A Sicilian in East Harlem By Salvatore Mondello

Syragakis, wrote a futuristic letter dated May 23, 1999 and noted: “Most of the old evils are dead and buried. Instead of armies we have brotherhood, cooperation and progress.”

I graduated from Franklin High in June 1950 with the second highest average in my class. I gave the salutation address at commencement. I spoke about the support parents and teachers had given the graduates over the years. I told them, “This graduation today is your show. You people out in the audience have directed and produced it. I sincerely hope you will enjoy it.” (My grandfather, grandmother and mother attended.) A Greek kid, Nicholas Syragakis, got the highest average and delivered the valedictory address. I had learned to write and read in Italian as well as English in the schools. I was proud of my Italian American identity even though I had never seen Italy. I was no longer a Sicilian American. I began to feel embarrassed by my grandparents who had a culture considered inferior by the teachers I respected. And I was no longer a Brave anchored on a “Hun Seven” street. I was starting my freshman year at New York University in the fall. Franklin had prepared me for a cosmopolitan world outside East Harlem. I had met and befriended kids of different cultures and I had acquired a respect for Italian culture and traditions. As an Italian I could influence and enjoy the world outside East Harlem. As a Sicilian I could not.