A few years before the death of my father, Frank Dwyer, in 2015, he described a harrowing incident he witnessed outside his home during the early days of World War II. Dad grew up in Fall River, Massachusetts, on a property his Cassidy grandparents, Irish immigrants from County Mayo, purchased in 1887. On a newly laid-out street, they built a cottage which would soon be surrounded by “three-decker” tenements. After the early death of Dad’s grandfather—seven months before his mother was born—his grandmother hastily erected a three-story tenement, just three feet behind the cottage on the back lot, as a source of income. The house would never meet today’s building codes, with only one entrance and a sharply turning stairway that led up the second and third floor. For years, the units remained cold-water flats with no bathtubs. The third-floor flat, where my parents and I lived until my third birthday, consisted of four rooms with deeply sloped ceilings running east and west. I can remember looking up at the wallpapered ceiling.
Baby Michael Dwyer in the third-floor bedroom, which also would have been Alphonsine's.
With the tenants living in such proximity to the Dad’s family in the cottage, my grandmother always treated them like extended family. As one example, Mrs. Vallee lived in that third-floor apartment for over ten years. Next door, Dad would have seen her come and go through the kitchen window. He said, “One day, the police parked in front of the house and took away Mrs. Vallee. Everybody on the street was crying. They sent her back to Canada where she died soon after. Why did they have to do that to a poor old lady who wasn’t bothering anyone?”
1958 photo of my parents, Frank and Mickey Dwyer, standing in front of the tenement house, with the cottage at left. It shows how close the two houses were.
The pathos with which my father conveyed this story resonated with me. With no one living whom I could question further, the time had come for me to dig deeper and learn the unfortunate woman’s full identity. Locating our extended family unit in the 1940 census started to reveal answers.
1940 census entry.
Dad’s Aunt Mary Clynes and her family lived in the first-floor flat; on the second floor, widower Donat Boutin, and his two children, Edna and Eugene, both of whom remained lifelong family friends. Alphonsine Vallee, age 60, lived on the third floor. My father’s family followed Alphonsine’s entry. With that information, I discovered “Mrs. Vallee” was born Alphonsine Savoie in St Sylvestre, Québec, on 9 February 1880.
Alphonsine Savoie, circa 1920, courtesy of Andreanne Savoie
In 1912, she married Anselm Vallée, a widower with five children. They had no children of their own, and he died in 1928. Alphonsine’s sister, Leda Savoie, married Donat Boutin’s brother, so they were all part of a family network. Leda lived only a few doors away from my grandmother and died at the age of 96 in 1988. Just think, if I had known this story earlier, I could have asked Leda questions.
Alphonsine, with her husband Anselm Vallee and his children
What prompted Alphonsine’s arrest? She entered the United States through Newport, Vermont, on 3 July 1922. A year later, her immigration file stated that she had not been properly examined nor had a head tax was not collected. In pencil was written “view to deportation.” Eighteen years later Congress passed the Alien Registration Act of 1940 which required all aliens to fill out a questionnaire and register with the government. Alphonsine, although she had already signed up for Social Security, failed to comply with registering at the local post office. During wartime, aliens were held to the letter of the law.
Alphonsine's immigration card
Of course, I wanted to know what happened to Alphonsine. Dad was wrong about the timing of her death: Alphonsine lived for another 30 years and died in Lac Megantic, Québec, on 25 September 1972, at the age of 92. Andreanne Savoie, Alphonsine’s great grandniece, posted two photos of “Mrs. Vallee” on her Savoie family tree at Ancestry.com. Andreanne also answered my query about Alphonsine’s later years. Her response truly gave new life to the story of my grandmother’s tenant:
“My aunt sent me a message saying that Alphonsine raised one of Anselme's son, Theophile Vallée, who had a car accident while intoxicated and was then paraplegic following the accident. After that, he was driving a car that had been modified so that he could continue to drive. Alphosine was living with Theophile and his wife Blanche; his wife had a cleaning store Nettoyeur Moderne in Lac Megantic. My aunt also told me that Alphonsine loved ice cream ... when my aunt would come back from school and would pass by her house, Alphonsine would sometimes be waiting for her on the porch and would ask her to buy her some ice cream! She was really kind and nice. She had her ears pierced and was wearing pearls on her ears, which was not common at that time in Lac Megantic.”
I feel better now knowing that Alphonsine’s abrupt departure from Fall River in 1942 did not shorten her life, but I echo my father’s question of “why a poor old lady who wasn’t bothering anyone” had to be deported.
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