My Papa's Dream

An immigrant's dream for his son fulfilled

My father was born on March 14, 1934, in Annandale, New Jersey, which means he’ll be 92 this coming March. He was the first child in his family and was followed by two brothers and one sister.

Not long after the turn of the century, my dad’s father, my papa, climbed aboard a ship with his family to sail across the Atlantic from Northern Ireland to the land of their dreams. They stepped on American soil at Ellis Island, before passing into the hustle and bustle of New York City.

After spending a couple of years in the Big Apple, my papa’s parents moved their family to a small farm in Hoosick Falls, NY, to the east of Albany, before finally settling on a farm in a rural area of New Jersey. My papa grew up working hard on the farm, and in his late teens applied that work ethic to his first job as a chauffeur for a wealthy Wall Street stockbroker. His job gained him local renown among family and friends because cars were still new. It wasn’t that long ago, especially in the rural areas, that many people rode horses to get where they needed to go, so being a chauffeur had some prestige.

My papa made an impression on the stockbroker, who admired him for his strong work ethic – a trait common among many immigrant families. Out of the goodness of his heart, he gifted my papa some money so he and my grandmother could pursue their own American Dream, which they did by buying a small dairy farm in Clinton, New Jersey. That’s where my father made his entrance into the world, and where he lived for a few years before his parents moved the family to a small dairy farm in northern Virginia.

I’ll share a little more about those years on the farm in my next newsletter, but for now, I want to share a story that explains how my father was able to grow up in an immigrant farming family and become the most influential nutrition researcher in history.

My papa’s greatest dream was to educate his kids, so when my father reached middle school, he decided his eldest son should attend one of the nation’s top-ranked public schools, located in Washington, DC. With my grandmother’s blessing, he took my father out of his three-room country school and enrolled him in the DC school, then drove over an hour each way to get him to and from classes, until my father got his driver’s license a year later at the ripe old age of 14.

My papa dreamt that his oldest son would also attend college – and any college would suffice. The only university he knew much about was Cornell University, perhaps because it was also located in upstate New York, to the west of Hoosick Falls in the Finger Lakes region. Like many of the locals, he and his family thought Cornell was the pinnacle of higher education, which is why he decided to take an unexpected detour on the return leg of a cross-country family trip, using money earned from a rather interesting side business.

A few years prior, he had started selling horse urine (from pregnant mares) to the Squibb drug company, which used an estrogenic extract from the urine to sustain pregnancies in women. With the income from this side business, my grandparents were able to take their kids on their first-ever family vacation. On the return leg of that trip, they were driving past the small town of Geneva, on the north side of Seneca Lake, when they saw a road sign indicating the way to Cornell. My papa had to see this pinnacle of higher education, so he turned off the main road and with pride he came face to face with the ‘Cornell campus.’ Unknown to him and the family, though, they were actually looking at a small agricultural extension facility an hour north of the main campus. Nevertheless, my papa was happy to have seen it.

All this to say you can only imagine the immense pride he and my grandmother felt when my dad was recruited to the graduate program at Cornell. I’ll share more about his education there in a couple of newsletters from now, but in this letter, I wanted to pay homage to their commitment to education. Like so many immigrants, they understood that hard work and education were keys to later success in life.

In the next Friday newsletter, I’ll discuss my dad’s early years on a farm, and how that life influenced the start of his career. For the next paid issue, I’m preparing an essay for people to share with that someone in their life who could benefit from plant-based nutrition but can’t let go of their attachment to the mythology around animal protein.

Broccoli Chik’n Divan, by Kim Campbell

I’ve always loved the convenience of make-ahead meals. Back when our family of five was busy and always on the move, one-pot dishes and casseroles were my secret to always having whole food, plant-based meals ready in a flash. You can pack so much into a simple 9 × 12-inch casserole pan or a big soup pot, and it feels like magic to pull out a hot, ready-to-eat dinner made earlier in the day - sometimes right after breakfast!

This casserole is one of those family favorites that’s stood the test of time. It’s warm, creamy, and packed with veggies. With broccoli, cauliflower, and soy curls at the heart of it, you’ve got comfort food that’s both hearty and nourishing. The best part? It’s versatile - serve it over pasta, potatoes, or rice, and it turns into a cozy meal that brings everyone back to the table.

Here’s the link to the recipe:

https://plantpurecommunities.org/main-entrees/broccoli-chikn-divan-2/