I remembered what it was like for me when I had no one of my own.

 

I never boasted about helping people.

 

I am convinced that goodness is like wheat in a field, which multiplies by being sown.

 

I was born on the island of Žirje before the First World War. In 1916 I was four years old. As a result of the harsh winter and the war, famine took hold on Žirje. There was a danger that we children would begin to die of illnesses caused by exhaustion.

The parish priest at the time, with the help of the Catholic Church, organised temporary lodging for us children from Dalmatia in Slavonia, where there was an abundance of food at the time. He assured the islanders that this was the way to save their children's lives. That proved to be true. I don't remember which place I was in, but I do remember the sad journey back to the island, because the people of that Slavonian family had taken me in as their own son. That journey in my early childhood was a sign that my life would be one great journey.

The Ship

I finished school at Vr' briga and decided to go to sea. I signed on as a sailor on a ship that carried timber between Adriatic ports. When the opportunity arose in Dubrovnik, I transferred to an ocean-going ship and arrived in the United States. I disembarked illegally in New York on Christmas Eve 1940 and stayed on to live there. I worked all sorts of jobs off the books to support myself, and so it went until the start of the Second World War. I don't even know how the American immigration authorities found out about me — whether someone reported me, or whether they set their own intelligence apparatus in motion. One day they came and told me:

–        You have 3 options: the first is that you go to prison, the second is that we send you back to your own country, and the third is that you go to war. We promise that when you return from the war we will give you American citizenship, which will allow you to work and live in the United States.

I was afraid to cross the ocean, because German submarines were torpedoing Allied ships crossing the Atlantic. Even though those ships had an escort, it was hard to stop German torpedoes.

The War

I decided to enlist. I went through training, and afterwards I was sent to the Pacific, where we fought fierce battles against the Japanese. We captured, with great difficulty, small islands in the Pacific where the Japanese were well dug in and fortified. In New Guinea we fought infantry battles, and I went looking for safe cover from bullets and shells. I spotted a hollow in a rock where I planned to hide. However, when I went inside, I saw that someone had relieved themselves on the floor of that hollow, and I decided not to go in — it was beneath my dignity. I took shelter behind a tree instead. It was practically impossible to be hit  in that hollow, since the only way to be struck was for a mortar shell to land directly and vertically through an opening about a metre wide. And that is exactly what happened — a direct hit, right where I would have been. I took that as a sign from God that I would survive the war.

 

The Bomb

After some time we heard that a bomb had been dropped on Hiroshima, a bomb of a kind that had never existed before and that had enormous destructive power. But the Japanese would not sign the surrender, so the army I belonged to had to drop another such bomb. I was glad the bomb was dropped, because it meant the end of the war. I later learned that the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima brought great evil to many people, while, as it happened, it brought good to me — yet another proof that everything in this world is relative. I returned to New York, and the American government kept its promise: I received American citizenship. During the war I got to know some Italians whose fate had been similar to mine. I had already learned a few words of Italian back on Žirje, because an Italian by the surname of Konti had settled there, and it was from him that I learned to fish with wicker traps. My Italian friends helped me, through the union, to find work in the harbour, where I carried sacks of sugar, rice and salt. Since I was strong and hard-working, I did several jobs at once: on weekdays I painted flats, and at weekends I waited tables in restaurants.

 

The Decision

With the money I had saved I managed to buy a house in Astoria. I decided to help my fellow islanders from Žirje who wanted to come to America. I offered them lodging for the first while, until they found their feet in New York. I used my Croatian and  Italian connections alike to find them suitable work. I remembered what it was like for me when I had no one of my own. My late grandmother used to say it is good to have someone of your own even up in the black mountains, where there is nothing but bare rock and juniper scrub — meaning the most inaccessible places. I never boasted about helping people, because I believe that noble deeds are done in silence. Mate, from Privlaka, worked at the Steinway & Sons piano factory and hired Dalmatians, because they were good workers. Ante, from Zlarin, worked at the Waldorf Astoria hotel and hired waiters and cooks, while the Italian Giuseppe was always looking for drivers and fish sellers. At weekends they would gather at my place, in the garden, and we would cook tripe, maneštra and beans, and grill fish, which gave me great joy. There was always good wine to be found, and with stories about happenings back in our homeland, we spent many a pleasant afternoon.

 

Gratitude

I was godfather to many people from Žirje in America — at their weddings, christenings, confirmations and first communions. I rejoiced whenever one of my dear friends or relatives succeeded in life, found a better job, met a girl and started a family. I had no idea they were preparing an extraordinary surprise for me. For my birthday they invited me to a restaurant, where each of them brought their own family. There were more than a hundred people. A Dalmatian klapa group sang too. It was the happiest event of my life — proof that good is repaid with good. I am convinced that goodness is like wheat in a field, which multiplies by being sown.

As I write this, and the twenty-first century has already begun, I feel that my end is near. The time has come to go to the grave. I had a gravestone made, on which is written, in Croatian: Traveller, stop — I was once as you are, and you will one day be as I am. The artist also carved a relief showing a handshake. If a passer-by in the New York cemetery does not understand the message in Croatian, let him at least conclude from the image what guided me throughout my whole life.