Today is the New York Marathon. I heard the runners were not looking forward to the run since it would be warm (low 70s) and humid. I didn’t go out to see the runners; it’s not my thing. However, by afternoon I was in the mood for a walk to enjoy the warmth of the day. I decided today would be the day for me to venture out to find Valentin Aguirre’s boarding house in the West Village, or an hour’s walk. Don’t misunderstand, the boarding house no longer exists.
Valentin, from the province of Viscaya, arrived in the United States in 1895 and opened a boarding house for Basque immigrants in 1913. His original boarding house was on Cherry Street near the Manhattan Piers of the Brooklyn Bridge. He would eventually move it to 82 Bank Street (Greenwich Village) and call it “Santa Lucia Hotel,” or “Casa Vizcaina”. In addition to running the housing, he also had a restaurant called “Jai Alai.” (Note of interest: Published in 1969, the “Greenwich Village Cookbook” included Valentino’s “Sopa de Ajo con Huevos” recipe, translated to “garlic soup with eggs”.)
Many Basques would come to America by way of Ellis Island and most would spend the night at his boarding house. As a result, he developed a network of contacts that would help hundreds of Basques find jobs in California, Idaho, Nevada, etc.; it appears the boarding house also served as travel and employment agencies. From there Valentin would get the newly arrived Basques to the train station so they could continue their journey. By 1913 Aguirre and others formed the Central Vasco-Americano Sociedad de Beneficiencia y Recreo, the first Basque Center of the United States. Or, so I read somewhere on line.
In fact, I believe one such immigrant was my father. He came to New York in 1927 via Ellis Island; I am thinking he probably spent at least one night at this boarding house before getting on the train to Santa Barbara. I have no proof of this, only a suspicion. My father would always say he realized how wonderful Americans were because he and his friends traveled by train across this country not knowing one word of English, yet Americans would go out of their way to help them out.
On my entire walk I couldn’t help but think I was heading to the part of the United States that my father first explored. And, now all these years later, here I am. Almost full circle, but not quite. My father came to this country with absolutely nothing except hope for a better future.
I have always found it hard to imagine how so many immigrants could come here with virtually nothing: no language, no money, no idea what they would be facing or doing. But they did and they persevered. What courage that must have taken. I, on the other hand, am in the winter of my years. I come here for six months knowing that I can go back at any time (and will) to a very comfortable life. I don’t have to put in 8 to 12 hours of work each day to eat or to have a roof over my head. It is completely different.
In retrospect, we all choose different paths, some riskier than others, throughout our lives. But the point is, we do have a choice. I realize now I have probably worked towards this goal (without realizing it) most of my adult life. At least for today, I am loving every minute!
