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HOPE LIVES ON FOR A FREE CUBA
MY SISTER, age 10, and I, age 13, came to the United States, from Cuba without our parents, like thousands of Cuban children. When the plane left Cuba 's air space, the passengers cheered with happiness, since we were leaving Castro's "hell-on-earth." Almost immediately we all began singing Cuba 's national anthem. We were leaving Cuba , but Cuba was not leaving us.
Even after 36 years Cuba is still a very important part of our lives. We are both successful, college-educated professionals, who worked extremely hard to get an education under very difficult circumstances. I worked from midnight until eight in the morning and attended the University of Miami full-time, after graduating from high school. My sister also worked very hard. According to economic standards we were poor. However, we did not consider ourselves poor. Poverty is 90 percent in the mind and 10 percent in the spirit.
My mom left Cuba in 1965 on the third Cuban Freedom Flight, and my dad left in 1968, through Mexico. My dad, who had studied engineering at the University of Havana, found a job as a janitor. He was 60 years-old at the time. I will never forget his words: "Son, an education is always important in life. I have a very humble job, but because I can think analytically, when I get to work, I plan the tasks to accomplish during the day. Accordingly, I work less and achieve more than others who do not plan." Dad died in 1990, at age 82, but he always kept the hope that one day Cuba would be free of tyranny. The same hope lives in my heart and my children's hearts.
We are grateful to America for all the opportunities given to us, but we have not forgotten our brothers and sisters in Cuba , who suffer the worst tyranny on the Western Hemisphere. They are the real heroes of this long and sad process. To them I send my respect, my love and my understanding, for I know that the Cuban family will be reunited, in the not so distant future, in a free and democratic Cuba. Viva Cuba Libre!
Name withheld by request, via e-Mail
WILL NEVER FORGET LIFE IN CHINA
THE LESSONS we learned in China are much harder than here. The math I study here in high school I already learned in the 5th or 6th grade. Not only for me, a lot of Chinese kids feel that way too. Classes like math, like chemistry class, we feel like we really don't do anything because even though it's a simple question, simple math, the teacher has to run over it, over and over with the American kids. Most Chinese kids, we learn it from a really early age. In China , we had to go to school 6 days a week, which included Saturday.
As a Chinese, I don't think I will ever lose any part of my culture: the language I speak, the books I read, the food I eat. That means, if I am an American -- if I forget my culture to be totally American -- that will make me feel lost. I know a lot of immigrants come here, they don't want to touch anything besides American culture. They just want to forget their own culture. They just want to forget their own memory of their country. That is sometimes not a bad idea if you don't have such happy memories. Even though I want to be an American I won't forget my own culture, my own Chinese traditional things. Chinese culture is part of my heart. I think it will stay there forever. I like them both, which is the American way and the Chinese way. They both make my life better.
Mike S. Chang, Via e-Mail
MEET ‘COUSIN JACK'
COUSIN JACK is a term applied to Cornish miners during the 19th century. It is said the phrase stems from the fact that a Cornishman always had a "Cousin Jack" back in Cornwall who was just the man to fill the position the mine owner had need of. A Cornishman's wife became known as "Cousin Jennie."
My great-grandfather, John Allen, a true "Cousin Jack," was born in Breage, Cornwall, England. His father and his brothers were copper miners. As a child of seven he began work at the mines to help support the family and never had an opportunity to learn to read or write -- he always regretted not being able to read and write. The Cornish copper deposits began to "bottom out." Times were hard and work was hard to come by.
In an effort to find employment, John and his brothers, James and William, traveled the 100-plus miles to London where they found work as ship builders. They did not speak London "English" and found it difficult to communicate.
Some time later they returned to Cornwall. John, with a young wife and small son, and his younger brother William immigrated to America during the 1870s to find a better life. The family spent some time in the lead mines of northern Illinois before establishing themselves in the Keweenaw Peninsula of Upper Michigan where they found work in the booming copper industry of the area. They then sent for their older brother, James, and his wife and children.
Somewhere between Illinois and Michigan, John's first wife, Susannah Trevascus, died leaving him a widower with three children. He hired Annie (MacLeod) Morrison, a widow with a small daughter, as his housekeeper to tend his three children while he was at work. John and Annie shortly married and raised five children of their own.
While in Cornwall, John had become a skilled "miner," the person responsible for drilling and placing dynamite to blast the rock loose. This was a valuable skill in those early days before power drills came into being. He worked a 12-hour shift and, in the winter, he saw the sun only on Sundays.
When his youngest son, James, was in grade school, John tried to improve his lot by applying for a better job with the mines. He became the person who tallied, in a little book, the amounts of powder and fuse the miners used for blasting. While in the mines, he faked recording the tally in his little book. In the evenings after work, he'd sit down with his youngest son, tell him which miner had used how much and the youngster would tally it in his Dad's book.
Although illiterate, John was a brilliant man. His mind could remember all the details of who used how much of what. He could figure, in his head, the board feet and lumber sizes required to build a house. One day his memory failed him slightly. He incorrectly remembered the amount of supplies a miner used, was confronted about the discrepancy and had to confess to his employer that he could not read or write.
He so deeply regretted not having an education. He encouraged his children to educate themselves and supported them in their efforts, as best he could. His son, Norman, became a medical doctor to the Ford family in Detroit . Another son, Tom, worked as the superintendent of the school bookstore. His youngest, James, became a surveyor and worked most of his life in Wisconsin surveying for the Department of Transportation.
Had he stayed in Cornwall, his children would not have had the same educational opportunities as they did in America nor would he have been able to provide for his family as well as did. The house he built his family on Oak St., over 100 years ago, is snug, strong, sound and still occupied today.
James Culkien, Via e-Mail
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