Silver people : voices from the Panama Canal

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Information & Library Science Library — Juvenile

Call Number
J Engle
Status
Available

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Summary

One hundred years ago, the world celebrated the opening of the Panama Canal, which connected the world's two largest oceans and signaled America's emergence as a global superpower. It was a miracle, this path of water where a mountain had stood--and creating a miracle is no easy thing. Thousands lost their lives, and those who survived worked under the harshest conditions for only a few silver coins a day.

From the young "silver people" whose back-breaking labor built the Canal to the denizens of the endangered rainforest itself, this is the story of one of the largest and most difficult engineering projects ever undertaken, as only Newbery Honor-winning author Margarita Engle could tell it.

Sample chapter

MATEO from the island of Cuba JOB HUNT Fear is a fierce wind that sends me reeling down to the seashore, where I beg for work, any work at all, any escape to carry me far from my father's furious fists. Sailor. Fisherman. Lobster trapper. I'm willing to take any job that floats me away from home. I am not an ordinary war orphan. Papi is alive, but the family part of his mind is deeply wounded. He drinks so much rum that he believes I am his enemy--a Spaniard from the country that lost the war and left so many of its soldiers behind. Spanish veterans flock the seashore, begging for the same jobs that lure me. I'm only fourteen, but I'm strong for a starving boy. So I shove and curse along with the crowd of muscular men, all of us equally eager to reach a fast-talking americano Panamá Canal recruiter who promises food, houses, and money, so much money . . . The recruiter shouts and pounds his fists in the air. His foreign accent makes the words sound powerful as he describes a wild jungle where men who are hired will dig the Eighth Wonder of the World. He says the canal is a challenge worthy of Hercules, a task for giants, not ordinary men, but when he unrolls a map, Panamá is barely a sliver. How can such a narrow bridge of land be so important? After the confusing map, there are pamphlets with pictures of tidy houses, the orderly dining rooms offering comforting details that catch my eye. Lacy curtains and tablecloths, flowers in vases, plates heaped with food . . . So much food. Barriga llena, corazón contento. Full belly, happy heart. That's what Mami used to say, before cholera claimed her happiness and mine. With the flair of a magician, the recruiter tosses two sun-shiny coins up and down in his hand, until the gold American dollars ring out like church bells or kettledrums in a parade. Those musical coins lure me deeper into the crowd of pushing, rushing, desperate, job-hungry strangers, but as soon as I reach for the recruiter's paper and pen, ready to sign my name on a contract, the blond man glares at my green eyes, brown face, and curly hair, as if struggling to figure out who I am. No cubanos , he shouts. No islanders, just pure Spanish, semi- blanco , semi-white-- European. Civilized. His words make no sense. Isn't semi-white the same as semi-dark? So I start telling lies. I let my skin fib. I point out that my father is blondish and my mother was the tan of toasted wheat, her hair long and silky, her eyes as blue-green as the sea, just like mine. Then I invent an imaginary village in Spain, for my birthplace, and I give my age as twenty, and I show off my muscles, pretending to feel brave . . . By the time I board a dragon-smoky Panamá Craze steamship, I've already told so many lies that my conscience feels as hollow as my belly. Excerpted from Silver People: Voices from the Panama Canal by Margarita Engle All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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