Max Jungreis: Hey, folks—This is Max Jungreis, from the StoryCorps Podcast. 

Just wanna remind you that you can tell us your personal stories by calling our voicemail at 702 – 706- TALK. This week… tell us how you came to the United States— Or, how a friend or loved one did. That’s 702 – 706- T-A-L-K. 

<MUSIC>

V: What was your first impression when you came to America?

 

Jasmyn Morris (JM): I’m Jasmyn Morris… And this is the StoryCorps Podcast from NPR… where we bring you into our archive – the largest collection of human voices ever recorded… to find the big moments hidden in ordinary lives.

 

E: What was it like for you to come here, to the U.S.?

 

JB: How did you get by when you first arrived?

 

A: What was the hardest thing to adjust to in the U.S.? 

 

ZZ: When you came, you were only 18 years old, and you went through so much. But is it worth it?

 

SC: After 20 years, I feel like I’m a part of this country, you know?

 

ZZ: You would do it again?

 

SC: I would definitely do it again.

 

JM: At StoryCorps we really hear the full spectrum of the American experience… and the United States is… as the saying goes… a nation of immigrants. So this week… conversations about finding your way in America.

 

<MUSIC OUT>

 

JM: First up… A love story. In the late 80s, Tariq Sheikh was working the front desk at a hotel in New York City…when he first laid eyes on a woman named Tabinda, who had just found a job there in housekeeping. She’d recently moved to the US from the Dominican Republic…and Tariq had recently arrived from Pakistan.

 

Tabinda F. Sheikh (TFS): Do you remember the first time you saw me?

 

Tariq M. Sheikh (TMS): You have yellow gloves on and I could not say ”Hello,” ”Hi,” nothing.

 

TFS: Oh, I thought you was rude and mean. I said, ”Oh my God, this guy don’t even say ‘Hi.’” You’re just staring at me! [laughs]

 

TMS: Yeah, because you was the girl who was in my dreams.

 

TFS: Yeah, but I didn’t have that dream!

 

TMS: You remember, I ask you, ”Do you wanna go with me for coffee?” You gave me answer after two days!

 

TFS: Because I didn’t know how to speak English.

 

TMS: I remember you have a small dictionary in your pocket — a Spanish-to-English. And on the, like, paper–

 

TFS: Napkin.

 

TMS: Napkin. You write, ”Ok, yes.”

 

TFS: Language is not a barrier for the love.

 

TMS: After that, I bought a yellow cab. I was a driver, you know? One day I say, ”You know your address where you live? Let me drop you, your home.” You say, ”I live in New Jersey.” Just ”New Jersey.”

 

TFS: [laughs]

 

TMS: I say, ”Oh my God, today I gonna have a long night!” When I went there, it was YMCA. I say, ”Why you don’t tell me you live in YMCA?” You say, ”I don’t know YMCA is like a famous thing.” [laughs]

 

TFS: I didn’t have no family here. He didn’t have no family here. And when I call back home, and I say, ”I am in love. I have a–gordito.” They say, ”Gordito? Chubby man? You don’t like fat men!”

 

TMS: I was not that fat. Just chubby, yes. [laughs]

 

TFS: I know, sweetheart! But for us, this was fat.

 

TMS: Yup. So, I was working like 72 hours continuously. I was very tired. And I remember, there was a park over there nearby.

 

TFS: Mhmm.

 

TMS: We went. There was a bench. I put my head on your legs and I slept.

 

TFS: I don’t even want to move. If I move, he’s going to wake up. It was beautiful. Looking the moon, the stars.

 

TMS: I woke up morning time. And you was still sitting there and I say, ”What?!” That was the moment I fell in love with you.

 

TFS: Love is a wonderful thing. This is my man! And we’re gonna be married 23 years now.

 

TMS: She’s telling me it’s 23 years. For me, it’s like yesterday.

 

JM: That’s Tariq Sheikh with his wife, Tabinda Sheikh, in New York City.

 

<MUSIC OUT>

 

JM: Our next story is about a man who made music legends look the part…

 

<MUSIC>

 

Johnny Cash sang he wore black for ‘the poor and beaten down’… but the man who dressed him in black… was Manuel Cuevas .

 

Manuel moved to the U.S. from Mexico in the late 1950s to become a tailor. And went on to make iconic outfits for Jimi Hendrix, Elvis… and of course, Johnny Cash.

 

He told his daughter, Morelia, how he first picked up a sewing needle when he was  just 7 years old.

 

Manuel Cuevas (MAC): The guys at school were more about playing ball and the slingshots. That never interested me. I was really an outcast. I’d go to bed and I’d dream about fabrics and leathers and about the things that I’m going to make the next day.

 

Morelia Cuevas (MOC): Do you have a general philosophy behind all this work that you do?

 

MAC: Well, you know, a pretty dress is not necessarily a pretty dress, it’s the person that’s carrying that dress. I remember this guy wanted a John Wayne shirt, and the guy says, “I don’t see John Wayne in the mirror.” I said, “Neither do I. I can make you a John Wayne shirt, but I cannot make John Wayne out of you, you know.”

 

And I’ve always done only one piece. I don’t want to make two of anything. That’s why I don’t make socks. So it’s like history written again every day.

 

MOC: So what would you say you’re most proud of?

 

MAC: Well, I grew up in love with the Lone Ranger. And I was 5 years old walking 6 miles from the little town where I was born to the big towns to see the episodes of The Lone Ranger. And then as an adult, I got to make his uniform, his mask. That was the most glorious moment of my life.

 

MOC: Would you ever think about retirement? [Laughter]

 

MAC: Yeah, I retired this morning. I put new tires on —

 

MOC: — [Laughter]

 

MAC: No, I don’t. I don’t believe in that. I’m enjoying life, and people keep giving me checks for it.

 

You know, if I was away from my shop, I probably wouldn’t be able to last more than 15 days. The sewing machine and the needle and the thimble, that’s it for me, you know.

 

JM: Manuel Cuevas and his daughter Morelia in Nashville. Manuel is in his 90s now… and still sewing for the stars…

 

<MUSIC>

 

After a short break… a friendship that stretched from sea to shining sea…

 

PY:  I know you are in America, but then there’s a big question mark in my mind. Where is Joe Chan? 

 

Stay with us…

 

<MUSIC OUT>

 

<MIDROLL>

 

<MUSIC STING>

 

JM: Pak Yan and Joe Chan grew up in Hong Kong, and were inseparable as kids. They learned to ride bikes together, and walked each other to school every day. 

 

But in 1962… when Joe was 13… his family moved to the US to escape the Great Chinese Famine. At StoryCorps… Pak talked with Joe about the moment they parted…

 

Pak Yan (PY): I vividly remember that night you left … Uh, I saw the ship in the harbor, and I remember, uh, when a ship is moving out, you got a roll of paper … 

 

Joe Chan (JC): A streamer…  

 

PY: …streamer, and you throw it to me … I hold in my hand. And we hold the, uh, streamer together and this details, is always in my mind. 

 

After you left, we send letter to each other … about one letter per week. 

 

JC: Those were the days before email and instant messages, so these are one-page letters that we send by air mail. But then gradually, as time passed, I think, uh, we sort of lost contact. And I thought that my best friend was, uh, lost forever.

 

PY: Actually, I kept every letters you sent to me. And, remember, I working in a Christmas tree factory … 

 

JC: Yup. 

 

PY: … I do the packaging. All those artificial Christmas tree, they all ship to America. So I hope, “Oh maybe Joe Chan will get one.” 

 

JC: So what made you decided to look me up? 

 

PY: When I was 30 years old, I came to the United States, too. I know you are in America, but then there’s a big question mark in my mind. Where is Joe Chan? But America is so big! One afternoon … type your name …, Yahoo Search, I found 108 Joe Chan in America. 

 

JC: So did you call every Joe Chan on that list? 

 

PY: Yes. I left a lot of message … and then I hope, one of the message is you. 

 

JC: Yeah, I remember that day real well when I heard, uh, your voice. I got really excited, so I call you back right away. 

 

PY: I was overwhelmed, when you call me back, I was, just can’t believe … and I finally found you. I was very happy. 

 

JC: And since that time, we try to find time at least once a week to have a bike ride and we will have dinner together. It’s like we just picked up where we left off, um. You have less hair, that’s about all. 

 

PY: (Laughs)

 

JC: I think as we get older, I think, that’s part of our wisdom is to realize that friendship is one of those things that, uh, you cannot put a price tag on.

 

<MUSIC>

 

JM: Best friends Joe Chan and Pak Yan in Reno, Nevada. 

 

<MUSIC>

 

For our last story…  we go to California’s grape fields in the 60s. That’s where Johnny Itliong grew up. His father, Larry Itliong, was one of many Filipino migrant farm workers who worked for less than minimum wage. 

 

In 1965, Larry helped lead the Delano Grape Strike to improve labor conditions. They united Filipino and Mexican field workers. 

 

Johnny came to StoryCorps with his own son….. to remember Larry….

 

Johnny Itliong (JI): One of his nicknames was Seven Fingers, because, when he was up working in Alaska, he lost three of his fingers. He was small in stature. But, He was a very, very strong man. He always wore pocketed shirts, thick Ray-Ban glasses, and he would always have his cigar – his Cubanos. 

 

I remember, I would have to get up at 3:00 in the morning and we would jump in the back of his truck, load it up full of boxes and stack ‘em maybe ten, 12 feet high. I could carry about eight of them stacked up. There were so many good men. Living in box carts, sheds, whatever they can make out of the elements. 

 

And I remember maybe one guy had one suit, and, whoever would get a date, would wear that suit. So they would share the suit – 20, 30 guys. You know, that’s, that’s the brotherhood.

 

And when they would pass, they didn’t have family in the United States. 

 

Aleks Itliong (AI): Mmm. 

 

JI: They had no one to say goodbye to them. And it was just us – me, my father, my brother. The only time they ever received flowers was at their funeral. Men who worked the fields. They fed the United States.

 

AI: What memories do you have of the picket lines? 

 

JI: At five years old, I remember running around getting the sticks, you know I would bring the sticks to the ones who were nailing the picket signs. I think that was probably like my earliest memory. 

 

You know my father, stood up for the people who need help. He sacrificed a lot of his family time to make a better world for us.

 

We have big shoes to walk in, man [laughs].

 

AI: Yeah.

 

JI: I don’t feel like I’m even close. 

 

But your demeanor reminds me of him because he was very calm. He always listened. When it was time for him to speak, what he said was important. And already you follow those footsteps.

 

<MUSIC>

 

JM: Johnny and Aleks Itliong remembering Johnny’s father, Larry.  

 

After five years, the Delano Grape Strike eventually succeeded in raising labor standards for American farmworkers

 

You can watch an animated version of this story on our website… storycorps.org.

 

<MUSIC>

<CREDITS/THEME MUSIC>

 

That’s all for this episode of the StoryCorps Podcast. 

 

We love hearing from our listeners… and our voicemail line is always open. This week… tell us how you came to the United States… or, how a friend or loved one did.

 

Leave us your answer in a voicemail at 702-706-TALK. That’s 702-706 T-A-L-K. 

 

The stories on this episode were produced by Liyna Anwar, Emily Martinez, Esther Honig, Jey Born, and myself.

 

They were edited by Von Diaz and Annie Russell. Special thanks to Delilah Righter… and StoryCorps facilitators Chaela Herridge-Meyer and Geraldine Ah-Sue.

 

This podcast is produced by Max Jungreis. Our Senior Producer is Jud Esty-Kendall. Amy Drozdowska is our Executive Producer. Our Technical Director is Jarrett Floyd. The artwork for our podcast is created by Liz McCarty. 

 

I’m Jasmyn Morris. Thanks for listening…

 

<MUSIC OUT>