The Day Giuseppe Saved the Bank
For as far back as I can remember, I have listened to proud stories told by my father about his family and their early days, first in Italy, then in Canada and finally in Washington State. Their early years in Washington were during a time when there were few little Italys, Irelands, German-towns or other communities welcoming the immigrants. People stood alone and were judged on their own merit: their handshake was taken as their word of honor. Neighbors looked after one another and there was precious little time to consider that the neighbor might not be quite like oneself.
My grandfather, Giuseppe Colarco, immigrated to Washington in late 1916 from Canada where he had lived since leaving Italy in 1900. Years of hard work in a sawmill and careful saving of his money had provided a good life in British Columbia. But when an epidemic of scarlet fever and whooping cough left two of his five children deaf, Giuseppe became a man in search of help for them. When he learned about a school for deaf children in Washington, a move to America became the family’s goal. Adding to his determination was his dream that the baby his wife, Catherine, was carrying, his sixth and probably last child, would be born in America.
So it was that in late December 1916 Giuseppe and his family crossed the border at Sumas and quietly paused to pray before entering Washington State and their new life in America. Giuseppe worked twice as hard in his new country and within a year of their arrival he had a good job as a switchman for the railroad, a house within walking distance of the rail yards and five milking cows. A helpful man at the bank, Mr. Olson, filled out the paperwork for the loan on the house and guided Giuseppe through the maze of forms that had to be filed for the children to enter school. The deaf daughters flourished at the special school which had inspired their move.
The family’s tawny skin and dark hair set them apart from their neighbors. Their broken English and sign language to their daughters also singled them out as different but people like the banker, Olson, always watched with interest when Giuseppe brought a small deposit to the bank every week. Olson believed that Giuseppe and others like him were the sturdy backbone of his bank and the community. Giuseppe felt honored that a man with Olson’s standing in the town was interested in his affairs and he always made sure to tip his cap in respect when he passed Olson on the street.
Then one Tuesday, a day like any other, Giuseppe walked to the bank to make a deposit. When he arrived he saw a line that ran the length of the building and around the block. A man at the end of the line explained excitedly. “They don’t have our money; they can’t even give us what we put into the bank. Now we’re here to demand our money back.”
Giuseppe’s response was immediate: “But you said Mr. Olson doesn’t have your money. How can you ask him for it now? What happens if the bank cannot give you your money?”
“If the bank closes for good we lose all our money,” the man answered.
“Well I’m here to put my money away for another cow. Good day to you.” Giuseppe said. Then, with his shoulders as straight as he could make them, he walked around the throng lined up for their money, slipped into the packed bank and waved his hand at Mr. Olson, who was standing behind the tellers.
“Mr. Olson,” Giuseppe said, “I hear you’re low on money now?” Olson nodded, red faced. “Well, maybe this deposit will help you out some. I’m saving it for a cow, you know, but I don’t have enough yet, so you go ahead and use it until I have enough, yes?”
Suddenly the clamor quieted as people around them strained to hear the conversation. “Thank you for the deposit, Mr. Colarco. I appreciate your faith in my bank,” Olson replied.
“Why shouldn’t I have faith in your bank?” You helped me out, now I help you out. I have to go home to milk the cows now.” Giuseppe turned to leave and said over his shoulder as he reached the door: “I’ll be back next week as usual.” Then with a tip of his cap, he was out on the street.
The crowd noises resumed but the militancy in the throng had gone. One by one, people stepped out of line and melted away until the bank was almost back to normal. Black Tuesday had come and gone in Vancouver, Washington, but Giuseppe’s simple act of faith in the man who had helped him may have saved the bank and, in so doing, countless of his neighbors’ life savings.
A short time later, a burst appendix, left too long unattended, ended Giuseppe’s life. Olson didn’t get a chance to express his gratitude to my grandfather for his courageous deed, but he never forgot it. He had been right about the Colarcos from the very beginning, he said. They surely were the stuff that this country was made of.