Read Oral History #181. Available in English.
I came from Puerto Rico with [my] aunt, my brother’s sister, and my cousin on a ship, a retired warship. It took seven days to get here. I was two weeks shy of my third birthday. My parents did not come. I was raised by my father’s family. I don’t remember Puerto Rico at all.
My first home was in The Bronx. We lived there for several years. Then we moved to Manhattan. That’s where I started kindergarten. We lived on 130th Street and Lexington Avenue. Back then you could walk to the East River and the water was clear. I remember that much.
The apartment in Manhattan had cement floors, kerosene lamps, a room heater, and our refrigerator with a pan of water underneath. We bought ice, twenty-five cents for a block of ice that lasted a week. The family consisted of my aunt, her daughter, and myself. It was customary if you had a favorite niece or whatever. They always entrusted a family member if you were coming to New York to take her or him with you. I didn’t meet my father until I was six. He stayed in Puerto Rico. He was a stevedore. He worked on the docks. He didn’t come to New York until I was already in school, maybe the third grade. We never had a close relationship. That was just the way it was. But I did communicate with him.