Omero Sonio 

 Piombino, Italy

Ellis Island- 1911

Historian - Bryttany Curran

The Book

A name. What is a name? What does it represent? Does it describe the looks of a person? Or their personality? When we are born we are given a name by our parents. Our parents think long and hard about what name to give us. They looked back on their family tree, remember old friends names, and look through books. My parents gave me my name after looking through a book. Nobody in my family has classified by that name, or does it classify you?

My name is Omero Sonio. It means that I am strong, strict; that I will do anything it takes to get what I want. Or at least that is what it says by the book. The book. The book of names. This book tells what each name means. It defines each person by his or her name. But how? Do people analyze multiple people with the same name, then come up with a definition? If so, would you describe your name, or would your name

describe you? My name, Omero Sonio means strong, strict; that I will do anything it takes to get what I want. My personality is almost nothing like that. Almost. I am a friendly man. I go to church and care about my family. I actually met my wife, Clementia, at church. I try to be calm, and never yell. So you can say that I am nothing like my name. That I am another person. Maybe I am? Maybe that is what a name is.

            You are your own person. Your parents raise you with morals. You learn manners and how to act. You learn how to be the best human you can be. You learn good habits from your friends, and others. You learn to be your own person. You. But your name also describes you. A part of you. Maybe it is not the same definition as the “book”, but it can be its own definition of you. When somebody meets you, or you meet somebody, you know his or her name and classify them as that name. A name. A name that your parents gave you when you were born.  A name with its own definition. Like the book.

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A Tough Life in a Laid-back Land

Sunlight was creeping through my window and I, unfortunately, had to get out from under my warm blankets, and place my self on the frigid floor with the ice-chilled air surrounding me. Without much money my family, Clementia my wife, and Roza and Donielle, my two daughters, and I had to live without many things, a heater for example. I closed my eyes and thought, “One, two, three!” I pulled back the covers, ran across the room (which is so small that it only took about five steps to cross the room), and slipped on my work shoes. My shoes were boots (I worked on the railroad) and kept my feet worm against the chilly floor, which helped a little to warm me up. Over in the next room I hear pots and pans banging. Clementia, my wife, must be making breakfast! She is an excellent cook, and I always look forward to her food. Directed by my stomach, I hurriedly dressed myself in my old, ratty work close (a pair of jeans with three holes; one by the left knee, one by my right leg calf muscle, and one on the right back pocket. I also ware a plain, white t-shirt that has tiny holes in it. The holes were scattered all over the shirt, like sprinkles scattered on an ice-cream Sunday. With all these wholes you would think I would be colder outside, but I am not. It is summer time and these holes are very comfortable against the blistering Sun.), and headed for the kitchen.

“Good morning Clementia, “ as I kissed her on the cheek.

“Hello,” she simply replies.

“What are you doing today?” I ask her.

“Making dinner, shopping for bread, sugar.” Not looking away from the eggs she was cooking over the hot stove she asks, “And you? What on the railroad is happening?”

“Well, like every other day, not much.” Now Clementia had placed four eggs on four different ragged, plain, white plates of ours, and started to scrub the grease off the small black pot. 

“Hello mama!” Donielle greeted.

“Hello Papa!” Roza followed.

“Good morning girls!” I replied. Then I held out my arms so that in seconds they would be filled with my loving girls. Clementia still was scrubbing the pot.

“Sit down and eat your breakfast.”

“Yes mama,” the girls said.

I joined the table, and about two minutes later, so did Clementia. We all enjoyed our eggs, and when we were finished, Donielle and Roza took their bagged lunch and headed to the car, followed by Clementia. Then I took my bagged lunch, and toolbox, and headed for work. I lived conveniently about ten minutes away, and so I walked there.

It was eight o’clock but people have already started working. I sat my lunch in one of many wooden cubbies. We were assigned a cubby in the beginning and you were allowed to put your belongings there. That way they would stay out of the way. I walked out to my position in the line. I would place what looked like a big nail on the whole. Then I would pound my hammer into it. Over and over I would do this, for hours and hours. It was hard work but what else could I do? Without an education the Americans will not give me any work but the railroad job. Finally, at one o’clock, it was time for my lunch break. I had fifteen minutes to eat my homemade lunch. I sat on a rock and took out my apple, bread, and turkey from last night’s dinner. After, I went back to work until five o’clock.

“Hello Clementia,” I said as I walked into the room after a hard day. I was tired. I quickly ate my dinner, which consisted of corn, bread, peas, and leftover turkey. Then I kissed my kids and wife, and headed upstairs. Once I reached the door to my bedroom I braced myself and swung it open. Whoosh! A cold wind swept around me, so different for the warmth of the fire downstairs. I quickly changed into my night close and cuddled myself under the covers. Dreaming myself to sleep.

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There at Last!          

            I take a deep breath. The salt filled my lungs and I became a little dizzy. Grasping the rail so I don’t fall over I quickly catch my balance. Finally we are leaving for the new land, America. My family was a few yards away so I walk over to them. The wind was nippy and started to attack my hands, like a dog chewing on a bone until there is nothing left. I slip them into my woolen jacket and let it rest upon my comforting Rosary.  I really hate this jacket. It feels all rigido, or stiff, and it is the color of sand. But my Rosary, which is a necklace made of string and beads, and each bead means a different prayer and meaning, makes it warmer, more soothing.

            “I cannot believe we are on our way!” Clementia, my wife, tells me. Smiling I reply, “Me neither.”

            Eventually the suns race across the sky ended, and blackness envelops the sky, like a black knitted sweater, leaving tiny holes because that knit was not as tight as the last, allowing the star lights to shine through.

“I will take the girls, Donielle and Roza, into bed,” Clementia tells me. “You can stay up on the deck if you want to. I will join you after.”

“Nessun problema1, I will come in now.”

We come to a small, steel door with a small circle window implanted at the top of it, and seams, like a pair of pants, around the edge. Instead of the seam made of thread though, it is made of steel bolts. I turn the tiny knob and enter the crowded room. The tile floor refrigerates your feet with its icy shell. We make our way over to a small corner that contains our luggage. A worn, cardboard hat boxes, four bundles of clothing tied together with a piece of tethered yarn, a tin filled with the little food we own, and a bag filled with blankets. I pulled out two of the four blankets we brought and situated two of the cloth bundles (which were to act as pillows) to make beds for Roza and Donielle. With them barely having enough room to lie down, I started looking for a spot for my wife and I too sleep. It was so crowded. Because we were not very rich my family had to suffer in this room. This hole. The air was so tight, finding fresh air was as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack. Luckily, our family chose a corner of the room that happened to be the furthest away from the pile of dead bodies so the smell was the least worse in the room. But that does not mean we do not smell the bodies dead fumes.

I start walking as fast as I could without breaking into a run, and dragging my wife behind me I spot what, for tonight, will be our bed. Not to far away from our sleeping children, my wife and I start making our beds out of our blankets and clothing bundles. Lying on the frigid floor, I could not get comfortable. Squirming around, I roll onto my goose-bump covered side, onto my Rosary. I start a quick pray to the heavenly father:

“Name the father, son, holy spirit, amen. I first would like to thank you for the good things you have given me. You have blessed me with a beautiful wife, two darling children, and the chance of a lifetime. Coming to America. I am entirely grateful. Would you please look after my family, and let these last two days be quick so we can finally arrive at the glorious America. Amen.” Shutting my eyes is slowly drifted off to sleep to the whispers of my roommates, the creaking of the boat, and the sailors yelling back in forth.   

Although my eyelids are shut I can see the color changing from a panther black to a tiger orange. I attempt to open my eyes but the light causes them to snap shut. Attempting again, I sit up first and slowly lift my drowsy lids. A sharp pain aches on my side, and as I rub over the spot with my hand, my hand crosses my rosary. Squinting for a second or two I arise up out of bed. The noise was loudest today. Everybody was packing their clothing together and packing away their sheets, etc. It was the last day! Letting my wife and kids sleep, I headed towards the door to check the weather. I turn the knob on the silver, bolt-seamed door and felt the hot sun heat my already hot body. A light wind wrestled its way through what was left of my tangled brown hair. It was a beautiful day. With a light sigh and a smile, I walk to my cabin again.

Walking through what seems like a maze to get to my family is tough. Tripping once or twice on left out luggage and mobs of people did not help.

“Clementia, wake up! We have a lot to do!” I whisper as I shake her awake.

“Hmm?”

“Wake up.” I say. “We have to pack. And it is a great day so you can clean the kids, and get out of this room.

“Oh... Alright.” Clementia annoyingly says.  We walked over together with our sheets and pillows (clothing bundle) and set them next to the children.

“Wake up Donielle, wake up Roza!” a soft voice murmurs. Unlike us, Donielle and Roza woke up quickly. First the four of us packed the remainder of the alimento2 in on of the tin suitcases. Then Clementia took the soap outside with the girls following. I do not have anything else to do so I might as well follow them and watch. First Clementia tells Donielle and Roza to lean their small heads over the wooden railing. Clementia rinses cold water over their heads and both I see huddle themselves into the best ball they can, trying to contain heat. Donielle and Roza’s long, dark, brown hair now has what seems like a stream flowing from their hair, through the air, to the ocean. Clementia takes the soap and scrubs Donielle’s hair first, and then she will do Roza’s. Last, waster is poured over both Donielle and Roza’s hair with the same effect on the girls as the first time. I hand Clementia two towels that were hanging on the railing and she ties up their washed hair. The three girls walk towards the cabin. My guess is that Clementia is going to start straightening up, and Donielle and Roza are going to get their dolls and play outside on the deck. I roam around the deck. Sometimes rope needs to be coiled, or the sailors need help holding a pole, and I help them. I walked to the back end of the ship and there I see a boy, about 18 years old. He is pulling on rope and having a grueling time. I walk over and start pulling with him. This is harder than I thought I was going to be. I started to twist and turn with the rope as I pulled. This at least let off a little pressure from my arms. Finally the rope was coiled and as I placed my end on the ground, next laid my rosary. My loving, caring, friendly rosary. I must have dropped it when I was twisting. As I stood up with my rosary in my hand I saw a crowd of people at the front of the boat. And there were people rushing towards the bow of the boat, like scuola dei pesci 3 swimming all in one direction.  Then I looked up and saw why. There was the Statue of Liberty. We made it to America.