[Congressional Record Volume 140, Number 135 (Friday, September 23, 1994)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Printing Office [www.gpo.gov]


[Congressional Record: September 23, 1994]
From the Congressional Record Online via GPO Access [wais.access.gpo.gov]

 
         PETER TORRIERI'S TRIBUTE TO OUR IMMIGRANT FOREFATHERS

                                 ______


                       HON. HELEN DELICH BENTLEY

                              of maryland

                    in the house of representatives

                       Friday, September 23, 1994

  Mrs. BENTLEY. Mr. Speaker, I rise today to recognize the talents of 
one of my constituents, Peter Torrieri, whose poem entitled ``To My 
Father,'' honors not only his own Italian-American heritage, but also 
the legacy of all our immigrant forefathers who gave up so much in the 
fulfillment of the American dream.
  Mr. Torrieri's father, Domenico, was one of a number of immigrants 
who came to America in the early 1900's in search of a better life. 
Just 16 and all alone, the young man from Abruzzo worked numerous 
jobs--from gardener to munitions factory laborer--sending his paychecks 
home to his parents in Italy. Indeed, after his marriage in the States, 
his wife then with three children and pregnant with the fourth, was 
sent back to his homeland so that they, too, would benefit from his 
toil. For 13 years, the young Peter, as well as his family, were 
separated from his father. In that time, Domenico's money was used to 
educate each and every one of them. His devotion and work ethic made it 
possible for the Torrieris to return to America so that they could 
prosper in the land of opportunity.
  Domenico Torrieri was one of many immigrants who beat the odds and 
paved a path for his children to follow. His son, Peter, shows the 
pride and respect that he holds for his father's legacy and for all our 
other countrymen who did the same in the following eulogy.
  As the daughter of immigrant parents and one who also remains 
dedicated to my heritage, I invite my fellow colleagues to read and 
enjoy Peter Torrieri's poem.

                              To My Father

     I praise you, my father, and all your brothers a million 
           strong.
     You, dauntless ones who crossed the ocean vast at the early 
           dawn of the century,
     Came from distant lands, and gained free access to our 
           friendly shores,
     You, challengers of water and wind and the unknown in search 
           of bread and honest toil.
     I praise you, Domenico, my father, who shared
     Your scant bread with me and gave me the sweat of your brow.
     I praise you and your brothers a million strong.
     You, anonymous, unrecognized, unsung ones,
     The laborers, the toilers, the workers, the builders of 
           America.

     I honor you, my father, and all your brothers a million 
           strong,
     You, amorphous neglected masses who slept on the earth bare,
     Tamed the sooty demons in the coal mines, pushed the plows in 
           the furrows,
     Made the deserts bloom, and the stingy soils yield copious 
           crops,
     Hammered the spikes that held the rails that span the 
           continent,
     And raised the skyscrapers that flirt with the sky.
     I honor you, my father, and all your brothers a million 
           strong,
     The laborers, the toilers, the workers, the builders of 
           America.

     I acclaim you, my fathers, and all your brothers a million 
           strong,
     You, red-eyed-from-soot-and-sweat, bare-chested smiths
     Who wrought the steel that forged the spine and backbone of 
           our mighty cities
     And powerful industries and ships that sailed the seven seas;
     Who dug the subways and laid the roadbeds of the spacious 
           highways;
     Who quarried the stones that raised the monuments, the 
           cathedrals, and museums,
     And the schools that taught brawn and brain, races and creeds 
           to amalgamate.
     I acclaim you, my father, and all your brothers a million 
           strong.
     The laborers, the toilers, the workers, the builders of 
           America.

     I bow before you, my father, in both humility and pride.
     You were just sixteen when your mother, crying,
     Gave you her blessing and kissed you good-bye.
     Good-bye. You never saw your mother again alive.
     You were still a boy when you waved farewell
     To the seagulls on the Adriatic shores of Abruzzo,
     A boy unbearded, unschooled, unskilled,
     But unafraid of the heights and depths,
     Driven only by unbending will to find your place in the sun.
     I'll always remember you with love, my father,
     The barrel-chested, broad-shouldered, five-foot-five
     With thick, callus-gloved hands and sinewy biceps,
     Face scorched by fierce summer suns and winter icy winds,
     But face that greeted friends as well as strangers with a 
           smile.

     You, my father, and all your brothers a million strong
     May have passed by unnoticed, unrecognized, unappreciated, 
           and anonymous,
     But in the juster spheres above, your names are carved on 
           immortal granite.
     Millions of you have come and gone
     But Someone keeps making you and growing you by the millions 
           more,
     Because that Someone loves you, my father,
     All all your brothers a million strong.

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