Our Stories

Roswitha “Rosi” Ehrhardt

Parker Perkins

The story of Roswitha “Rosi” Ehrhardt begins in Czechoslovakia, the year 1943, where she was born to German parents. Her childhood in Czechoslovakia was a tough one; Her and her family were forced out of the country for being ethnic Germans. After returning to Germany, she started classes at the University of Heidelberg at the age of 18. She studied with the Department of Interpretation and Translation, which gave her the opportunity to study English at Oxford University in 1962. Two years later, she acquired a visa at the American embassy in London, and moved to Dallas, Texas. Even though there were many Germans already in Dallas, she found that Americans found her strange and exotic. She did not like Dallas at all. She eventually received a permanent resident card, in addition to her German passport. This caused her some issues when she went to Italy to continue her language studies, after her passport expired. She could not get into Germany to renew her passport because she was no longer registered there, and she could not get an American passport because she couldn’t get into the county without one. This left her stranded for a little while, until her father fixed the issue, and she could return to the United States. At the age of 26, she married Robert Harrison Wagner, and in 1973, she applied for citizenship. She was granted citizenship, got a passport, and registered to vote. She settled down in Austin, Texas, which she loves, and has lived there ever since.

My great-grandmother Elana Jankauskus immigrated to America from Lithuania in 1921.  She lived in a small farming village near Kaunas, Lithuania.  She spoke Lithuanian, Polish, and Russian.  She and her mother had been waiting for her older brother to come back from the war, after being taken away to fight in the Red Army.  Her family farm had been mostly destroyed, along with her village after the Russian revolution of 1917.  Eventually they gave up waiting, and took a boat from Lithuania to Germany.  They then took another boat from Germany to America.

Upon arriving in America, they didn’t have any difficulty getting through Ellis Island.  This was mainly because all her other family was already in America, as she was the last of 6 siblings to leave Lithuania, and the ones who hadn’t gone into the military had come to America.  She lived in New York for a while, caring for her mother until she died, and then moved to Massachusetts. In Massachusetts, she married a much older man from Lithuania, and they lived in Cambridge.  They lived in a Lithuanian immigrant neighborhood, which had a Lithuanian catholic church.  The church was the center of their community life.  She and her husband had a shoe store that they ran.  However, it failed during the depression, as very few people had the money to buy new shoes.  They decided to reopen the shoe store as a “café”, which was really a bar.  They called it the Marion Café, and lived above it.  She then had two children, Alton and Alphonse.  In 1939, her husband died, and after that, she ran the bar and raised her two sons.

She eventually remarried an Irish man named Charlie Mahoney, and had her daughter Helen shortly after.  In 1946, they moved from Cambridge, to Lynn, which is also in Massachusetts.  It was a large step-up in social and economic status, since they were leaving the immigrant neighborhood in Cambridge.  Her husband was a successful businessman, and helped her run the bar.  Unfortunately, he was an alcoholic, and started to run the business into the ground.  She eventually divorced him, but still felt obliged to help him a few years later when he was dying.  She sold the bar and retired around 1960, and then lived the rest of her life in Lynn.  She never became fully fluent in English, but that never affected her life.

My name is Harry Byron. I was born into a Jewish family in Russia 1903. The first fifteen years of my life are years that I live to forget. I lost my parents and my sister, my only sense of family, at a very young age to disease, like many other people in Russia during that time. I was forced to grow up with my aunt, who even though she was family, loved me no more than a stranger. Outside of my family, life was only worse. Being Jewish during that period in Russia was a death sentence. Everyday I was persecuted purely because of my religion. All I knew was that I needed to get out, and I hung onto that idea for years. Finally, at the age of 15, my opportunity came and I knew I needed to take it. I had a chance to escape and come to America to start a new life, and nothing was going to stop me. Pretending to be 17 in order to get a job, I was able to come over through Ellis Island. I stayed with some of my cousins in Washington D.C.. I worked at a deli and did okay for myself but I didn’t feel like I got what I wanted yet. I only spent a couple years there before we moved to Hartford and settled down. I opened up my own gas station and ran it myself. I worked hard every day, just trying to earn enough money to support myself. Then one day I met a beautiful woman at a house party. What seems like only minutes later we were married. We had 3 wonderful kids who then went on to have 6 kids of their own making me a grandfather. I had to work very hard, always 6 days a week, but none of that mattered because I had what I was looking for; a family of my own to love. When I’m not working I spend all my time with my family; seeing them happy is the best thing in life for me. I’m just very thankful that I was able to come to America and start a life that I was never going to be able to have back in Russia. I very much take pride in everything that I do, from owning my own gas station to having a house with my lovely wife and kids.

My father, Peter Hogyun Lee, was born in Seoul, South Korea. His family was fairly established in Korea, his uncle being the governor of Chonju province, and much of his family being prominent members of the business community. Truly, as his family was living so comfortably in Korea, they shouldn’t have left, however, there were a few reasons as to why they did leave. For one, my grandfather was North Korean, so he felt uncomfortable in South Korea because of its very different political and social structure. Another reason is that the education system in Korea is a dangerously high stress and high expectation environment. On top of this, despite the war being over, there was always a sense of danger in South Korea, considering how close their “enemies” were. Because of reasons like these, my father’s family came to the US by invitation from the 1970s Scientists & Engineer Program (my grandfather was a MD-PhD at Seoul University). My father, unable to speak nor understand English, was moved to Los Angeles, then somewhere in Michigan, then to Ohio, West Virginia, and finally, North Carolina. Because he was moving to new places so often, he was never able to settle down fully, nor make friends easily. My father admitted that he didn’t feel that he belonged here in America like he did in Korea. Although the feeling of starting over was exhilarating in its newness, due to his constant moving, he had no solid home feeling for so many years. He told me that he learned how to be a loner due to this early expectation of being displaced constantly. Although my father sometimes (very rarely) tells stories from his childhood, he is a very reserved and unemotional person. Many of the things that he told me in his interview were things I had never known. Among other things, I was astonished to hear that my grandfather was diagnosed with tuberculosis in Michigan, and that my father was bullied when he was younger. These stories, which I have heard for the first time, have finally shed light on a man who always preferred to stand in the shadows, simply content with watching, and supporting his family. Although he may feel that he is a “loner”, and that he doesn’t belong, I would like for him to know that he does belong here, with his loving family. My father, Peter Hogyun Lee, was born in Korea, but his home is here, in America.

This is the story of Genaro Cuellar, a Mexican immigrant that came to America to seek a different life here rather than his average Mexican life. It was a hot summer day with the sun beating down on my dark clothing. It was my last day in Mexico before the big move to America. My parents scrambled around the house trying to sell as much of our furniture that we couldn’t bring as possilble. I was scared, nervous for what was going to happen in the time ahead of me. I had heard very few stories of people immigrating because they usually don’t come back. I started to think about it, and the more I ran it through my head, the better it sounded. After a brief goodbye, we finally set out on our journey out of Monterrey and to Dallas.

As we approach the border, I start to get nervous with my mind racing of all the possibilities that could happen up ahead. We get to the border and all I could hear was your good to go. I started to feel like a million bucks. We went on with our drive to Dallas. This is the first time that I’ve been out of Mexico and it was interesting. I read some of the signs because I took English at home but then most of the words I couldn’t understand as we were passing by.

Luckily, I didn’t have to attend school for another couple month which made me happy but I still had to swim and take English classes. When I arrived at the English class, I thought that it felt like home because everyone speaks Spanish. Everyone said hi to me as I was new to the class. My mom picked me up after the class and took me to swim practice. At swim practice, I walked in and my mom talked to the coach and then from my understanding introduced me. I felt welcomed at this place. Everyone introduced themselves to me with their names. There was one kid that I related with well because he just came to Dallas from North Carolina. His name was a simply easy to say name, Jack Todd.

At this point my life took a left turn. I got on a daily routine of English classes and swimming. Then school started up. I felt like an outsider with a language barrier but I just had to find a group I related to. I do not regret my choice of leaving my old life behind and coming to America.

There are countless stories of people immigrating to the United States of America, each one having its own twists and unique elements. I interviewed my grandmother, not about herself, but her father. My great grandfather, Thomas, was of Polish descent. The interesting thing about him and his story is that he was actually born in the United States in McKeesport, Pennsylvania. While this contradicts the definition of an immigrant, he moved back to Poland at a young age and from there his story progressed.

His parents lived in Gdnansk, Poland, and owned a small farm. At the time, many people were looking to travel to the United States to find a better way of life, mostly revolving around wealth. His parents followed this trend and while living in America, Thomas was born. At the age of six, he and his family returned to Poland. Things were turbulent there at the time before World War II broke out, and they wanted to go back because of their property and the fact that they had satisfied their wealth needs in America. Thomas’ parents sent him right back at the age of 16; the reason being that they wanted better opportunities for him than his future in Poland. He set off for his new life in the United States on a boat, alone and unaware of the future as he travelled through Ellis Island. He loved telling his immigration story to my grandmother and her family, since the idea of an American citizen immigrating back to America was such an interesting thought.

He lived with distant cousins in Aliquippa, Pennsylvania and after a few years, he found a cushioned job at the “Jones and Laughlin Steel Corporation”. The whole town was built around this steel mill, and it was a common place for immigrants to work. This stable job was hard and laborious, but he eventually earned enough money to buy his own business: a bar called the “National Café”. He prospered at this business for 25 years until he retired with his family. My grandfather, Thomas Rozanski, was a United States-born immigrant, and he has passed his Polish customs down generations reaching all the way to me. This itself is a great representation of immigration; changing your whole life to live somewhere completely different than what you’re used to and successfully spreading your traditions.

“Just because a cat has kittens in an oven doesn’t make them a loaf of bread”

This is a quirky quote that has been passed from generation to generation in my family.  The first time I heard it, I was completely baffled by the point of what my ancestors meant by this.  I thought it was very self-explanatory that a kitten wasn’t a loaf of bread; however, with a little guidance from my aunt I Iearned my family hasn’t been talking about kittens and bread from years.  Rather, the point they were trying to make is no matter where you go or where you are born, you are always from one culture and need to remain proud of that.  I will always be partly Irish no matter where I am.

Four generations back my family, who was then the Osborne’s, lived in Ermagh, Ireland.  John and Sarah Osborne were weavers in Ireland.  In 1845 the potato famine happened, causing mass starvation and killing millions of people.  Over 1.5 million people were forced to leave the country including John and Sarah Osborne.  When fleeing Ireland, they first stopped in England and lived there for a while.  While in England, they had their son Dr. Osborne and they worked as miners for years.  After some time, Dr. Osborne decided to move to America where he could continue to work as a miner; however, when he moved he had to go over a year without his family joining him because they were unable financially to accompany him to America.  Sadly, I am unable to know exactly how he felt during this time and the challenges he faced, but I image it was very difficult to go that long without seeing his family.  After his family was finally able to join him, they lived in Pennsylvania where his 6 children grew up.  One of his children even grew up to be a prize-winning obstetrician and had a very successful practice.  In America, my family was able to make a very successful life for themselves.

I may only be a kitten that was born in an oven, but I am not a loaf of bread.  I may be born in America, but I can’t deny the fact that I am still Irish.  The challenges my ancestors faced are still challenges many families face today.  We are all just kittens in ovens.

Once upon a time there was a small village in China. There are many small villages in China, but this one is called Toi San. In this small village, there was a girl named Wai Tse. She didn’t come from a wealthy family and life was hard for her poor family. Eventually it got so bad that Wai Tse was sold or given (my family’s historical records don’t say which) to a wealthy family as a governess. This position included immigrating to the United States. When she got there, she took on an American name as well as the surname of her host family, she became Mary Wong. The Wong family came to the United States in 1880 and moved to Deadwood, South Dakota. She struggled at first because she didn’t speak any English, she only spoke Toishanese. Mary came over in 1880, just two years before the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. It was hard for her being one of the last Chinese immigrants until the act was repealed. Furthering her struggle, she was one of the only ones who spoke the Toishanese dialect of Cantonese. She learned English in time and continued to work for the Wongs. Eventually Mary was able to settle down with a fellow immigrant named Hsaing Nuu Wong and eight kids, two of which died. The remaining six children all grew up. The line continued when Mary’s child, Pauline, married Winfield. They had two children, Winfield Jr. and Joe. Joe married Sara and had Elizabeth and Emily. Elizabeth married David, and voila, ME! I’ve looked back on the challenges that Mary faced, and her immersion wasn’t easy, but she endured. Mary Wong died in 1959, but I’m sure she’d be happy that her family has come so far from that little village in China.

Mary Wong as an old woman

Mary Wong just after her entrance to the United States

Mary with the Wong family. That’s her in the back.

An Early morning in July, and it is the first day of the seventh grade. I started on a challenging journey in this new place. The first thing I saw was the cafeteria room with almost no one in it. Everyone gave me a puzzling look wondering who I was. I was completely lonely, and no one knew my name. A few moments went by and when a large woman walked up to me. She asked me “Gen wo lai” which means follow me. I spent the next few hours in her classroom learning English in this book with a purple dinosaur, but I thought it was a waste of time. I never thought that I would learn English. A loud bell rang around 12, I was told it was time for lunch, and the cafeteria was on the right. I didn’t understand this because back in china we went home for lunch. I joined the lunch room, and immediately I was greeted by a kid named Chris. He asked me in Chinese “Why did you decide to move to America.” I replied saying I want a more balance life. I had so much work to do, and not enough of extra circulars, so we looked for other options. This lead us to America. We shared a few more words in Chinese, and then I met his friends Kenneth, Daniel, and Mason.  They were very accepting of me; even though, I didn’t expect to make friends. After lunch, the day felt like it went by fast. The school day ended around 3:15 and I was excited to come back the next day. By the end of the year I was speaking English well, and started to be accustomed to “American Culture.” I do desperately miss my father, my other family, and my girlfriend. They were the life that I left behind, but I am finally enjoying myself in America.