FROM MODEST DRESSES TO FANCY WESTERN OUTFITS

(Silverback’s Note: This piece will be published in the archives of Nuevayorkinos, a digital archival and multimedia project dedicated to preserving ÑYC Latino and Caribbean culture and history through family photographs, videos, and stories here.)

It was a hot summer day in July 1950 when I decided I wanted to send a photo of myself to Papá and Mamita. I was excited to put on my two-piece western outfit that I purchased for $9.99 on Pitkin Avenue in Brooklyn. The gray, sleeveless top and capri pants with the white, curvy embroidery on the collar and pockets were a far cry from the outfits I wore when I was living on my beautiful island: Puerto Rico. The black leather belt with the shiny buckle cinched my waist emphasizing my petite figure. Oh and of course, the black platform shoes fit comfortably on my small feet that were only accustomed to walking barefoot en el campo de Mavilla. I loved my new outfit, and I wanted to share the “new me” with my parents. However, I was worried about what Papá and Mamita would say about the changes they would see in me after only being in New York City for a month. I took the photo anyway. After all, I wanted them to see how different life was from home.

I was born in a small, one-bedroom, wooden house on a poor farm that was occupied by a very close-knit family. Our little home en el campo de Mavilla was occupied by Papá, Mamita, and twelve high-spirited kids that saturated our home with so much love. I loved living in the country with all its pure nature. However, love could not sustain the family. I realized I needed to do something to help put food on the table. I needed to help Papá! Tolola, Mamita’s friend, had recently returned to Puerto Rico. I remember her telling Mamita how easy it was to earn money in New York. As a result, I decided to write to my Tío Pifo in Brooklyn to ask permission to live with him and his wife until I was able to get on my feet. 

One month later, the permission was granted! On June 11, 1950 I arrived in New York City. My new home was located at 323 Thatford Avenue in an old house on the 2nd floor. The second floor! Wow! This was not like my little one level wooden house surrounded by green palm trees.  

Several weeks after my arrival, I decided I wanted to go on the rooftop of my new home to take a photo in my new outfit and to experience the surrounding sights from an unfamiliar level. This was the moment of so many “firsts.” It was the first time I was not wearing an outfit made by our local seamstress, Andrea, back home. Mamita would always buy fabric and have her make my dresses and skirts because she could not afford store bought outfits for all of us. It was the first time I wore pants since we were not allowed to wear them. The first time I wore a “fancy” two-piece outfit. My first-time wearing platform shoes; my first time taking a photo on a rooftop. The exciting “firsts” emotions came crashing down when I realized how much I missed the lush green mountains of Puerto Rico. Nevertheless, my desire to help my parents overruled every emotion I was feeling. Little did I know that one decision would change the trajectory of my life forever.

One month after taking my fancy western outfit photo, I finally started working. My very first job was working at The Ronay Shoe Factory on East 32nd Street in Manhattan. I cleaned shoes and brought home $24.25 weekly. My stay there was brief because I did not like working with a lot of men. My next job was at Bally Bra Factory. I cut loose threads from bras and packed them in boxes. There I earned $25.00 weekly and was able to send Papá $10 a week. He used the money to build an additional room to our old wooden house. At Bally, I was surrounded by many extended family members who made the job a bit more enjoyable. After two years, I decided it was time to move on. Thereafter, I went to work for a toy factory and remained there until they decided to lay me off. At this point, I had had enough of factories. It was time for me to get some sort of training so that I could climb the ladder of success and pursue the American dream. I decided to go to night school to learn secretarial skills.  

In 1959 I enrolled at Fernandez Bilingual Institute on 42nd Street in Manhattan. I was in a classroom pounding away at a typewriter and learning stenography two nights a week as I kept up my job at the doll factory. One year later, I was typing at the speed of 67 words per minute, and my stenography was on point.  

As graduation day approached, I wondered what I was going to wear. I decided to shop for my dress on 14th Street in the city. There, I purchased a white strapless dress which, again, cinched my tiny waist. I accessorized my dress with a classic white pearl choker necklace and matching pearl drop earrings. My shoes were pointy-toed, black stilettos. By now I had mastered the stiletto walk. My lipstick was a ruby red that matched my fiery desire to advance in my career. What would Papá and Mamita say if they saw that photo? My secretarial skills opened doors, and I was ready to step forward.

My very first job was working with Mr. Douglas, a real estate lawyer at 946 Fulton Street in Brooklyn. Thereafter I worked for several lawyers in the Urban League and the Legal Aid Society. Then in 1978, I finally got my dream job working for The Port Authority (PA) of New York and New Jersey.  

I worked for the Port Department for seventeen and half years as a typist. Prior to my retirement from the Port Authority, I lived through the most terrifying experience at the World Trade Center: the bombing on February 26, 1993!!! When we were bombed all the employees had to evacuate the building. I worked on the 54th floor, and we were instructed to walk down a very dark and smokey stairwell to the twelfth floor. As I descended the murky stairwell, the dim light from my colleague’s watch guided my anxious steps. It took the fire department three hours to rescue us from the twelfth floor. That horrifying moment has forever been etched in my mind. I continued working for two more years until my department merged with another. That is when PA decided it was time for me to retire at the age of sixty-three.

On June 11, 2023, I celebrated 73 years of living in New York City. I would love to tell you I have returned to La Isla del Encanto and am enjoying the cool breeze of the palm trees, a cool drink of agua de coco, and some fresh creamy green aguacates.  

But I am not! Surprise! 

I still live in Brooklyn and have so much to continue to offer my community at the tender age of 91. When I left the Port Authority I took my secretarial skills to my church, St. Jerome Roman Catholic Church. I have worked there for the past 30 years utilizing the same secretarial skills that I learned at Fernandez Bilingual Institute. The only difference is my sight isn’t as sharp, my words per minute aren’t as fast, my waist isn’t as cinched, my shoes aren’t as high but I’m still buying my fancy dresses, shoes, and matching handbags. To God be the glory!