Dr. Rosemary H. Cohen

The story of my book “The Survivor” covered my entire being from the day I recognized people around me.

As I saw my grandmother’s quiet and lonely face, I understood that I had no grandfather, aunts or uncles. By the time I listened to fairy tales, I also learned the tragic story of my grandparents who were the victims of the Armenian Massacre of North West of Persia-Iran.

[Editor’s Note: This is the third and final installment in Dr. Cohen’s series comparing the atmosphere for immigration in the United States, where she has lived for 23 years, with France, where she previously resided. See Part I, “Our Favorite Visitor to France Returns with Immigration Views,” Dec. 27, and Part II, “When in America, What Language Should You Speak?” Dec. 28.]

[Editor’s Note: This is the second of a three-part story comparing French and American immigration issues. After a gentle beginning yesterday, today’s installment turns provocative. Our correspondent is herself an immigrant. See Part 1, “Our Favorite Visitor to France Returns with Immigration Views,” Dec. 27. Part 3 will run Monday.]

[Editor’s Note: During the next three days, one of our favorite correspondents, just returned from her most recent trip to Paris, where she formerly lived, will analyze the differences between American and French attitudes toward immigration.]

I was asked to give my view on differences between American and French immigration and integration.

[Editor’s Note: To provide context and greater understanding for our readers about the raging national debate over whether Congress should officially condemn Turkey’s 1915 slaughter of Armenians as genocide, we turned to our scholarly columnist, an authority on Armenia and its history.]

When I was five years old, two young women in their 20s were living next to our house with their parents. They were beautiful. They always dressed up very fancy and a la mode.

[Editor’s Note: In view of the flaring controversy over whether Washington should formally identify Turkey’s 1915 massacre of Armenians as genocide, we present a timely reflection by our favorite columnist with a heart. In a spirit of remarkable adventure, Dr. Rosemary Cohen visited Armenia during the recent summer, and she tenderly recounts her findings.]

As our car was approaching one of the oldest Armenian monasteries, my friends asked me not to give any money to the lady who was coming toward us.

[See Part 1 of this three-part story, also headlined “Two Friends,” Sept. 26.]

Joan bravely continued her life without her late husband. Soon she felt his presence everywhere.

As usual, he was in his chair, reading his favorite books. She saw him in the kitchen. She felt his presence in the bedroom. Before long, she was comforted by her sightings and dreams.

Soto Street is located in the industrial city of Vernon, in East Los Angeles.

Many manufacturers and importers have moved to Vernon. The city has changed in the past 10 years,and many new, very modern buildings have taken the place of the old ones.

In old times, the only two buildings that looked attractive — even now it is true — are the Sears Company in the north end of Soto and Farmer John in the south.

The Farmer John factory was established in 1931. Twenty-six years later, in 1957, the sons of the founder decided to beautify the plant. They commissioned two famous painters who created beautiful farm murals. Soon, the Farmer John property became a tourist attraction.