July 1873Michael T. Donlin
Baggage Master
Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railroad
In Ireland, the landlords tried to starve us, and in forty-seven—as if the starvin’ weren’t sufficient—they went and evicted us.
Me uncle Jerry had gone to America in the thirties—Boston, Massachusetts. He wrote home once a month, and his letters were full of money and wondrous tales—in America, you ate meat everyday, leastways accordin’ to Uncle Jerry.
When I was fifteen years old, and I’d had enough of starvin’, I told my dear mother I wouldn’t stand for it no more. I was going through “The Golden Door” to America, I told her. I thought she’d raise a howl, but, instead, she asked me to take me little brother along.
“He’ll die, sure, if he stays here.”
Brendan was seven years old, was all, and he didn
