In my family, I am the second Lora. My grandmother was the first, followed by me as number two, and finally, my granddaughter as the third. My great-grandmother was the first Mary, my mother, the second and my daughter the third. We are six generations of Mary-Loras, a maternal line of women in my family.
The first Lora, (my grandmother) and my grandfather came to the United States from Sicily, in 1919 through Ellis Island with two young children in tow. The arduous journey was made more difficult by the fact that one of my uncles got an ear infection while en route, causing the family to be separated as my grandmother and uncle were placed in quarantine. This caused extreme hardship as they remained in that situation until they were released after spending all their money trying to get them out. Because of this, they could not join their relatives in Chicago until money could be wired to them.
Thus began their life in America. And the experiment of building a better life had begun. They worked hard and long to make the future brighter for their six children. Through their labors, they were able to make an easier life for them. They lived through many a hard time, through World War II and the Great Depression. But my mother remembers her childhood as a happy time playing in the streets with all the other Italian kids in the neighborhood. Even though they were poor, she said, “We didn’t know it, because everyone was ‘in the same boat’.”
My grandmother and grandfather moved from Chicago to the city of Mishawaka, Indiana, where a very small house provided them with shelter away from the big city. The house eventually had two additions built on, which didn’t add much square footage, but gave them indoor plumbing and a bigger kitchen.
My grandfather worked at the Ball Band which was a factory that made rubber products many of which were used in the war, while my grandma cooked, cleaned, gardened, canned, did the washing, of course, and ironed everything! She made all their clothes. When I say all, I mean everything but socks, which she darned to make them last longer. How she sewed! She made suits and coats and beautiful dresses for my aunt and mother.
She was neat as a pin and her house was kept meticulously clean and orderly. Her cooking was amazing and the aroma of sauces and freshly baked bread would often greet you at the front door. Love was food and food was love. And there was plenty of both.
My grandma was so smart, but she had never had the opportunity to go to school. She was the one in her family that had to stay home and help her mother while growing up. She never learned to read, which hurt her deeply. But she could figure out how to do anything just by looking at it. She would buy a pattern and material and tailor a garment so that it would fit perfectly. And she could look at a picture of a crocheted item and figure out the stitches by studying it with a magnifying glass.
When life became somewhat easier economically, my grandfather tried to get her to move to a bigger house. But she would have none of it. I envision her kissing the ground when they got to their little property, vowing that she would never leave it. She would go no further. She had traveled from Sicily, across the ocean, to New York, then Chicago, finally to arrive at the little house in Mishawaka. This was her home and she would not budge. And there she stayed, and lived, and died having made a home of warmth and love. And so the next two Loras thrived because of her voyage and sacrifice. Her legacy would live on into all the generations that followed. Perhaps there will be more Loras and Marys in the future. I am her first namesake and I am so grateful that she made the journey.