In Memory Of
Elias Boustani 1934-1999
An American Dream
You probably missed my father-in-law’s death notice in Sunday’s paper. It was not reported in large type or sidebars reserved for local dignitaries and national figures who pass from the stage. Nothing in the sparse prose of the death announcement was calculated to catch the reader’s eye. It recited the usual bare facts; the names of his wife, his son and daughters, and the fact that services would be held Tuesday at the Lebanese Maronite Church here in Cleveland.
The sparse prose of the death notice failed to capture my father-in-law’s life. His was a life of hopes and disappointments, but he never allowed the disappointments to erode his faith in his family or his dedication to a better life for his children.
Elias Boustani was born in Beirut, Lebanon in April, 1934. He attended public school in Beirut until the eighth grade. A bright and promising student, he dreamed of becoming a lawyer. His teachers encouraged him to continue his education, but he was forced to drop out of school after the eighth grade to support his mother and father, who lacked the money to pay for him to continue his education.
Elias became a cabinetmaker, and learned to make beautiful wooden furniture from the wood of Lebanon’s famous forests. He took great pride in his craft, and enjoyed the work, but in another of life’s bitter jokes, he developed an allergy to sawdust and was forced to leave that dream behind as well.
Instead, he became an entrepreneur, opening his own grocery store in Beirut. His business thrived, in part because he willingly did business with both Christians and Moslems, one of the few businessmen on either side of the Green Line not paralyzed by the ethnic hatred that eventually ripped Lebanon apart. He became prosperous, and his store was a destination for many in Beirut, including, in the 1980's, many of the U.S. Marines who died in a vain attempt to rebuild that shattered country.
When Lebanon exploded in civil war, he stayed the course, rebuilding his store every time it was damaged by artillery or sniper fire, and earning just enough money in the brief cease fires to support his family and pay for the finest schooling for his children. He knew that Lebanon did not provide the best future for his family, and dreamed of a chance to start over in America. Even after the war destroyed his prosperity, he insisted that his children attend the only English-language school in Beirut, and somehow scraped together enough money to pay the school’s tuition. He kept his family together through nine long years of civil war before the chance to emigrate to the United States finally came.
In 1984, his long wait for a visa ended, and he jumped at the opportunity, knowing his children would have a better life in the United States. Elias surely knew that his own opportunities would be limited. He did not speak fluent English, and lacked education. Without hesitation, he sacrificed his own prosperous career for the good of his family.
Once in the United States, he took a union job as a baker’s assistant at a local supermarket. Despite the jarring transition, he worked without complaint. He made only marginally more than the minimum wage, but thanks to the baker's union, the job came complete with wonderful benefits; superb health care and, best of all, a generous pension that would enable him to make more money as a retiree than he ever made toiling in the bakery. He adjusted to other aspects of American life as well. In 1990, he proudly became an American citizen, and voted in every election after carefully studying the issues and the candidates.
He told me eagerly of his plans for his retirement -- how he would finally go back to school and study music and art at the local community college. He read an Arabic language newspaper every day, but he was determined to improve his English skills enough to be able to read the news magazines and discuss current events with his children.
As he neared his sixty-fifth birthday and the pension he so richly earned, he took great pride in the achievements of his children. Like so many men deprived by fortune of the chance to educate himself, he taught his children to value education highly. All three of his children graduated from college and became successful professionals, and his pride in their achievements knew no limits. His son has become a successful businessman here in Cleveland. Next year, his eldest daughter will graduate from law school, and among Elias’ proudest possessions was a photo of his other daughter, my wife, shaking hands with President Clinton, a thank you for work she did on his 1992 campaign. The photo served as Elias’ touchstone, a reminder of the reality of the American Dream, for his children if not for him.
In the final, bitter irony of his life, he was stricken with cancer six months before he was to retire. When his sixty-fifth birthday finally came, it was marked not by a joyous retirement party, but by a quiet dinner with a family that knew he had only months to live. And yet, even as his life drew to a close, he never whined about his predicament or his pain, never succumbed to bitterness or anger, and remained a gentle, loving, and proud father, happy with the choices he made to give his children a better life.
It is too easy today to forget the sacrifices of our own immigrant ancestors, too easy to forget the risks they took, the sacrifices they made, to give us our own American dreams. We who are lucky enough to live in this land of liberty, plenty and opportunity owe a debt of gratitude to the Elias Boustanis of this world. Elias Boustani came gladly to this country knowing that he was sacrificing his own success for that of his children. His life was an American Dream.
David J. Carney
