Immigrants. Written by Mark Liverio
November 3, 2009 at 8:01pm
I have to admit, every time I hear the following poem or the times I've been fortunate enough to see Lady Liberty reflecting green off the harbor (and if you haven't seen it, please make it a point to) I can't get that last line out of my head. And it causes me to think deeply about what I really believe.
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
The golden door.
My mother's family has been here since the 1600's. My ancestors (from England, Ireland, and Scotland) include everything from a major who fought for the colonists in the Revolutionary War to my own service in the Persian Gulf War and every major American engagement in between. 400 years ago they sailed across the ocean knowing that 1 out of every 15 ships making the run would sink. They landed on a beach. Stepped off into the woods and built a life. They settled what is now Virginia, Alabama, Georgia, and eventually Florida. They survived war, hunger, disease, enemies (including each other) - all for me.
Then my father's family, only here for 3 generations. Came over from Sicily in the early 1900's. As soon as that first Liverio son was old enough he put on the green of a US Army Air Corps uniform to fight for the Stars and Stripes - the only home he ever knew. He stayed on in the US Air Force for 22 years engaging enemy troops in Korea and Vietnam and receiving the Bronze Star for Valor. His son a US Air Force medic and then City of Tampa firefighter, his son US Naval Intelligence and then school teacher.
And as my great-grandfather entered at Ellis Island, their ship swimming right past Liberty Island, refugees from across the ocean - legal yes, but immigrants just the same - and as I stood at Ellis Island nearly 100 years later and looked out at her with her torch held high I couldn't help but imagine the intense sense of awe at what they must have seen that day, felt that day, tasted that day, heard that day, and believed that day. As they moved through the line, at the start La Famiglia Oliverio and at the finish The Liverio Family, did they tear-up with joy at the promise of a new life in the New World? Did my great-grandfather see me through the lense of dreams and see the successes I would achieve all as a result of his decision to move his family across an ocean? I think he did. And I thank him for it.
And I can't get that last line Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door! out of my head - without thinking deep about what I really believe.
Who are we if we're not Americans?
Thoughts on a thing,
Mark
November 3, 2009 at 8:01pm
I have to admit, every time I hear the following poem or the times I've been fortunate enough to see Lady Liberty reflecting green off the harbor (and if you haven't seen it, please make it a point to) I can't get that last line out of my head. And it causes me to think deeply about what I really believe.
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
The golden door.
My mother's family has been here since the 1600's. My ancestors (from England, Ireland, and Scotland) include everything from a major who fought for the colonists in the Revolutionary War to my own service in the Persian Gulf War and every major American engagement in between. 400 years ago they sailed across the ocean knowing that 1 out of every 15 ships making the run would sink. They landed on a beach. Stepped off into the woods and built a life. They settled what is now Virginia, Alabama, Georgia, and eventually Florida. They survived war, hunger, disease, enemies (including each other) - all for me.
Then my father's family, only here for 3 generations. Came over from Sicily in the early 1900's. As soon as that first Liverio son was old enough he put on the green of a US Army Air Corps uniform to fight for the Stars and Stripes - the only home he ever knew. He stayed on in the US Air Force for 22 years engaging enemy troops in Korea and Vietnam and receiving the Bronze Star for Valor. His son a US Air Force medic and then City of Tampa firefighter, his son US Naval Intelligence and then school teacher.
And as my great-grandfather entered at Ellis Island, their ship swimming right past Liberty Island, refugees from across the ocean - legal yes, but immigrants just the same - and as I stood at Ellis Island nearly 100 years later and looked out at her with her torch held high I couldn't help but imagine the intense sense of awe at what they must have seen that day, felt that day, tasted that day, heard that day, and believed that day. As they moved through the line, at the start La Famiglia Oliverio and at the finish The Liverio Family, did they tear-up with joy at the promise of a new life in the New World? Did my great-grandfather see me through the lense of dreams and see the successes I would achieve all as a result of his decision to move his family across an ocean? I think he did. And I thank him for it.
And I can't get that last line Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door! out of my head - without thinking deep about what I really believe.
Who are we if we're not Americans?
Thoughts on a thing,
Mark
