That's my story.
This decade was highlighted by President Ronald Reagan's 1986 signing into law of the Immigration Reform and Control Act. It was a major new revision of US immigration policy. The law offered amnesty and legal residency to millions of illegal aliens living in the United States. Approximately three million undocumented residents, mostly Mexicans, took advantage of his offer. The law also hoped to curtail future illegal immigration by implementing penalties against employers who hire undocumented workers.
KEY HISTORIC EVENTS
1980:
Refugee Act of 1980 systematizes the refugee process enacted in response to the Cuban refugee crisis and the “boat people” fleeing Vietnam; it grants asylum to politically oppressed refugees. The United States legally admits more than ten million immigrants.
1984:
US Supreme Court narrows a residency deportation provision of the Immigration and Nationality Act by making seven years of continuous physical presence in the United States a precondition for suspension of deportation procedures.
1986:
President Reagan signs into law the Immigration Reform and Control Act, which he hails as “the most comprehensive reform of our immigration laws since 1952.”
1988: More than 1.5 million illegal immigrants jam legalization centers seeking amnesty as part of the nation's amnesty program; the Redress Act provides $20,000 compensation to survivors of World War II internment of Japanese citizens and Japanese Americans.
MIGRATION FLOWS
Total legal US immigration in 1980s: 6.25 million
Top ten emigration countries in this decade: Mexico (1,009,586), Philippines (502,056), Korea (322,708), India (231,649), Dominican Republic (221,552), Vietnam (200,632), Jamaica (193,874), China (170,897), Canada and Newfoundland (156,313), United Kingdom (153,644)
(See appendix for the complete list of countries.)
FAMOUS IMMIGRANTS
Immigrants who came to America in this decade, and who would later become famous, include:
Elle Macpherson, Australia, 1980, model
Hakeem Olajuwon, Nigeria, 1980, basketball player
Béla Károlyi, Romania, 1981, gymnastics coach (defected)
Pierce Brosnan, Ireland, 1982, actor
Cary Elwes, England, 1982, actor
Midori Got, Japan, 1982, concert violinist
Amy Adams, Italy, 1983, actress (Julie & Julia)
Cristeta Comerford, Philippines, 1985, White House executive chef
Liam Neeson, Ireland, 1987, actor
Gabriel Byrne, Ireland, 1987, actor
Dikembe Mutombo, Republic of Congo, 1987, basketball player
Patrick Stewart, England, 1987, actor
Wayne Gretzky, Canada, 1988, hockey player
Mike Myers, Canada, 1988, actor (Austin Powers)
Jacques Torres, France, 1988, chocolatier
Salma Hayek, Mexico, 1989, actress
Sammy Sosa, Dominican Republic, 1989, baseball player
Nadia Comneci, Romania, 1989, Olympic gymnast (defected)
Alexander Mogilny, Russia, 1989, hockey player (defected)
Vlade Divac, Yugoslavia, 1989, basketball player
He was a teenager when he emigrated illegally through the Mexico–California border with his sister and six other relatives to reunite with his mother in New York. Today he is known as the “Angel of Queens,” a school bus driver and devout Christian who donates homemade food to homeless people, feeding the hungry 365 days a year, rain or shine, from the back of his truck under the No. 7 elevated subway station in Jackson Heights, Queens. He started in 2004, serving eight people per night. Hard economic times have put his services much in demand, and now he averages 120 meals per night, 37,000 annually. His homemade meals can translate to 25 pounds of rice, 20 pounds of pasta, 50 pounds of chicken, 150 cups of coffee, and 175 pieces of bread in a single night. For his efforts, he was given the 2009 CNN Hero Award, and in 2010 he was one of thirteen “American heroes” honored by President Obama with a Presidential Citizens Medal. “My mother has always been my inspiration,” he said, “and my mother always says, ‘If you share, you're OK with God.'
My mother came to America first by herself and left me and my sister in Colombia. My dad died in 1974 in a car accident. My mother was here in New York. She came here and then sent for us. We flew from Colombia to Mexico. It was me, my sister, and six members of my family—my cousins. We were just immigrants looking for freedom. We crossed the border in Mexico to California, and then from California we flew to New York. At that time, it was easy. I don't like to talk about it because I'm afraid I'll say something wrong. I'm afraid because of my sister, my mom is here, and I crossed the border—and a lot of people in this country don't like immigrants who cross the border, I know that. But I'm a citizen now. I became a citizen in 1992, and I got my green card in 1986 when Ronald Reagan passed the immigration reform [law] and we were able to get our papers.
In New York we started a new life. My mom was working. We lived in Woodhaven, Queens and I went to high school to learn English and then I started working part-time jobs. My sister went to community college to study data processing and finished that. I went to trade school to learn about heating and air-conditioning. Up until then I was doing anything I could. I was driving a taxi, delivering newspapers, delivering magazines, delivering groceries. I worked hard because I wanted to pay back my mom for what she did for us. My mom was working in housekeeping, cleaning houses and offices. When my sister came home from college and I came home from my work, we both helped my mom clean the offices. We always did it, us three together. We are there for each other. We are always together.
When I finished trade school, I found a job at a hotel in Manhattan, and then I was laid off, so I applied for a commercial driver's license, and then I applied to drive a school bus. I got the job, and one day I was waiting for the kids to come out of school and I saw two people carting a lot of food to the dumpster. I asked them why. The two people were from Colombia, so we talked, and they said they didn't want it, and I asked, “Can I have it?” and they said they would talk to the owner. There was a food processing factory near the school. The owner said, “OK, you can keep it,” but he said, “Do not ever say my name or my company name because I could lose my license.” He gave me the food, and I brought it home, and I told my mother that we have to find somebody who needs it. We knew a Mexican family with like twenty family members. We gave it to them. Then we got connected to a Puerto Rican family with twenty-five members. Then, like a month later, they didn't need the food anymore because someone in the family found a job.
At the same time, part of Jackson Heights, Queens, had a Colombian neighborhood, so I used to spend a lot of time there, and I started seeing guys in the street walking around, looking for jobs. So one day I lowered my window down and talked to them. They were laborers, so I asked, “What if you don't get a job that day—how do you eat?” and they said, “If we don't have a job, we have nothing to eat.” So that's where I got the idea, right there. And it was not just to help fellow countrymen from Colombia, but all kinds of people, immigrants—Mexicans, Haitians, people from Africa, homeless people, regular Americans, black, white. So I tell ‘em, “Wait for me here at this corner because I'm going to bring food tomorrow.” I had a truck, and the next day I delivered the food. And that's how it started. I had a Jeep Cherokee when I started, and then I got a brand new truck in 2007. It was my dream, and I had a stable job, and I was saving money.…
My daily routine, Monday through Friday, I get up around five fifteen in the morning. I start driving the bus around six thirty. I finish my school route by eight, eight thirty a.m. Then I go to the corner with water, muffins. In the winter I go out with hot coffee, deliver donuts. If I don't get donations, I go to places like Costco, BJ's, to get groceries to buy rice, cooking oil. I take home about $630 a week driving a bus. Every week I spend about $150 on food. I'm back home around noon, rest for half an hour and go back out fo
r my school route. I finish around five and come back home to help prepare the meals with my mom, finish that, put the food in white [foam coolers] onto my truck, go to the corner in Jackson Heights under the No. 7 elevated subway station, and deliver the food between nine thirty and eleven p.m. All kinds of food—stew, chicken, rice, bread, whatever I can get. Then I drive back home and go to sleep around midnight.
I started six years ago, June 2004. The first week my mom and me cooked food for maybe eight people; the second week it jumped to twenty-four because word spread that there's this guy giving out free food. Then, year by year, it increased to thirty-five, then forty-five. I started doing breakfast, too, if I had donations. Then, two years ago, it was 75 meals, and now it jumped to 90, sometimes 140, 160 per night. Last night it was 122. If they get a job during the day, they're not going to wait until nine thirty at night to eat. So now I get volunteers from my church to help us because some months are busier than others. Winters are busier because of cold weather. But if the weather is nice and people get day jobs—cutting grass, removing garbage, things like that—the number goes down a little. Last year, we averaged 120 meals a day, so that's about 37,000 meals per year.
CNN found out about me because of the New York Times. A newspaper reporter saw me delivering meals because the reporter used to live in the area, and he said, “What are you doing?” So I explained, and he said, “Can I interview you?” I didn't know the importance of that newspaper. I thought he was going to write a small article, but Thanksgiving Day weekend there was this big article with two pictures. Then, a year later, CNN came in, and I was nominated for the CNN Hero Award. There were nine thousand nominees for 2009. Then that was reduced to thirty. Then ten out of those thirty were chosen to go to Los Angeles to receive the CNN Hero 2009 Award, and I was one of them, and it felt great! I flew out with my mom and my nephew. The other nominees came from different countries. There was one from the Philippines, one from Nepal, one from Iraq, two from Florida, one from Wisconsin…. They paid for everything. CNN had the ceremony next door at the Kodak Theatre where the Oscars are, so we stayed at the hotel where the actors stayed. Beautiful hotel! Right by the Hollywood Walk of Fame. There was an award for $100,000. The guy from the Philippines won that. They gave me a trophy and $25,000. My friends, my family were so happy because I was the only Colombian nominee for this award. I even got a letter from the president of Colombia….
I started getting some donations after the New York Times article. After the CNN [coverage], I received a good amount for a while, and then it stopped. I still receive donations from people because of the Spanish media. There are a lot of Colombians around here, and they say, “Jorge, here's fifty pounds of rice that's gotten old,” or a box of whatever to help me out. There's a couple of Colombian restaurants that will donate chicken….
I don't think I would ever move back to Colombia. The situation there is worse than here—a lot of guerrilla problems. I've established my life here. My mom's here. My sister has a stable job. I've got a stable job. Why would I move? I'd be out of my mind. [He pauses.] You know, people think that we are a problem—the immigrants. We are not a problem! There are a lot of problems with everybody, but we are not a problem! [He pauses again.] The only thought that crosses my mind is to share. My mother has always been my inspiration, and my mother always says, “If you share, you're OK with God.” If you have ten dollars, give five to somebody else. Like me: I have a place to make food, so if I know somebody is hungry on the street, I take a plate and give it to him. I have a strong faith in God. And I believe that the mission I have is because God wants it. I am a Christian. Not Catholic. Not Protestant. A simple Christian. I go to church six days a week. The only day I don't go is Friday. I believe I am doing God's will, fulfilling his mission for me. And sometimes when I feel like I can't go on, I kneel down in my room and I pray to God. I ask him to be healthy and to be strong, and to have the will to keep doing this as long as he wants me to. When God wants me to stop, he will let me know. I feel blessed by him. As of now, we've served over one hundred thousand meals. Where did those hundred thousand meals come from? Only God knows.
His plan was to come to America, do his physician training, and then return to Turkey to work and live there, but that never happened. He went on to raise a beautiful family and reach the top of his profession, becoming an academic physician and cardiologist at Cleveland Clinic, widely recognized as one of the finest institutions for cardiology and cardiac surgery worldwide. “I'm very happy I came here,” he said. “…I feel as much a part of this country as I do a part of Turkey. I don't think that I have to choose to be Turkish or an American. I really think that I can be both.”
Right before I came to America, my wife and I worked for two years in southeastern Turkey in a small town called Maden, a copper mining town eight miles north of Diyarbakir. We went there in 1983, and in 1985 we left to come to Cleveland, Ohio.
I was born in a city in the southern part of the country north of Antalya, which is on the coast and there are the Taurus Mountains. My mother and father were originally from there. My father was a school administrator; my mother was a schoolteacher. In 1957, they moved to the Asian side of Istanbul. My mother still lives in the house I grew up in. It was a suburb of Istanbul. We were a middle-class family. My father was a very learned man. He read a lot; he had a very broad knowledge of literature, both Turkish and principally French literature; and our house was full of books. For a middle-class family in Turkey, these were not usual things. My senior year of high school I was in American Field Service in United States, a student exchange program that has chapters all over the world. It formed after World War I by the ambulance drivers in the United States Army. That's why they call it “field service”: to promote understanding and peace. It's a big organization. They have chapters in every state.
I came [to the United States] in July 1970 and spent a year living with a family in St. Louis, Missouri, in my senior year of high school. It was an eye-opening experience. I was struck by the opportunities for young people and the liberalism and the wealth. It was also the time of the Vietnam War, and I had a brother who was a year older with a low draft number and a brother a year younger, so I suddenly became aware of the issues of the Vietnam War from a very personal standpoint. It was a very tumultuous time. Also, when you're sixteen or seventeen and away from your family and getting along with people you don't know, it gives you some degree of confidence.
One of the distinct things I remember from my year in St. Louis was being impressed by the public libraries—the availability of books, the willingness of the people to help you, and everything's free of charge. Just to put it in perspective, in 1970 Turkey things were much more limited. There was very little TV, and it took several months for new movies to come to the cinemas. Making an international phone call was very expensive. You wrote letters instead.
I graduated from Parkway Central High School in St. Louis and then spent three weeks traveling around the country with thirty or so other American Field Service kids, so I went back [to Turkey] with a very broad vision, culturally enriched, and my English improved.
Medical school in Turkey was a six-year program. When I went back, I was able to take the exams and get into Istanbul University Medical School. After my second year, I worked as a volunteer in a chest surgery hospital near my home, and I knew right then I was going to work in the cardiology field. In 1968, my father had a heart attack. In my family we didn't have cancer or arthritis; what we dealt with was heart-related problems, so that's one area I was always interested in.
In 1977 I graduated, did a four-year residency in internal medicine, and went into the military. In Turkey it's mandatory. Two years. Then in 1981 a law passed that mandated everybody after graduation from medical school or from residency [would] serve two years in “underserved” areas.
By that time, 1982, I had married my wife, and the following year we both went to the southeast, to Maden, and that was a whole experience by i
tself. We were assigned to a hospital that was sort of an outpatient clinic. It was an impoverished area. Most of the houses were made of mud brick. This was a place where many houses could not be reached and the trash was collected by donkeys because it was a steep, mountainous area. I remember making house calls in some places that you couldn't even go up by donkey—you had to walk. These were very poor people, most of them completely illiterate. One thing I learned as a physician is that the fundamentals are the same everywhere—that the need of a sick person is the same everywhere, and that the physician's responsibility is to try to heal people when they're at their most vulnerable. Half the job is to heal them; the other half is holding hands and listening to people and encouraging them and giving them some hope.
We stayed for nine months at a small hotel and then moved to a newly constructed apartment, where our first child was born. I had talked to my wife about coming to the United States. I was thirty. My wife was twenty-six. I always wanted to do some training in the United States in heart disease, so I wrote to maybe a hundred medical centers in the United States from that small town. I did not get any response. I just wanted to go for a year in a training program. Then one of my professors from medical school [in Istanbul] knew people in Cleveland. Ultimately, the chief of medicine at the Cleveland Clinic was traveling to Turkey for two days, and after that Kuwait and other places, and [the professor] said, “If you can get a hold of him and spend half an hour to interview you, we'll look into this.”
So I traveled by bus from southeastern Turkey to Istanbul. I remember he was staying at a Hilton, so I parked myself in the lobby that day until this Dr. Farmer came. I'll never forget that name. So he came and I called his room. Dr. Farmer later told me that he was impressed with the work I was doing in the southeast, the poor area, my passion about heart disease and so forth, so I think he came back to Cleveland and convinced people that they should give me a chance. They helped me get a visa for physician training that allowed me to stay and train and get paid—but I had an obligation to go back to Turkey after three years here before applying for any kind of permanent status in the United States.
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