IMMIGRANT
By now, we are all familiar with the problems faced by America relative to illegal immigration. But, there was a time, early in the 20th century,
when immigration was welcome and sought after, with many square miles to fill. Just about all you needed to do in order to be an immigrant was was to be healthy enough to remain vertical. If you saw the beginning of "The Godfather Part 2" you got a pretty clear picture of Ellis Island. In Poland and Russia Jews were were confined to "shtetles" ( Little States) within or nearby a city. Unless they were either professional men, land owners,or shopkeepers who dealt in necessities (butchers, bakers, food suppliers , etc.) they were so poor that many of them literally starved to death.This is about my Grandfather on my mother's side.
My Grandpa, Manus (Mike) Sherman, his wife and daughter live just outside of Lublin the 4th largest city in Poland in what we call today the Ukraine. He was a non commissioned officer in the Polish army., from which he defected at the outset of World War 1.He changed his name in order to keep from getting caught.and his passport wouldn't sound any alarms because he stole the I.D. off of a dead soldier. It's about this part where I tell you a couple apochryphal stories that circulated among immigrants.There were dozens of themand here are just two: Jews hated the army. In those days, they had good reason to. They had no loyalty to the repressive country in which they lived and they were treated even worse in the army than they were as civilians.
At Ellis Island many of the men, especially those from Germanywho were fleeing the Kaiser's conscription were loathe to give their real names, and on one day they decided to all say "Ich fergessen" (I forgot.) The closest to that in the ears of a minimally educated official, was "Ed Ferguson." That day a hundred or so Ed Fergusons passed through Ell Island. Here's another one:: Before going on permanent AWOL many would steal the wallets of the dead soldiers, not for the money, but for the I.D.Hence our new family name on my mother's side became Shermann, the second n getting dropped when Grandpa got ajob.Another great incentive was that Ford was paying $5 a dayand once the rumor was confirmedyou couldn't hold back half of Europe from immigration. $5 was a month's income in Poland.
"Mike" had a few bucks saved up from many years of manual labor so he traveled to Detroit, where he got a job in construction, building the Rackham Memorial Building, a Marble palace in the cultural center which also contained the Institute of Arts and the Main Library, also marble clad masterpieces.During this time my mother developed rickets from malnutrition so, her mom sent her to live with her parents who owned a small farm. For the first time in her young life, she was able to eat decent food and lots of fresh vegetables and eventually she grew strong but never achieved what should have been her full height.Grandpa told me that he couldn't believe his good fortune. To be able to live a life that Americans took for granted. He got hired at Ford making more money than he ever imagined.Enough to pay rent, clothes, food, and even some to save.He loved Amerca and learned English as quickly as he could so he could become a citizen. By his accent some would call him Russian(same as A.R.'s). "I can tell by your accent tht you are Russian." His back would stiffen up and he'd look the person in the eye and say, "Not Russian, American!" While he was proud to be an American , he still retained some old country habits. He drank only Corby's whiskey when indulging because it was the cheapest rotgut. He also like Slivovitz, a very potent plum brandy. It was said that after uncorking the bottle, the fumes alone would make you drunk. He loved caviar. Not that expensive blsck stuff that you daintilly put on crackers, but the orange fish eggs that you could smell 2 blocks awa when he opened the jar.And that's the difference between 1920 and 2018. Every family had its own stories of coming to America. I have just skimmed the surface. I have had the good fortune of being 1st or 2nd generation depending on which side you look at. As I was growing up, I heard various aunts uncles and, of course, parentstell me how lucky I was to be born in America.They were right.
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when immigration was welcome and sought after, with many square miles to fill. Just about all you needed to do in order to be an immigrant was was to be healthy enough to remain vertical. If you saw the beginning of "The Godfather Part 2" you got a pretty clear picture of Ellis Island. In Poland and Russia Jews were were confined to "shtetles" ( Little States) within or nearby a city. Unless they were either professional men, land owners,or shopkeepers who dealt in necessities (butchers, bakers, food suppliers , etc.) they were so poor that many of them literally starved to death.This is about my Grandfather on my mother's side.
My Grandpa, Manus (Mike) Sherman, his wife and daughter live just outside of Lublin the 4th largest city in Poland in what we call today the Ukraine. He was a non commissioned officer in the Polish army., from which he defected at the outset of World War 1.He changed his name in order to keep from getting caught.and his passport wouldn't sound any alarms because he stole the I.D. off of a dead soldier. It's about this part where I tell you a couple apochryphal stories that circulated among immigrants.There were dozens of themand here are just two: Jews hated the army. In those days, they had good reason to. They had no loyalty to the repressive country in which they lived and they were treated even worse in the army than they were as civilians.
At Ellis Island many of the men, especially those from Germanywho were fleeing the Kaiser's conscription were loathe to give their real names, and on one day they decided to all say "Ich fergessen" (I forgot.) The closest to that in the ears of a minimally educated official, was "Ed Ferguson." That day a hundred or so Ed Fergusons passed through Ell Island. Here's another one:: Before going on permanent AWOL many would steal the wallets of the dead soldiers, not for the money, but for the I.D.Hence our new family name on my mother's side became Shermann, the second n getting dropped when Grandpa got ajob.Another great incentive was that Ford was paying $5 a dayand once the rumor was confirmedyou couldn't hold back half of Europe from immigration. $5 was a month's income in Poland.
"Mike" had a few bucks saved up from many years of manual labor so he traveled to Detroit, where he got a job in construction, building the Rackham Memorial Building, a Marble palace in the cultural center which also contained the Institute of Arts and the Main Library, also marble clad masterpieces.During this time my mother developed rickets from malnutrition so, her mom sent her to live with her parents who owned a small farm. For the first time in her young life, she was able to eat decent food and lots of fresh vegetables and eventually she grew strong but never achieved what should have been her full height.Grandpa told me that he couldn't believe his good fortune. To be able to live a life that Americans took for granted. He got hired at Ford making more money than he ever imagined.Enough to pay rent, clothes, food, and even some to save.He loved Amerca and learned English as quickly as he could so he could become a citizen. By his accent some would call him Russian(same as A.R.'s). "I can tell by your accent tht you are Russian." His back would stiffen up and he'd look the person in the eye and say, "Not Russian, American!" While he was proud to be an American , he still retained some old country habits. He drank only Corby's whiskey when indulging because it was the cheapest rotgut. He also like Slivovitz, a very potent plum brandy. It was said that after uncorking the bottle, the fumes alone would make you drunk. He loved caviar. Not that expensive blsck stuff that you daintilly put on crackers, but the orange fish eggs that you could smell 2 blocks awa when he opened the jar.And that's the difference between 1920 and 2018. Every family had its own stories of coming to America. I have just skimmed the surface. I have had the good fortune of being 1st or 2nd generation depending on which side you look at. As I was growing up, I heard various aunts uncles and, of course, parentstell me how lucky I was to be born in America.They were right.
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