"They Worked": Pedro Pietri's Puerto Rican Obituary and the American Dream, More Than Fifty Years Later

From a parking lot in Inwood to a garage in the Bronx, a stenographer turned graduate student finds his own working life in Pietri's Nuyorican classic, and the kindness that carried him through.

Pedro Pietri (1944–2004), the Nuyorican poet whose "Puerto Rican Obituary" was first read aloud in East Harlem in 1969.

I came to America from Saudi Arabia, where I had worked as a stenographer, with hopes of building a better future. I already held a bachelor's degree in Urdu literature, which I earned in 1984 from the University of the Punjab in Lahore, Pakistan. Like many people who come to this country, I believed that hard work would open doors to new opportunities. But my first experience of working in New York was very different from what I had imagined.

My first job was at a parking lot near the 215th Street subway station in Manhattan. I arrived at six in the evening for a twelve-hour shift. The man who introduced me to the job showed me around and explained my duties. The parking lot was dirty, the garbage cans were overflowing, and trash was scattered everywhere. He told me that cleaning the lot was also my responsibility. I cleaned the area, changed the garbage bags, and carried the trash to the collection point.

The next morning, I waited for someone to replace me. Nobody came.

It was a long holiday weekend, and I felt I could not leave the parking lot unattended. One day passed, then another. I remained there for almost four days and nights. When the owner finally appeared, he told me that the employee who was supposed to replace me had quit. He asked me to stay until another worker could be found and suggested that I rest for a couple of hours in a chair inside the small cabin. The following morning, the supervisor arrived, and I was finally able to go home. I had traveled thousands of miles in search of a better future, yet my first American job left me wondering what had happened to the dream that brought me here.

I had traveled thousands of miles in search of a better future, yet my first American job left me wondering what had happened to the dream that brought me here.

The elevated 215th Street station on the 1 line in Inwood, at the northern tip of Manhattan. The author's first American job was at a parking lot nearby.

Years later, when I read Pedro Pietri's "Puerto Rican Obituary" in a Latinx literature course at Lehman College, two simple words brought those memories back: "They worked." Pietri's poem, associated with the Nuyorican poetry movement and first read in 1969 during the Young Lords' takeover of the First Spanish United Methodist Church in East Harlem, tells the stories of five Puerto Rican workers: Juan, Miguel, Milagros, Olga, and Manuel. They spend their lives working, waiting, and dreaming of better days. Through repetition, sharp humor, and painful images, Pietri questions the promises of the American Dream. But his poem also reminds us that life is about more than earning money. It is about knowing who we are, caring for one another, and finding dignity in our communities.

The poem begins with a steady rhythm of work. The workers arrive on time, follow the rules, endure insults, and rarely complain. They give their employers their time and energy, yet they receive little in return. Pietri repeats the words "They worked" until the phrase begins to feel as exhausting as the lives it describes. What makes these lines so powerful is their simplicity. Pietri does not need complicated language to show how work can consume a person's life. His repetition makes us feel the passing days, the endless shifts, and the hopes that are always postponed.

Pietri repeats the words "They worked" until the phrase begins to feel as exhausting as the lives it describes.

The five workers have ordinary dreams. Juan hopes his number will hit. Miguel waits for his welfare check. Milagros dreams of the day her children will grow up so she can stop working. Olga hopes for a raise, while Manuel waits for a promotion. None of these wishes is unreasonable. They want what most people want: a little comfort, some security, and a chance to live without constant worry.

But the years pass, and their dreams remain unfulfilled. Pietri also shows how television and advertising shape their ideas of success. His characters imagine better homes, better cars, and acceptance into a comfortable American society. In chasing these dreams, they begin to lose touch with their own culture and community. The poem makes us wonder whether the American Dream sometimes asks people to give up too much of themselves.

After a couple of months at my first job, I moved to a parking garage in Riverdale, near the 231st Street subway station in the Bronx. There, I worked twelve-hour shifts, often seven days a week, alongside Angel, Miguel, Mario, Xavier, and Khan. We came from different backgrounds, but we shared long hours, responsibilities, and hopes for better days. I sometimes think about Pietri's five characters when I remember my five colleagues. Their lives were not the same, but the familiar rhythm of working and waiting connects these memories in my mind.

The uptown entrance to the 231st Street station on Broadway in the Bronx. Nearby, the author worked twelve-hour shifts, often seven days a week.

Although I had already completed a university degree in Pakistan, I found myself starting over in the American educational system. In 2013, I began studying for my GED at Lehman College. Sometimes I would finish a night shift and go directly to class. My colleague Khan often encouraged me, saying, "Your hard time will pay off one day." I still remember those words. They accompanied me through the years as I continued my education and eventually entered a master's program in English literature.

"Your hard time will pay off one day."

My experience is not identical to the lives Pietri describes. Puerto Rican New Yorkers have their own history, shaped by the island's colonial relationship with the United States, racial discrimination, and struggles over language and identity.

My journey from Pakistan through Saudi Arabia to America followed a different path. Yet Pietri's poem helped me understand something about the lives of working people: hard work does not always bring the rewards we expect, and sometimes we survive difficult years because someone gives us a reason to keep going.

Hard work does not always bring the rewards we expect, and sometimes we survive difficult years because someone gives us a reason to keep going.

There is another memory from the Riverdale garage that I treasure. Right beside our parking lot was a restaurant owned by three Puerto Rican brothers, Jose, Valentino, and Xavier. They were our monthly parking customers. Their sister Lucy also parked her car with us and worked the restaurant counter. The family was exceptionally kind to us. They let us have food and drinks whenever we needed them, without charging anything. I especially remember Lucy, who would prepare a fresh egg sandwich for our breakfast after a long night of work. She never accepted payment. It was a simple act of kindness, but I have never forgotten it.

Lucy would prepare a fresh egg sandwich for our breakfast after a long night of work. She never accepted payment.

Street life beneath the elevated subway tracks, where working New Yorkers cross between buses, stairways, and storefronts.

These memories returned to me when I reached the final part of Pietri's poem. After describing so much disappointment, loneliness, and suffering, the poet imagines a different world. It is a place where people speak Spanish freely, celebrate their culture, and live together with affection and respect. The repeated word aquí, "here," makes this imagined community feel close and welcoming. It is a place where people no longer need to hide their language or feel ashamed of who they are. Pietri imagines people singing, dancing, and working together, rather than competing over small differences in money or possessions. Earlier in the poem, the five characters become jealous of one another. One has a better car, another earns a little more, and someone else owns a color television. Their struggles turn them against each other.

By the end of the poem, Pietri invites us to imagine another possibility: a community where people recognize their shared humanity. His vision is also a declaration of Puerto Rican pride, a refusal to let poverty, discrimination, or the pressure to assimilate erase a people's language and identity. When I think of Lucy and her brothers, I remember how naturally their kindness came to them. They were not trying to make a grand statement. They were simply looking after the people who worked nearby. Yet their generosity meant something special to us.

That is one reason "Puerto Rican Obituary" continues to speak to me. More than fifty years after Pietri wrote his poem, many people still spend long hours working toward dreams that always seem a little further away. The poem asks us to think about what happens when work takes over our lives and when success is measured only through money, possessions, or social status. But it also offers something hopeful. It reminds us that our language, culture, friendships, and acts of kindness are not small things. They are part of what makes life worth living.

When I look back on my working years in New York, I remember the exhaustion and disappointment of my first job. But I also remember Khan's encouraging words, the friendship of my colleagues, and Lucy's warm breakfast sandwiches. I came to America hoping for a better future. The journey was not what I expected, and it has not always been easy. Yet the people I met along the way taught me that the value of a life cannot be measured only by what we earn or achieve.

Pietri calls his poem an obituary, but perhaps it is also an invitation: to live differently, to remember who we are, to recognize the people around us, and to hold on to the kindness that helps us through difficult days. That is why "Puerto Rican Obituary" still matters to me today.