Land of the 'Fraid, Home of the Craven

Like nearly all Americans, I am the offspring of immigrants. The peasant farmers whose family name I inherited came from Ireland. They left a homeland savaged by famine, trading a grim reality of financial ruin and starvation for the promise of a new and better life. In a faraway country known for lifting a lamp beside a golden door.

They were part of what might be described today as an invasion of immigrants. They took incalculable risks to make their way across a vast ocean seeking refuge and opportunity. My immigrant ancestors settled first in New Jersey before journeying to northern Illinois and eventually Wisconsin.

They made this land their home and passed down a way of life from generation to generation. A big part of that way of life was a welcome mat and an unlocked door. Throughout my childhood, there was always a pot of coffee and a fresh-baked cake or pie at the ready just in case visitors came calling, be they acquaintances or strangers.

My parents lived through the Great De…