To a space alien, it might appear that Columbus Day has something to do with big sales at the local malls. In truth, the observance is intended to serve as a reflection of the accomplishments of Italian-Americans.

The wave of Italian immigrants, who came to the United States in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, led to enclaves springing up throughout many eastern Pennsylvania communities, including those in the Panther Valley.

In my hometown of Summit Hill, for example, there were immigrants from Italy, Ireland, Germany, Poland and other eastern European countries.

Italian immigrants were confronted with unspeakable stereotypes and harsh treatment. Many native-born Americans shunned them, associated them with the Mafia, called them ethnically inappropriate names and tried to make them out to be dimwitted jesters.

The success of baseball’s Joe DiMaggio, screen star Rudolph Valentino, singing sensations Enrico Caruso and Mario Lanza, physicist Enrico Fermi; New York City Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia and former New York Gov. Mario Cuomo, to name a few, helped temper anti-Italian prejudices.

But this comparison of the famous and the infamous can be an exercise in futility, because when looking at the contributions of a people, those with claims to fame and infamy constitute but a tiny fraction of the whole.

The unsung, low-visible, non-newsmaking men and women are the real heroes. It is they, who in quiet, low-key, yet effective ways, set the examples and taught their children to become productive citizens of our society.

This is the context into which I reflect most fondly and proudly of my parents, both of whom left Italy at young ages to come to the United States. My father, born in 1892, found a job in the blast furnaces of Bethlehem Steel; my mother, born in 1904, came at age 15 with her mother and three brothers.

My mother spoke so beautifully of the first time she saw the Statue of Liberty and recalled crying as “questa femina” (this woman) loomed before her in New York Harbor — a symbol of hope.

The debarkation at Ellis Island was a madhouse. My mother’s father had established a household in Bethlehem for them. He had gone to New York to meet the ship, The America, but authorities would not let him see his family until they had completed their quarantine. Several of the passengers had contracted a communicable disease. Although my mother and her family were not ill, they had to undergo quarantine with everyone else who had come on their ship.

After three days, my mother and her family had their long-awaited and tearful reunion with her father. Then, it was on to Bethlehem and a new life. Her father would not hear of allowing my mother to attend school. She was a girl, he said. She would only get married and raise a family.

So, one month after arriving in the New World, Frieda Zolli became the newest employee of the Bayuk Cigar Co. in Bethlehem. My mother said the other female employees eyed her from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes. She said she wished the floor would have opened and swallowed her, that’s how embarrassed she was.

Soon, this 15-year-old immigrant girl was rolling cigar leaves six days a week. When she went home at night, she helped with supper and took care of her younger brothers. A short time later, her mother became gravely ill, and she also helped with her care.

About a year later, she and this dashing older man, 28-year-old Phillip Frassinelli, met, and, two years later, in 1922, they were married. Shortly before the wedding, my father rented a grocery store in Summit Hill. He put what little savings he had into buying goods for the store. When he was finished, he was broke.

So with no money, my parents left the security of their loving families and new-made friends in Bethlehem and headed for Summit Hill to make a life together. Against incredible odds, they not only succeeded, but prospered, operating Frassinelli’s Market at 19 N. Market St. for 35 years.

When I recall my parents’ achievements, I am filled with admiration and pride. What they did was nothing short of spectacular. They came to a strange land with little money; they had no federal assistance, no low-interest loans to help them start up in business, no tax incentives, no help from the local development-assistance agency. They expected no favors and received none. Whatever they earned or accomplished, they did the good, old-fashioned American way: They worked hard for it.

My parents, however, were no more extraordinary than many other Italians or those of other ethnic backgrounds who settled in our area.

What amazing people they were! As we take time on this upcoming Columbus Day weekend to reflect on the link between these Italian-Americans and their heirs and the heritage they left, let us pause to recall the historic role these immigrants played in the development of our great country.

By Bruce Frassinelli | tneditor@tnonline.com