THE GREAT PUERTO RICAN MIGRATION OF THE 1950s
Teaser for the Dancing Gangsters
I’m going to tell you this story from the beginning, because that’s where it will make sense in the end. It begins with my father’s archives, as he was the one who chronicled the great migration of my family from Puerto Rico to New York during the late 1950s. He took countless pictures and captured everything on his 8mm camera. Those 8 mm reels are the spine of this film.
You will witness our Puerto Rican story firsthand, up close and personal, as we lived through the cruelty inflicted upon us after we arrived and the way we stood our ground, and waved our Flag. You will also feel the power of our resilience and the strength we drew from family when all we had was each other. I will admit, what gave us the most hope was the power and beauty of our culture, our food, and most importantly, our music and dance, which we brought with us.
We are raising funds to finish this documentary. We need to hire an editor and a director of photography. If you can, please donate or share the GoFundMe Link. We would really appreciate it.
Thank you, and God's Blessings to you all.
As a kid growing up in New York City during the early 1960s, life was simpler. Our people, those of us who were part of the great Puerto Rican migration during the 1950s, wore uniforms to work, and what the heck of a thing to remember. My father, a carpenter by trade and a crooner by night, wore work clothes and boots, complete with a tool belt and a name tag on his lapel. There were painters and plumbers, and many mothers worked alongside one another in factories as seamstresses. Let's not leave out the butchers and the bakers, but not the candlestick makers, because I don't think we had any of those. At some schools, kids wore uniforms, but not in my school, P.S. 2, which was on Fulton Street, around the corner from where we lived on Claremont Parkway, between Third Avenue and Fulton Street, in the Bronx.
Life was pleasant inside the bubble we kids lived in, always protected from the outside world's influence. I lived happily, oblivious to the evil that lurked not too far away and was always nearby. During those days, the Puerto Rican community was a very tightly knit family, so if you messed with one, you messed with all of us. The age of innocence would soon be over, and while we were still kids, unbeknownst to us, we had very little time left before we, too, would come face to face with the cruelty of a racist nation. My family spoke openly about many things in front of the kids, but mainly discussed pleasantries and other items of no concern. However, when they spoke of bad things not meant for our ears, they whispered among themselves, and when we tried to listen in, sternly shooed away with a quickness, we were.
The one thing that always gave us the courage and strength to defend ourselves was the love for our family, our people, and our beautiful Puerto Rican culture.
Ode to my father, the family Chronicler
The Migration of our Puerto Rican family to New York during the 1950s
Puerto Rican Sweet-Sixteen in 1976
Odalys Fuentes speaks about the Bachelors and the Latin Hustle
The Story of the Rise of the Latin Hustle cannot be told without including the gang that used music and dance to help bring peace into their territory during the summer of 1974. The Bachelors ruled their territory with the sounds of Motown and Disco Music as an alternative to violence, so that they could do the Latin Hustle at St. Mary's Recreation Center on Tuesdays and Thursdays! That story is now being told in a film, based on my book, The Dancing Gangsters of the South Bronx.
Collaborate, don’t compete, but trust must be earned with honesty and loyalty. When we work together, we amplify each other’s strengths and create opportunities that competition alone can never produce. True progress comes when we build bridges, share knowledge, and lift one another up. There’s room for everyone to shine when we move with unity and purpose, as opposed to envy and hate.
Willie Estrada
