The mighty Buff. In the neighborhood where Suzanne Eberhardt and I have recently settled there are a plethora of refugee peoples-Somalians, Indonesians, Sudanese, and more. Here, on the Lower West Side of Buffalo in an old Italian Neighborhood they mingle peacefully with the old Italian residents, and then the Spanish residents, and now more Americans like us moving back. The refugees and their children are safe now. No one is trying to kill them here. They go about their lives, their children play in the shadow of the mighty Connecticut Street Armory. One is reminded of America, and Buffalo, at its best.... 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-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door! That poem was written in 1883. The house we unloaded more boxes to today was built in 1880, Probably by an Italian Immigrant. The Statue of Liberty wouldnt be dedicated for another six years, but the work had been ongoing since the 1870s.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Jul 2014 17:58:06 +0000