Clairton's Rich Heritage

Clairton History

Today’s blog holds dual significance for me. It is the 400th post on this blog and the 66th post about Clairton. It is also significant because a dear, longtime friend and blog reader has agreed to share a bit of her family’s heritage.

We have written dozens of blogs about our hometown, Clairton, PA. Part of the richness of Clairton came from the amalgamation of individuals from varied backgrounds into one community. There were Catholics, Protestants, Baptists, Mormons, and all manner of religions, as well as Anglos, Middle and Eastern Europeans, African Americans, Arabs, Jews, and all manner of ethnicities. They worked side by side in the mills and operated businesses that served the community. Sometimes they married into one another’s culture. They established and built many of Clairton’s landmarks and when their adopted country went to war they served with honor.

Today’s blog is written by Donna Lancianese Lajcack whose family was so typical of so many World War II era Clairtonians. Read and enjoy.

When my Dad, Roman Lancianese, was nine years old, he immigrated from Abruzzo province in Italy with his mother, Inocenzza, and his brothers during the 1918 World Flu Epidemic. My grandfather, Pierino, had come to America and worked for two years to pay his family's passage. As they sailed into the New York City harbor, with his name pinned to his coat, my Dad stepped onto his new homeland at Ellis Island and began his new life of opportunity. In 1990, I had his name placed on a plaque. On a bus tour to Ellis Island that year, he found his name. ALL his friends and my Mother took a photo as they all pointed to his name. My Dad was so PROUD!

His family came to Clairton, PA; my dad loved his adopted country. Always curious and engaging, he worked as a "water boy" when the Glassport, PA bridge was being built in the Wilson area of Clairton. Like others, he helped to build the St. Paulinus Church, as he had lived nearby and worked in his dad's businesses. Eventually, he owned/worked in a bowling alley, bar/restaurant, flower shop, hair salon, barber, beautician and more. His smile was extraordinary and he had a passion for life and new adventures. He captured my Mother's attention (Rose Marie) when she happened to meet him at St. Paulinus Church when she was 17; he always called her, "his beautiful Rose." They married on Feb. 2, 1942 and had four children---Donna, Ramon, Gloria and Perry.

During World War II my Dad could not serve in our USA Armed Forces because of his eyesight. He stayed behind and helped others at home. One was his cousin who also emigrated from Italy. After becoming an American citizen his cousin was drafted into the US Army at age 37 and was shipped overseas to Italy, to fight in his former homeland! He became a POW within six months and remained there until the war had ended. During this period, my Dad had not only worked in his own business, but he also worked in his cousin's business. When his cousin returned, my Dad gave him ALL the money he had earned from his cousin's business during those war years....in order to help his cousin to begin his life anew. How many of us today would have made all those same sacrifices, even for a relative?!

My Dad was always aware of historical significance. He traveled to the "Chicago's World Fair," standing in front of Admiral Byrd's boat for a classic photo. He walked the ten miles from Clairton to the Allegheny County airport as a young man to see Lindbergh's stop on his way into history. Years later at that same airport, he carried my 18 month old brother, Ray, in his arms and held my hand when President Harry S. Truman came out and stood on the plane's top step and waved vigorously to the crowd. In my yellow dress and a large yellow ribbon in my long hair of curls, I remember looking up to my Dad as he told me to smile and wave to our President; I was almost three years old. I clearly remember how President Truman waved his hand back and forth over his hat to the small crowd. I then looked upwards to my Dad; his smile was always so extraordinary and captivating. It was "a moment in time" that was burned into my memory as a young child and never forgotten. My Dad always continued forever to show his respect and pride for HIS adopted and beloved country...the United States of America. He loved and lived life so large.

My Dad worked long business hours, but he continued to assist others in need throughout his life, by loaning them money in their need. He learned to play golf at 40, and he taught everyone he knew how to play golf, including his children and my husband, Denis. My brothers, Ray and Perry, became golf professionals. When my Dad celebrated his 90th birthday in 2000 on a Pittsburgh golf course with friends, he hit "his third life-time hole in one!" His golf-mates were celebrating ALL the way to the clubhouse! The Pittsburgh Press noted this special birthday event the next day in their newspaper. My Dad passed away in 2004

His vision in teaching others through kindness, a friend to all, a "hands up" to those in need, his wonderful sense of humor, a willingness to work hard to give his family the best that he could, his graciousness to everyone he met, and his extraordinary smile to bring loving joy to so many people, made my Italian immigrant Dad, Roman Lancianese, this wonderful, respectful and hard-working immigrant Citizen of his beloved...."America the Beautiful!"

Donna Lancianese Lajcak

A little blogging music Maestro… “That’s Amore,” by Dean Martin.

Who's Your Daddy, et.al.

"Mommy, Where Did I Come From?"

For decades America was described as a melting pot. More recently some have described it as a mixed salad bowl. Immigrants who were once courted in this country by the inscription on the Statue of Liberty are now often looked at with scorn, disdain, and suspicion. But are things really that different now than they were at the turn of the twentieth century when millions of immigrants left poverty for the opportunities available in the U.S.?

There has always been resistance to immigration. The Indians didn't want the first wave of English immigrants who didn't want the second wave of French, who didn't want the Germans who didn't want the Eastern Europeans, who didn't want the Asians who don't want the Hispanics. What a country!

Somehow each wave of immigrants was absorbed and by the third generation the offspring of often illiterate peasants became part of the mainstream with proper grammar usage and formal education and highly placed jobs. They had one other trait - they didn't want the next wave of immigrants.

After a couple of generations children and grandchildren often see the richness of the culture becoming homogenized. Grandchildren rarely speak what had been the first language in the childhood home of their parents and they begin to ask the eternal question, "Who am I and where did I come from." That question gives rise to the search for one's roots. Hence the popularity today among many non-hyphenated Americans of genealogical research. The first generation views themselves as natives of the country from which they emigrated. The second generation considers themselves hyphenated-Americans (Italian-Americans, Croatian-Americans, Mexican Americans, etc.) and the third generation simply sees themselves as Americans, albeit with surnames that are often difficult to spell.

The search for ones ancestors can be pursued with many resources, not the least of which is the internet. One of the best resources I've found is Croatia@rootsweb.com. It is moderated by Robert Jerin. If part of your heritage is Croatian or Eastern European you will find a wealth of idea interchange. If you are not of Croatian origin you will find yummy recipes and scads of interesting facts. Other ethnicities have similar websites.

Somehow the nation will get past the current immigration flap. In a couple of generations the grandchildren of those who are the targets of angst will be among our most prominent and productive citizens, just as top notch entrepreneurs, sports figures, inventors, community leaders, etc. are descended from previous generations of immigrants. That's what makes this country great.

A little blogging music maestro... How about "What's Your Name" by Don and Juan?

Dr. Forgot

Like, Don't Never Say That

Are You Talkin' To ME?

I just read a piece in the local newspaper that talks about an unofficial political blog that endorses one political party. It matters not which party is being endorsed, the crux of the piece is that people, mostly immigrants, are using non-standard English in the blog. It included examples of poorly and grammatically incorrect copy in the blog. The blog expresses certain American values that supposedly include proper use of the English language but is written in a fashion that is anything but.

The author of the blog claims to represent a particular constituency and feels that her writing in non-standard or "broken" English is perfectly fine among those who would read the blog. The logical extension of the blog's author is that many immigrant American citizens do not speak standard English so they should be able to read the same in a blog and anybody who disagrees must be racist.

Good argument, but totally flawed. I grew up in an area, an era, and a community in which most people of my grandparents generation spoke a culturally rich version of fractured English. Some might call it pidgin English. In effect the language spoken was a mixture of terms and expression from their native language, mixed in with terms used in the trades in which they worked, and sprinkled with survival English (if you can order food and find the rest room, you speak survival English). Many of the immigrants were illiterate or borderline literate in both their first language and in English. Others were able to read daily newspapers, and other English printed material, even textbooks, but spoke with distinct language differences.

Hence, written and spoken English can be vastly different. The way one speaks, especially if one speaks in a non-standard fashion, does not necessarily reflect the way one writes or reads. Poor written English is poor written English. That's all there is to it. Further, with the advent of computers and word processing programs, no writer has an excuse for misspellings or grammatical errors, as spelling and grammar checks are as easy as moving a mouse or clicking a button.

In sum, writing professionally or academically in non-standard English, with misspellings or grammatical errors is simply not ok. I never got into e.e. cummings material style during the avant garde 1970s. If you wish to be a writer but your grammar and spelling is suspect, use the tools literally at your fingertips. If you wish to further streamline your writing, hire an editor. But never, EVER take the position that poor writing is somehow chic or clever. Amen.

A little blogging music maestro... anything but, "I Ain't Givin Up Nuthin."

Dr. Forgot