Immigrant Experience
Paula Panti
HIS/226
April 06, 2014
Michelle O’Malley

I am Giovanni (John) Pilutti this is the story of my family and descendants. I was born on February 16, 1892, in Rivignano, Udine, Italy and Louisa Muzzini who later became my wife and was born on March 22, 1897, near the same place. This is the story of my life’s journey, and how I ended up coming to America. Through hardships and sacrifice our family had a dream of going to America and making a better life for our children, and so the story begins. The year was 1914 when I joined the Italian Army, which I served until 1918 fighting in World War 1. It was the end of World War I much of Western Europe was still in turmoil; Men coming home from serving in Armed Services were trying to shift gears from military to civilian life. Times were hard. I married my childhood sweetheart Louisa while on leave from the army, and we had three beautiful children in a few short years. The war took its toll on my country financially, and forced tens of thousands of Italian people to migrate to the United States seeking work, and a better future for their families. My family and I were no exception, there was a big house being shared by several generations, with each family unit having a small bedroom and sharing the kitchen and other living space. As more children were added to the extended family, it became obvious that some of the family groups would have to move out. There was just no work, and the overcrowded conditions were too much to bear, so Louisa and I decided to do what many other Italians were doing, and that was go to America. Many of the men were going to America to make money, and then return home to Italy. This was not my dream, my dream was to find work send for Louisa and the children, and one day buy our own land and build a house for my family. My wife and I agreed that I would go first, and then send for her and the children as soon as I could afford it. This was a very difficult decision to make; having to leave my family behind while I went to a faraway country I knew nothing of. I boarded a steam liner in the spring of 1920 that was bound for New York, NY. As I boarded the steam liner that was headed for this new country my first experience of what I later would see more regularly really caught me off guard. The attendant taking my ticket replied to me “I can see by the way you are dressed where you belong, head to the steerage quarters with the rest of your kind”. It was at this point that I truly understood for many years to come what a third class citizen would be treated like. I was not able to bring much food with me for the voyage, so I had to steal food from the first and second class sections whenever I could find a waiters coat laying around which would give me access without being noticed. Food was offered to the third class occupants only twice a day and it was never enough to go around. The sleeping arrangements were not much better there was six other men in a cubicle the size of a trunk that some carried their luggage in. It was a very long voyage, and the fact that third class passengers were to stay below made it even more difficult. After what seemed like an endless voyage I finally had a glimpse of the new country I was going to make my dream come true in. I later learned that this was called New Jersey where I thought I was going to get off the ship, but instead third class and steerage was loaded on a barge and sent to a place called Ellis Island. This is where immigrants were sent to be classified and examined to see if they could gain entry into the country. I was poked and probed for days on end by doctors, psychiatrist, and political officers making sure I was healthy enough and stable enough to reside in the United States. I left Ellis Island after two weeks and decided to stay in NY City because while at Ellis Island I became acquainted with an Italian from my home town who said his Uncle could get me a job as masonry. This city was very crowded, garbage was all over the place and the building I was to live in was not a pleasant site. There was no running water in the tenant building I lived in, and 20 different families shared the same two bathrooms. The section of the city was then known as Washington Park where many different ethnic groups stayed together. Jobs that were inside were not considered suitable for Italian men at this time in America so many of my country men and myself were doing outside trades and labors. I was fortunate not to be clustered in the ranks of unskilled labors, or being stuck on the docks; or worse on garbage runs. I was a cement mason, a skill that was passed on to me from my father, and one he learned from his father. The hours were very long, and breaks were far and few in between, I barely made enough money to pay the rent in the first six months. Although we were treated like second rate people, I had a plan and nothing was going to stand in my way. I learned to get around the thugs who exploited Italians, and did the same with the police, and politicians who thought that all Italians were in the mob. What motivated me was that all this long hard work would lead to my family joining me and for us complete our dream. Eventually after three years I acquired my own business, and sent for my wife and children. My children did not have to endure what we as adults had to endure, they were given formal educations and went on to college and all three children went on to become successful in life.

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