Mexicans in the Making of America
Subyek
: Immigrants—United States—History, United States—
Relations—Mexico, Mexico—Relations—United States, National
characteristics, American, United States—Ethnic relations, Transnationalism—History, United States—Emigration and
immigration—Social aspects
Penerbit
: Harvard University Press
Ringkasan :Some readers might wonder why a person with a non- Latino name like
“Neil Foley” would feel the urge or the need to write about Mexican Americans
and Mexican immigrants. It never occurred to me, growing up in
the suburbs of Washington, DC, in the 1950s and 1960s, that I was any different
from the kids I went to parochial school with. We were all “white”— no
African Americans or other Latinos attended my elementary school. Most
blacks lived in the capital city, as did the tiny Latino community, mostly
Central Americans who settled around 18th and Columbia Road in a
neighborhood called Adams Morgan. In those days the words “Latinos” and
“Hispanics” were not much in use. Th at came later, in the 1970s, about the
same time that I began to ponder the challenges our immigrant grandparents
faced in making the journey to the United States.
My father, Raymond Patrick Foley, was the son of impoverished Irish
immigrants from County Kerry, Ireland. He was the youn gest of seven children
born in Brockton, Massachusetts. His mother, Julia Sheehan Foley,
died shortly aft er he was born. His church gave him a scholarship to attend
Boston College, where he studied Spanish and subsequently made a living
as a Spanish translator for the FBI and the Department of Justice.
My mother, Maria Lilia Trejo, one of nine children, was the daughter of
Mexican immigrants who crossed the border into New Mexico before it
was illegal to cross without papers. Today she would be called an “anchor
baby.” Th ey met during World War II. Like my father, she was a devout
Catholic, but practiced the rituals and rhythms of “folk Catholicism” that
she was brought up with. Her devotion to the Virgin Mary included our
praying the rosary every day aft er dinner during the month of May while
our neighborhood friends played ball in the street. At home I listened to
my mother’s scratchy rec ords of Mexican ranchera music and grew up thinking her enchiladas, tacos, tamales, frijoles, and sopapillas were American
food, which of course they are. But not everyone thought so at the time.
Th is was long before Taco Bell spread from California to the East Coast.
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