| A Typical Californio Boy (Chapter One)
by Manuel Hernández
My grandfather came to the United States of America in the
winter of 1900. Puerto Ricans began migrating to the United
States as back as 1775, but it was not until Americans won
the Hispanic American War that their presence as a community
in America emerged. He was part of a massive immigration movement
inspired by the new American military government of 1898.
Great-grandpa lost half of his property to a Spanish landlord
in the hills of an eastern coast town in Puerto Rico, and
he welcomed his newly found American friends with open arms.
His first-born was forced to drop out of school to help support
the family at the age of seven. Manolo sold his mother's famous
"papaya" sweets in the morning and worked as a delivery
boy in the local bakery in the afternoon. When he turned ten,
his parents separated, and his uncle needed help in his farm,
so he was sent away and worked like a stubborn mule from dawn
to sunset in his uncles plantain field in the steep hills
of Naguabo.
With the change of government, a new immigration package
was announced through town representatives. There was an Island
in the Pacific called Hawaii, and Puerto Ricans were told
they could make a fortune and provide for the well being of
their families on The Island. There were too many Puerto Ricans
in The Island of Puerto Rico, and the unemployment rate was
high, they reasoned. Manolo agreed. You only got a ticket
if you participated and won a lottery. His cousin won the
ticket, but Manolo was persistent and won it back after he
challenged him and won it over a deck of cards. He had just
turned eighteen and was tired of being enslaved and humiliated
by his uncle and father.
It was a cold freezing night when the loud steamboat reached
the California coastline. There were about six thousand Puerto
Rican men who made the two-week boat trip. They were all lined
up like sardines in a can when American soldiers greeted them
on the dock. The thousands of flashing lights Manolo saw from
inside the boat startled him. The soldiers had rifles and
bayonets, and he feared the worst. As he walked down the stairs
and into the dock, the stark wind felt like it could cut his
skin. He had an old worn sweater, and he felt the cold breeze
crawling in every bone of his body. His lips began peeling,
his ears felt like solid rock, and his knees trembled like
an earthquake. When he looked at the line of the sun in his
hands, they seemed to be out of their usual position.
From there, they walked swiftly but steadfastly for about
two miles under the guidance and watchful eye of their caretakers.
They were taken to giant freight trains. Grandpa was worried.
First, the soldiers, then the rifles and now the train. Some
of the Islanders started thinking of escaping. He had dreamed
of a better life in Hawaii, but he feared for his life. At
two in the morning, he and a thousand others got out of the
train and ran towards the flashing town lights he had seen
hours earlier.
The new immigrants founded a Puerto Rico of their own in
California. After many discussions, the local town government
decided to let them stay, and grandpa began his adult life
working in a farm in California. The salary was a bit higher
than what he made in Puerto Rico, but he made the best of
his situation and settled down in a rural neighborhood just
minutes away from the city. Two years later, he met the lady
of his dreams and married a Mexican girl who had ran across
the border from Tijuana. He never again would go back to La
Isla.
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