[Congressional Record Volume 141, Number 39 (Thursday, March 2, 1995)]
[Senate]
[Pages S3367-S3368]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]


                    TO MY FATHER, BY PETER TORRIERI

  Mr. SARBANES. Mr. President, I want to call the attention of our 
colleagues to a very moving poem by my good friend Peter Torrieri of 
Baltimore. ``To My Father'' is a tribute not only to those of Italian-
American heritage, but also to all of those who crossed the seas to 
establish families in this great Nation of ours. The immigrant legacy, 
deeply rooted in our history as Americans, is a facet of our society 
that should inspire pride and honor.
  Peter Torrieri's father, Domenico, came to America during the wave of 
immigration in the early 1900's. His dream of a better life for 
himself, his wife, and their children was one that he would see slowly 
come to fruition. The sacrifices made by the entire Torrieri family 
illustrate both the strong work ethic displayed by so many immigrant 
families and the bonds of love and devotion that connect their family.
  Domenico Torrieri, then a young man far from his home of Abruzzo, 
labored day in and day out all for the benefit of his family. Peter's 
poem shows the highest respect and esteem for his father and for all of 
the fathers and mothers who made this pilgrimage to the New World, 
hopeful that their journey would lead them to a bright future.
  Peter and his wife Mary are leaders in Maryland's Italian-American 
community, playing important roles in preserving and passing on their 
heritage to the next generation as well as working tirelessly on behalf 
of community, health and civic organizations. As the son of immigrants 
and as an American who remains deeply devoted to my ethnic heritage, I 
invite all of our colleagues to read Peter's poem, which pays homage to 
his father and to all those who sailed the seas in search of a new life 
in America.
  I ask unanimous consent the poem be printed in the Record.

[[Page S3368]]

  There being no objection, the poem was ordered to be printed in the 
Record, as follows:

                              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 father, 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, the 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 blessings 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,
     And all your brothers a million strong.
     

                          ____________________