man of high standing and character, came into my son’s office and
told him this story:
A neighbour and countryman of his had a few years before emigrated
to the United States and established himself in Worcester. Soon
afterwards, he formally declared his intention of becoming an
American citizen. After a while, he amassed a little money and sent
to his wife, whom he had left in Syria, the necessary funds to
convey her and their little girl and boy to Worcester. She sold her
furniture and whatever other belongings she had, and went across
Europe to France, where they sailed from one of the northern ports
on a German steamer for New York.
Upon their arrival at New York it appeared that the children had
contracted a disease of the eyelids, which the doctors of the
Immigration Bureau declared to be trachoma, which is contagious,
and in adults incurable. It was ordered that the mother might land,
but that the children must be sent back in the ship upon which they
arrived, on the following Thursday. This would have resulted in
sending them back as paupers, as the steamship company, compelled
to take them as passengers free of charge, would have given them
only such food as was left by the sailors, and would have dumped
them out in France to starve, or get back as beggars to Syria.
The suggestion that the mother might land was only a cruel mockery.
Joseph J. George, a worthy citizen of Worcester, brought the facts
of the case to the attention of my son, who in turn brought them to
my attention. My son had meanwhile advised that a bond be offered
to the immigration authorities to save them harmless from any
trouble on account of the children.
I certified these facts to the authorities and received a statement
in reply that the law was peremptory, and that it required that the
children be sent home; that trouble had come from making like
exceptions theretofore; that the Government hospitals were full of
similar cases, and the authorities must enforce the law strictly in
the future. Thereupon I addressed a telegram to the Immigration
Bureau at Washington, but received an answer that nothing could be
done for the children.
Then I telegraphed the facts to Senator Lodge, who went in person
to the Treasury Department, but could get no more favourable
reply. Senator Lodge’s telegram announcing their refusal was
received in Worcester Tuesday evening, and repeated to me in Boston
just as I was about to deliver an address before the Catholic
College there. It was too late to do anything that night. Early
Wednesday morning, the day before the children were to sail, when
they were already on the ship, I sent the following dispatch to
President Roosevelt:
“_To the President,_
“_White House, Washington, D. C._
“I appeal to your clear understanding and kind and brave heart to
interpose your authority to prevent an outrage which will dishonour
the country and create a foul blot on the American flag. A
neighbour of mine in Worcester, Mass., a Syrian by birth, made some
time ago his public declaration for citizenship. He is an honest,
hard-working and every way respectable man. His wife with two small
children have reached New York.
“He sent out the money to pay their passage. The children
contracted a disorder of the eyes on the ship. The Treasury
authorities say that the mother may land but the children cannot,
and they are to be sent back Thursday. Ample bond has been offered
and will be furnished to save the Government and everybody from
injury or loss. I do not think such a thing ought to happen under
your Administration, unless you personally decide that the case is
without remedy. I am told the authorities say they have been too
easy heretofore, and must draw the line now. That shows they admit
the power to make exceptions in proper cases. Surely, an exception
should be made in case of little children of a man lawfully here,
and who has duly and in good faith declared his intention to become
a citizen. The immigration law was never intended to repeal any
part of the naturalization laws which provide that the minor
children get all the rights of the father as to citizenship. My son
knows the friends of this man personally and that they are highly
respectable and well off. If our laws require this cruelty, it is
time for a revolution, and you are just the man to head it.
GEORGE F. HOAR.”
Half an hour from the receipt of that dispatch at the White House
Wednesday forenoon, Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United
States, sent a peremptory order to New York to let the children
come in. They have entirely recovered from the disorder of the
eyes, which turned out not to be contagious, but only caused by the
glare of the water, or the hardships of the voyage. The children
are fair-haired, with blue eyes, and of great personal beauty, and
would be exhibited with pride by any American mother.
When the President came to Worcester he expressed a desire to see
the children. They came to meet him at my house, dressed up in
their best and glorious to behold. The President was very much
interested in them, and said when what he had done was repeated in
his presence, that he was just beginning to get angry.
The result of this incident was that I had a good many similar
applications for relief in behalf of immigrants coming in with
contagious diseases. Some of them were meritorious, and others
untrustworthy. In the December session of 1902 I procured the
following amendment to be inserted in the immigration law.
“Whenever an alien shall have taken up his permanent residence in
this country and shall have filed his preliminary declaration to
become a citizen and thereafter shall send for his wife and minor
children to join him, if said wife or either of said children
shall be found to be affected with any contagious disorder, and it
seems that said disorder was contracted on board the ship in which
they came, such wife or children shall be held under such
regulations as the Secretary of the Treasury shall prescribe until
it shall be determined whether the disorder will be easily curable
or whether they can be permitted to land without danger to other
persons; and they shall not be deported until such facts have been
ascertained.”
Senator Hoar had touched however, only one of the many phases of the
situation. As the President said, it was still “a difficult place.” Yet
under Commissioner Watchorn changes were soon visible. The place became
cleaner; a new and better system of inspection was organized, discipline
was maintained and strengthened, the comfort of the immigrants was
considered, the money changers were watched, dishonest, discourteous and
useless employees were discharged; and above all, the institution in its
remotest corner was open to any one who wished to come and inspect the
place which is so important in our economic and social life.
Heartier welcome than the Commissioner gives to the visitor cannot be
imagined; and you may take your place among the dozen or more who have
come and who are watching him as he decides the destinies of human
lives.
The cases which come before him are those upon which the special courts
have already passed; so you will see only the wreckage of humanity;
those who upon landing are barred by a law which is indefinite enough to
leave the way open to human judgment for good or ill.
Two undersized old people stand before him. They are Hungarian Jews
whose children have preceded them here, and who, being fairly
comfortable, have sent for their parents that they may spend the rest of
their lives together. The questions, asked through an interpreter, are
pertinent and much the same as those already asked by the court which
has decided upon their deportation. The commissioner rules that the
children be put under a sufficient bond to guarantee that this aged
couple shall not become a burden to the public, and consequently they
will be admitted.
A Russian Jew and his son are called next. The father is a pitiable
looking object; his large head rests upon a small, emaciated body; the
eyes speak of premature loss of power, and are listless, worn out by the
study of the Talmud, the graveyard of Israel’s history. Beside him
stands a stalwart son, neatly attired in the uniform of a Russian
college student. His face is Russian rather than Jewish, intelligent
rather than shrewd, materialistic rather than spiritual. “Ask them why
they came,” the commissioner says rather abruptly. The answer is: “We
had to.” “What was his business in Russia?” “A tailor.” “How much did
he earn a week?” “Ten to twelve rubles.” “What did the son do?” “He went
to school.” “Who supported him?” “The father.” “What do they expect to
do in America?” “Work.” “Have they any relatives?” “Yes, a son and
brother.” “What does he do?” “He is a tailor.” “How much does he earn?”
“Twelve dollars a week.” “Has he a family?” “Wife and four children.”
“Ask them whether they are willing to be separated; the father to go
back and the son to remain here?” They look at each other; no emotion as
yet visible, the question came too suddenly. Then something in the
background of their feelings moves, and the father, used to self-denial
through his life, says quietly, without pathos and yet tragically, “Of
course.” And the son says, after casting his eyes to the ground, ashamed
to look his father in the face, “Of course.” And, “The one shall be
taken and the other left,” for this was their judgment day.
The next case is that of an Englishman fifty-four years of age, to whom
the court of inquiry has refused admission. He is a medium-sized man,
who betrays the Englishman as he stands before the commissioner, and in
a strong, cockney dialect begins the conversation in which he is
immediately checked by the somewhat brusque question: “What did you do
in England?” “I was an insurance agent.” “How much did you earn?” “Four
pounds a week.” “Why do you come to America?” “Because I want a change.”
“How much change, that is, how much money have you?” “Forty dollars.”
“What do you expect to do here?” “Work at anything.” “At insurance?”
“Yes.” “The decision of the court is confirmed; deported, because likely
to become a public charge.” Evidently insurance agents are not regarded
as desirable immigrants.
The next case is a sickly looking Russian Jew over forty years of age,
with an impediment in his speech and physically depleted. He is
guaranteed an immediate earning of ten dollars a week. The commissioner
turns towards his visitors and asks, “What would you do in this case?”
The answers differ, the majority favouring his admission. Although he
values our judgment the commissioner is compelled to confirm the
decision of the court. It is all done quickly, firmly and decisively as
a physician, conscious of his skill, might sever a limb; but it is done
without prejudice.
He knows no nationality nor race, his business is to guard the interests
of his country, guarding at the same time the rights of the stranger.
Work of this kind cannot be done without friction, for intense suffering
follows many of his decisions. Yet I have found no one closely
acquainted with the affairs of the island, who does not regard the “man
at the gate” as the right man in the right place.
It is interesting to follow him on one of his rounds; for he watches
closely the workings of his huge machine. “Why don’t you let those
people sit down?” A long line of Italians had been standing closely
crowded against each other when they should have been seated to await
their turn.
“Open that box,” he says, to a lunch counter man, who forthwith opens
box after box containing luncheons bought by the immigrants as they are
starting westward; boxes containing rations enough for a day or two,
according to the length of the journey undertaken.
Out upon the roof, shaded, protected and guarded are many who still
await the decision of the court. Little children who came all alone and
who often wait for their parents, in vain; wives whose husbands have not
yet come as they promised they would; a promiscuous company of unhappy
mortals of various degrees. One child, a little girl, sees her father
far away among those who come to claim their loved ones; but the law
still holds the child, and she cries: “Tate, Tateleben,” and he calls
back to her; but his voice is caught by the wind, and the “man at the
gate” has to be the comforter for a season; and no one knows how long it
may be before her own father will comfort her.
A blind old mother here awaits tidings from her son that she may be
speeded on towards her destination, and when she hears his voice demands
to know just when she may go; and she, too, draws on the sympathies of
the “man at the gate.”
We follow him into a room which harbours some eight or ten young women
marked for deportation. They are gaily attired and betray at a glance
that they belong to the guild of the daughters of the street. They claim
to have come to America for all sorts of purposes; but they were caught
with the men who imported them, members of a firm whose business it is
to supply the New York market with human flesh. They know neither shame
nor remorse; it is all crushed out of them, and they brazenly demand to
know just when they may go into New York to begin their careers. America
will be none the worse for their speedy departure.
We have seen “the lame, the halt and the blind” and one is apt to think
that they represent the normal type of immigrants; while they are really
but a small fraction of the mass which is strong, young, industrious and
virtuous and which makes of the “man at the gate” an optimist. He does
not share the feeling that the immigration of to-day is worse than that
of the past; in fact he will say quite freely that it is growing better
every day. He has his fears and forebodings; but he knows that the
miracle of transformation wrought on us, can still be wrought on this
mass which is just like us, in that it is like clay in the hands of the
potter, which may be moulded just as millions of us have been moulded,
into the likeness of a new humanity. The danger, he does not hesitate to
say, lies less in the clay than in the potter.
The visit over, we take the little boat for the battery, crowding
through a mass of men who look up to the guarded roof where their loved
ones are detained. “Tate Tateleben” comes the painful cry of the little
children, and one envies the man at the gate who on the morrow may
answer these cries and give the children to their fathers and the wives
to their husbands; who may unite those who have been divided by long
years and a wide sea.... But what if he cannot answer the cry of the
children?
The “man at the gate” need not be envied for the hard, daily task which
awaits him; the task of opening or shutting the gates, of saying: “This
one shall be taken, and the other shall be left.”
Clear and vivid before his eyes constantly stands the law, commanding
him, on his allegiance, to refuse admission, not merely to those
physically or morally tainted in such degree as to endanger the nation’s
life, but to those “persons likely to become a public charge.” He is
not responsible for the law. He is responsible for its execution, even
though his decisions sometimes are not less hard for himself than for
those who find the gates shut against them.
[Illustration: BACK TO THE FATHERLAND.
Not merely the dangerous elements are refused admission, but those who
for reasons of ill health of mind or body, or inability to work, are
likely to prove a hindrance rather than a help.]
It requires a buoyant spirit, a steady hand, a tender heart, and a
resolute mind. He must be both just and kind, show no preferences and no
prejudices, guard the interests of his country and yet be humane to the
stranger. To be able to say of “the man at the gate” that he
accomplishes this in a very large measure is not scant praise; and if
here and there his judgment is questioned, it simply proves that he is
as human as his critics.
VII
THE GERMAN IN AMERICA
The past had its apprehensions about its various problems no less than
the present has, and our forefathers looked upon the non-English
speaking immigrants much as we look upon them to-day. No doubt they
spoke of them as an undesirable class.
Many of us remember when the German and the Scandinavian immigrants who
came, received no heartier welcome than we now give the Slav, the
Italian and the Jew.
This large tide of immigration from among our non-English speaking races
had its beginning long before there was a Castle Garden or Ellis Island,
and shortly after the Pilgrims and Puritans laid the foundations for
their colonies at Plymouth and Massachusetts Bay. Upon the path made by
English Quakers, came in 1682 the first German immigrants. They were
Mennonites, a Protestant sect which manifested in its tenets many of the
faults and virtues of both Quakers and Puritans.
They sailed up the shallow Delaware Bay, where a Penn, who was “mightier
than the sword,” had subdued the savages by his gentle spirit and had
made the flat shores peaceful for the habitation of these strangers.
They settled in what is now called Germantown, and soon their little
cottages were surrounded by gardens where the rosemary wafted its
fragrance on the air, and where no doubt the cabbage lifted its
astonished head above the ground, little dreaming that some day it would
be “monarch of all it surveyed.”
In some points these Germans out-Puritaned the Puritans; for while it is
said that the Puritans did not kiss their wives on the Sabbath, these
German Puritans did not kiss their wives at all. That they brought with
them noble ideals is proved by the fact that they were the first people
on this continent to oppose slavery, and sent to the Quakers a petition
to that effect. It contains the following quaint paragraph: “If once
these slaves (wch they say are so wicked and stubborn men) should joint
themselves, fight for their freedom and handel their masters &
mastrisses, as they did handel them before; will these masters &
mastrisses tacke the sword at hand & warr against these poor slaves,
licke we are able to believe, some will not refuse to doe? Or have these
negers not as much right to fight for their freedom, as you have to keep
them slaves?”
The Germans were also the first among us to legislate against the vice
of intemperance, and may be said to be the first Prohibitionists, a fame
which the modern German immigrant does not care to share with them.
One of the most ideal men of this time was Francis Daniel Pastorius, a
man who combined in himself all the graces and virtues of his noble
race; he was a lover of science and the finer pleasures, and was a
mystic who yearned for the closer communion with God. Pietists, Tunkers,
and others followed the Mennonites in the eighteenth century; and
Pennsylvania was soon dotted by communities in which these strangely
garbed people lived their peculiar and simple lives. To name them all
would require much space, and to describe their peculiarities would fill
a book. The Schwenkfelders, the Moravians, and the Amish were the most
important among the later arrivals, and Germany seemed to have exhausted
her ability to produce sects after their departure. Encouraged by good
Queen Anne, Lutherans and Roman Catholics came later, and these were
neither so pious nor so intelligent as their predecessors; but were the
advance guard of that vast horde of peasantry which ceased not its
coming for nearly two centuries, which moved from Pennsylvania to Ohio,
from there southward along the Mississippi to Louisiana, and northward
to Wisconsin and Minnesota, and which was a great factor in redeeming
the wilderness and making it to “blossom as the rose.”
Thousands of these peasants were sold into a semi-slavery as
Redemptionists, and thousands more laid down their lives in the attempt
to blaze paths through the forest and make the fever-stricken plains
habitable. Wherever they went they created wealth by their unremitting
industry, and by their skill in cattle-raising and farming, so that
where an English-speaking farmer starved and was forced to move
westward, they stayed and dug riches out of the neglected soil.
To-day, in travelling through this country, one can almost invariably
detect the German farm; and the German farmer is everywhere the standard
of excellence.
These immigrants were not idealists like their forefathers, but were
content to worship God as did their fathers, and by the honest sweat of
their brows eat the fruit from their own “vine and fig tree.” In 1848,
when the breath of freedom grew into a wind-storm, there came
involuntary immigrants, political exiles of whom the late Carl Schurz is
the best known, if not the best example. They were all educated men,
many of them real scholars, and whatever German culture there is among
the Germans to-day in our cities is in a large measure due to their
influence and example. They and their descendants are our real German
aristocracy, and in the German centres of Cincinnati and Milwaukee they
form the select society.
While these men were idealists politically, they were in a large degree
materialists religiously, and planted the seed of Marxian Socialism and
of infidelity among their countrymen. One whole colony in Minnesota made
it one of its tenets not to have a church or even to mention the name of
God, and the little city of New Ulm bore that distinction for a great
many years; but in spite of the most diligent efforts to keep God and
the churches out of their town, several houses of worship have been
built in late years. While much skepticism still prevails, the younger
generation almost as a whole has turned to its God.
The modern German immigrant comes pressed neither by hunger nor by his
conscience, but most often to escape irksome military service, or drawn
by the German “Wanderlust” which carries him beyond the mountains of his
Fatherland into all corners of the earth, although emigration from
Germany increases and decreases, as the economic times are good or bad.
On board ship he is the jolliest of passengers, and you will find him at
the bar in the morning for his beer and late at night in the
smoking-room with a crowd of jovial men and women, singing the songs of
the Fatherland, which grow sadder as he grows jollier. He carries with
him an exalted opinion of his own country, and has fully made up his
mind not to let anything crowd out his love for it, so that when New
York Harbour with its vastness and beauty rises before him he insists
that it is not half as big or as beautiful as the harbour at Hamburg,
and only at the sight of the sky-scrapers does he acknowledge our
superiority. I once stood before mighty Niagara with one of these
subjects of Kaiser Wilhelm, and, with a deprecating shrug of his
shoulders, he said: “Ve gots dem in Shermany too.” This attitude towards
our country lasts a long time, and is lost only when success comes.
The German immigrant invariably has a good common-school education,
although not always possessed of culture, and, if he has it, he does not
find much of it among those with whom his lot is cast. A young chemist
whom I met grew so despondent at the sight of his German boarding-house,
and at the lack of manners among the boarders that he returned to
Germany two weeks after he landed. Not many such young men come, and few
of such who come succeed, for the “hustle and bustle,” the common tasks
to be performed, and the common people whom they must meet as equals,
repel them. The weaning from aristocratic notions, the being thrown into
the hopper without being asked, “Who are you, and who are your parents?”
are painful processes, and only the fit survive. Although the process
is slow, it is sure. A young man who has come to this country to study
our way of doing business was employed in a large department store in
Chicago as a bundle-boy. At first he politely addressed the elevator man
thus: “Vill you blease let me off on de second floor?” but within two
months he said imperatively, “Second”; and he was on the road towards
complete Americanization.