now they’ve created their Canal District Shuttle Bus to make life even easier for their entitled customers … The three of them bought several parcels of land on the other side of Kelley Square to create parking lots for their precious customers/ilk. So now their Canal District shuttle bus stops and picks up their elite people at their special parking lots to ferry them across Kelley Square. A 6-minute walk. The bus rides are for free. These guys are now on my side of Green Island – the iconic, blue-collar Worcester neighborhood that the City of Worcester promised would not be gentrified!
This is what happened to our Native Americans – to any “natives” who don’t have money, gold, etc to rescue themselves. Equipped with just their trusting hearts! WE GREEN ISLANDERS DON’T EVEN HAVE A SIGNED CBA – a Community Benefits Agreement!
A CBA promises the locals (usually the poor, often people of color) a piece of the urban renewal action, such as hiring the locals and paying them a living wage, and preserving affordable housing. The Paw Sox and the City of Worcester’s “community” leaders still have not signed the already drafted CBA!
How sneaky … despicable multi-millionaires!
Why is Ed Murphy and Co’s asshole-ness so blatant?
Their urban renewal movie: You’re a Canal District customer/visitor, you’re in a wheelchair, you’re in one of their exclusive Canal District parking lots with your fellow Canal District visitors/customers. You want to board the Canal District shuttle bus to go shopping in the Canal District buildings. THEIR BUILDINGS. But YOU LITERALLY CAN’T GET ON THE BUS! You literally can’t climb its stairs … you can’t roll your wheelchair into their bus, can’t park it in the shuttle, like you can with the WRTA fleet. How depressing, how heart-breaking. The other Canal District customers board the Canal District shuttle bus and drive off …
… without you.
You’re sitting in your wheelchair, alone, in a dirt lot.
Sometimes I think Ed Murphy and crew aren’t just being dismissive, rich-white-guy insensitive. … What if they’ve done this ON PURPOSE? To signal to anyone who isn’t one of them or their “beautiful people” – Fuck Off! We don’t want you here! We want our typical customers: female, white, well dressed, upper-middle-class, thin, blond-haired. Older, as well as nubile! The “Oldies” are now middle-aged women whose bodies are well toned at the gym or track and whose faces are botoxed and “peeled” to look “refreshed.” They dye their hair warm blond tones, and they are still fashionably thin and wearing cool clothes! Skinny jeans, even! Ed and Allen and guys still want them! It all makes such a pretty picture in their Canal District! Instagram-able! Marketable! $$$$$. Often sex.
The “right” ladies are really just another accessory to sell Ed and Dino and Allen property. They are like the $90 linen ladies blouses in their buildings’ boutiques! Trophies! For being well off! Here, in the Canal District, we have a million trophies … including trophy girlfriends, mistresses and wives! Yipee! Why have a guy in a wheelchair bust up the party? Why include a guy who will slow down the Canal District Shuttle Bus? Slow down its scheduled stops as it rolls to trophy stores and eateries? Why wreck rich, able-bodied bus riders’ experience? Why spoil their scenery, aesthetics? Why put a crimp in their day?
I HOPE SOME SAVVY CHICK IN A WHEELCHAIR SUES THE PANTS OFF ALLEN, DINO AND ED!!
I hope the City of Worcester Human Rights Department gets off their collective butt and DOES THE RIGHT THING!
FREE THE CANAL DISTRICT SHUTTLE BUS!
P.S. Allen and friends: I bet you can get volunteers to buy or supply the necessary materials – and to install the new stuff – boarding ramp/s in the front area of your bus – making it capable of accommodating an electric wheel chair or two … And don’t forget the seatbelts! I’m sure there are federal and state laws you will have to follow:
“The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) became law in 1990. The ADA is a civil rights law that prohibits discrimination against individuals with disabilities in all areas of public life, including jobs, schools, transportation, and all public and private places that are open to the general public.”
I see more clearly now than I did two weeks ago that the 390 million guns in a country of 320 million, especially weapons of war, are an existential threat to this country. These guns, including the AK-47 variant that the El Paso terrorist used, are meant to be on battlefields, not here in El Paso. They’re meant to kill as many people as efficiently as possible. We cannot sell assault weapons anymore, and we need to get them off our streets.
I see more clearly than ever that we must address our failure to provide the dignity that every American deserves in their lives — from preventing economic isolation to ensuring that everyone realizes their right to health care. If we don’t, we are providing fertile ground for fascism and nativism.
I see more clearly than ever that we must be constantly telling our story — of how we got here, of who we are, of who and what makes this country great — or it will be told by those who will lie and provoke fear.
I see more clearly than ever that we must not just defend immigrants — but elevate them, speak with truth and pride about their accomplishments, and make sure no one in this country — regardless of immigration status — ever has to live in fear.
I see more clearly than ever that when we stand up against Trump and for what we believe in, we are stronger.
Moving forward, I will fight with urgency and clarity. I will speak as honestly as possible about the challenges we face and run a campaign that meets this moment.
When Trump terrorizes communities, like we saw last week with his ICE raids in Mississippi, we will be there. We will show up anywhere there is suffering, anywhere people are crying out to be heard. I don’t care if it’s an early state or the last state on the calendar — we will show up.
On the campaign trail, we will be a voice for communities like El Paso which have borne the brunt of Trump’s racism, hatred and division. We will carry El Paso’s strength, kindness, warmth and pride with us at all times.
Ultimately, we will campaign on the belief in an idea of America that has never fully been realized — an idea we know can only be true when all of us come together.
From the very start, we’ve funded this effort with that idea in mind. All our money has been raised from people coming together to chip in what they can. And now we need your help to make our campaign stronger than it’s ever been.
It’s game on. Not just for this campaign, but for this country. … Our country is in grave danger. And in this democracy, there are no sidelines to stand on. We either fight to protect America or we lose what this country means to us — and the world — forever.
I’m ready to get after this. I’m ready to fight for our future. But I can’t do it without you.
Thanks for being with us.
I’ve spent the last 24-hours in Mississippi following one of the worst ICE raids in the history of this country …
By Beto O’Rourke
… Here’s what I saw:
In Canton, a small community about a half hour outside of Jackson, I met with about 25 women, a couple of men and their very young children.
The women are undocumented.
Most of the kids are U.S. citizens.
Their husbands were all apprehended in the ICE raid and they now have no idea when or if they are going to see them again. They also don’t know how they’re going to pay the rent, afford an attorney, or pay for school supplies. Of those needs, money for rent is most important. All of them mentioned it repeatedly.
An amazing local store owner seems to be the hub of the immigrant community — everyone trusts her, everyone looks to her for help. It was in her store that I met with the affected families.
One woman, wearing an ankle monitor or grillete said to me, “We have never been a burden. Some people claim that immigrants take public services. I’ve never taken assistance or help in my life. I came here to work, and every day I work. My husband works the night shift, I work the day shift. Now that he’s detained and I’m not working, I have nothing, no way to support my family. I don’t want anyone’s help, I just want to work.”
A young woman, 18 years old, told me about her parents. She told me that they luckily both left the chicken processing plant just before the raid took place. She started to cry when she told me that they are still working, because they have no other choice. She told me she was crying because she doesn’t know if one day when she’s at school she’ll come home to find that they’re gone. They’ve lived here and worked here for her whole life, they’ve raised a strong, smart, caring woman — a U.S. citizen, someone who should be able to focus on her studies, her career, her future instead of worrying about whether her parents will be deported for the crime of working in a chicken processing plant for $12 an hour.
Nearly 700 families were broken up in these raids. Hardworking, family-focused people.
I went to the home of a young woman who lived on the outskirts of town. She used to sell tamales to the workers at the chicken processing plant. She arrived in this country four years ago seeking asylum, and has been wearing an ankle monitor ever since. It’s heavy, gets hot, irritates her skin, but she’s had it on every day for four years. She’s raising four beautiful children, the oldest of which sometimes helps her to sell tamales. Now that that the immigrants have been rounded up and are no longer working in the chicken processing plants there’s no one to buy the tamales.
She’s worried that she’ll be deported back to Guatemala or, with no income and no ability to pay the rent, that she will have no other choice but to return. She showed us her scars from stab wounds she suffered when she lived there, and said she had received a call recently from a gang leader in Guatemala who told her that her husband had been murdered for outstanding debts and that the gang wanted her children as additional payment. She is certain that if she returns she will lose them.
We went to a Catholic church in Forest that was providing help for families torn apart by these recent raids. In addition to the priest and nuns who were tending to the children, there were a number of attorneys from Arizona who had flown in to provide free legal help to the families. They were also helping to take care of the kids. People willing to do this work are my heroes. It doesn’t pay, it’s tough mentally, it’s tough emotionally, but it is so necessary.
One of the families they were helping was really struggling. I met a dad of a four-month old and a very sweet, polite 11-year old. The father told me that his wife was picked up in the raid and that she is having a hard time in detention. She is depressed, and her breasts are painful and swollen, as she was still breast-feeding when she was picked up. She can’t bond out — I don’t think they’ve even set bond for these families.
I met another woman at the church. She was in detention for the last week and was only released yesterday when ICE realized that they had also detained her husband at another facility, leaving her children on their own without either parent. She told me about the conditions in the facility, the depression that she felt while she was there, missing her family, not knowing how they were doing. She talked about the day of the raid, one of her co-workers punched in the face by an agent (“he was scared and he started to run, so they ran him down and punched him”). She talked about workers being cuffed and their cuffs tied to ankle restraints, like you’d tie a hog. I asked her how she felt now. She told me “I’m just happy to be with my son. That’s the only thing that matters to me.”
This cruelty, this terror felt by this community of hardworking immigrants, is the policy of Donald Trump. His hope is that he can inflict enough suffering for these immigrants to get them to leave, or perhaps go back to the countries they fled in the first place. He’s trying to show he’s tough by preying upon the vulnerable and the defenseless.
I came to see it for myself. I am disgusted that we could treat people like this in a country of immigrants. But I’m inspired by the way that people have come together to help these families.
My hope is that the more America learns about this the more we as Americans will do to change this. As hard as this is to see, I’m glad I came here — glad to be able to bear witness to what is being done in our name to immigrants in this country. And I’m more determined than ever to help lift up the stories of those who are suffering, and the stories of those who are rising up to meet this moment.
If you’re wondering what you can do, please make a donation to the Mississippi Immigrant Rights Alliance.
MONDAY: Congressman McGovern To Visit Highland Valley Elder Services, Highlight Importance of Meals on Wheels Program
Go, Jim, go!
NORTHAMPTON – This Monday, August 19 at 10:45am, Congressman Jim McGovern will visit Highland Valley Elder Services in Northampton, a local not-for-profit corporation that serves 24 communities in Hampshire and Hampden Counties, for a tour of their Meals on Wheels Program.
The visit will start at the Walter Salvo House cafeteria in Northampton, which serves as a staging ground for the Meals on Wheels program. Next, McGovern will accompany a volunteer to help deliver meals to nearby seniors. Both the program tour and the meal deliveries will be open to the press.
Earlier this year, the Trump administration released a budget which proposed drastic cuts in federal funding to the Meals on Wheels Program. Over 5 million seniors deal with food insecurity and hunger in America, and seniors make up nearly 20% of people who receive benefits through the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program.
🍎WHAT: McGovern Participates in Tour of Meals on Wheels Program with Highland Valley Elder Services
🥒WHERE: Walter Salvo House, 81 Conz Street, Northampton, MA
🌞 WHEN: Monday, August 19th – Walter Salvo House Cafeteria Tour Begins at 10:45AM
🍓WHO: Congressman Jim McGovern; Highland Valley Executive Director Allan Ouimet; Nutrition Program Director Nancy Mathers; Volunteers
After church services, Quinsig Village:
🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸 pic: Rose T.
Woodstock, Golden Anniversary. America! What happened to peace, love, environmentalism , a woman’s right to choose, equality, America on the Move, Rebellious American youth, Literary America, the Kennedy’s?
Most of all: I miss the BRILLIANT MUSIC EVERY WHERE ALL THE TIME!
No dough? IT WAS FOR FREE! On FM and AM! Transistor radios were cheap and good back then! I had a passel!
Just pull up the antenna and press the little white, gray or black box to your ear – they were no bigger than a package of cream cheese – and walk down your neighborhood street IN THE KNOW, ya know? – Rose T.