Késsinnimek - Roots - Racines

STARTING OVER

by      Louise Dubrule

       Recently we introduced our granddaughter to the classic film “Fiddler on the Roof.” In the final scenes, the Jewish residents of a tiny Russian village were evicted, given just three days to gather their belongings and leave for good. This time I was focused on what the people chose to take with them: some had just a single suitcase, some carried a couple of baskets, one family had a wheelbarrow, and another a small cart that the father had to pull. How to select which treasures to carry and which had to stay behind?

      We are all familiar with the image of the covered wagons that crossed the United States, carrying families who were searching for new territory and a chance at a better life. It has been said that the trails were littered with valuable possessions that had to be jettisoned when the going got rough and the climbs became steeper. Which went first: the piano or the bathtub? Farther on, was it the good dishes or the Sunday clothes?

      My paternal grandparents came from La Beauce in Quebec to Berkshire, Vermont in 1919 in search of better land. Grandfather and his sons were farmers, so it’s reasonable to think that they brought their farming implements. I assume that Grandmother had her sewing machine, for I have the honor of displaying it in my home today. However, it’s possible that it is one she bought after they were resettled. How I wish they had left a journal! Did they have a large wagon pulled by their draft horses? Was one wagon enough? Did Grandmother bring along the homemade featherbeds and quilts or did they plan to buy new ones when they arrived in Vermont? They had a large family, and it must have been a chore to pack the clothes for all those people. They established a dairy farm in Vermont. Did they, somehow, bring cows with them or did they have to buy them, a few at a time, after their arrival?

      Several years ago, someone wrote a wonderful article for ROOTS that outlined the story of some girls from France who were chosen to travel to New France via ship. There was a list of their clothing items that had been purchased by a patron, and I remember thinking that the trousseau (if that’s what it truly was) seemed generous. Surely not all new arrivals had such a wealth of wardrobe. My first ancestor in North America came to Canada as an exile and I’m pretty sure that he didn’t come with a great deal of belongings. More likely, he was happy to have escaped with his head! I wonder at how he started a new life. Did he live in a boardinghouse? What work did he find? He must have prospered, for he married twice and sired a good sized brood.

      We’ve seen the documentaries about Ellis Island that depicted the immigrants getting off the ships with a couple of suitcases, carpetbags, or bundles wrapped in tapestries or tablecloths. I try to imagine what they brought: two changes of clothes for each person, perhaps a Bible or other book, a few dishes that would hold meager meals, and surely the tools of their trade if they had a trade. Most had very little money, so the first order of business had to be finding a cheap place to live. If they were lucky, they had relatives with whom they could stay for a while. We’ve become accustomed to the idea of an apartment or a house, but in fact many people rented a single room or an outbuilding at first. Then there was the task of finding gainful employment that paid enough to keep body and soul together. If they had a skill or trade, they were one step ahead of the rest of the new arrivals. Those who were clever found a need in the new society and they set about providing the service or goods that were in short supply. Many retail businesses started with a pushcart on the streets. The noted actor, Kirk Douglas, wrote that his father was a ragman and was able to support his family with that enterprise.

      The Irish came in droves during the potato famine and the girls found employment as maids and cooks. The men did heavy manual labor, most notably on the railroad and in construction. All worked hard for their money. Our daughter’s Godfather talked about his mother, an immigrant from Italy, who took a job in a shoe factory. After her 12 hour day, she washed dishes in a restaurant during the supper hour for an extra fifteen cents to put aside toward a better life.

      Here in El Paso, Vietnamese refugees poured in thirty-some years ago, and they arrived with only the clothes on their backs. The people of our parish collected household goods: sheets, blankets, towels, pots and pans, and a few pieces of furniture for each family. Decades ago, did other groups do that in other cities for the newcomers? Did their ethic origins matter? I was teaching school when the Vietnamese families came, and one particular little girl sticks in my mind. Her family arrived at the end of the school year, and we were told that we shouldn’t expect any class participation from her as she had no English. In essence, she just sat quietly for the last three weeks of the semester. Three months later in September, she showed up ready to learn, and she excelled to the point that she took top honors in several subjects the following May.

      I look back at our own life, and I marvel that in the beginning of our marriage everything we owned was contained in a footlocker and two suitcases. We recently renovated our home with paint, carpeting, and flooring. To facilitate the process, I virtually emptied the house and then put it all back after the work was accomplished. Naturally, in the sorting-out process, a lot of stuff was discarded, and I can’t help but wonder where everything came from, and just how much do we really need. I would be hard-pressed to select just a few items if I had to start out fresh somewhere smaller. Faced with the same choices of our ancestors, would I keep my grandmother’s 1867 Singer sewing machine or my 18 photo albums with treasures going back to 1919? For sure, I’d keep the little things that hold the memories: Papa’s cuff links and his clock; a couple of Mama’s brooches that date to the 1930s and her favorite mixing bowl; a thimble from a dear lady who had been the wardrobe mistress for the Vienna Opera; a group portrait taken at the last family reunion; the tender, touching drawings and cards our children made when they were little; and the special rings Moe has given me over the last 50-odd years. They wouldn’t take up much room, would they?

 

Késsinnimek - Roots - Racines
Copyright © 2003 & 2004 & 2005 & 2006 & 2007 Norm Léveillée
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Created 1 Feb 2003