History That Doesn't Suck - 118: “The Island of Hope and Tears:” Ellis Island

Episode Date: August 29, 2022

“That’s the light of freedom! Remember that. Freedom.” This is the story of 40% of modern America’s ancestors—this is the story of Ellis Island. Religious persecution. Economic devastation. Stifling political regimes. Whether fleeing for their lives or simply to improve them, Europeans—especially Eastern and Southern Europeans—are flocking to turn-of-the-century America. But no port is busier than New York City. The journey is no laughing matter. Many immigrants are traveling nearly penniless as they make their way to major port cities. They then endure the filth, stench, and overcrowding of steerage for two weeks on the Atlantic, all with the hope that they’ll pass the health and legal inspections of Ellis Island. The vast majority will, but the fear of being turned away—of being separated from family members allowed in, or being sent back to Europe destitute–is terrifying. This is the Island of Hope … and the Island of Tears. This is Ellis Island. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

What did it take to survive an ancient siege? Why was the cult of Dionysus behind so many slave revolts in ancient Rome? What's the tragic history and mythology behind Japan's most haunted ancient forest? We're Jen and Jenny from Ancient History Fangirl. Join us to explore ancient history and mythology from a fun, sometimes tipsy, perspective. Find us at ancienthistoryfangirl.com or wherever you get your podcasts. From the creators of the popular science show with millions of YouTube subscribers comes the MinuteEarth podcast. Every episode of the show dives deep into a science question you

might not even know you had, but once you hear the answer, you'll want to share it with everyone you know. Why do rivers curve? Why did the T-Rex have such tiny arms? And why do so many more kids need glasses now than they used to? Spoiler alert, it isn't screen time. Our team of scientists digs into the research and breaks it down into a short, entertaining explanation, jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research,

with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. It's May 18th, 1903, and the SS Germania is steaming its way through a terrible storm in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. She's a sizable ship, more than able to weather the pounding rainfall and hull-crashing waves.

But it's another story for most of the passengers. Far below deck, down by the waterline, some 1,400 Europeans, men, women, and children, are suffering through their transatlantic voyage in this storm in the most miserable of conditions, as steerage passengers. Lacking individual cabins, they have no sense of privacy in a massive space that resembles a dreary dormitory or barracks, lined with metal bunks. Ventilation, showers, even a fresh change of clothes, these are all rarely, if ever, known luxuries in steerage.

Such conditions are why contagious, deadly diseases spread so quickly down here. But given the storm, it's the motion of the sea, not germs, that have fearful families asking God for protection in their various languages. Countless people in steerage are persistently beset with seasickness. Such is the case for the Capra family. A poor but handsome farmer with full dark hair and handlebar mustache, Salvatore Capra tries to comfort his four children. But what a nightmare. Especially for little Francisco, or Chico as the family calls him.

What a way to spend his sixth birthday. But Salvatore is increasingly sure this will be worth it. He had his doubts, yet ultimately agreed to follow in the footsteps of his oldest son, Benedetto, who left their home in Sicily years ago and has since made a life in California. And oh, the way Benedetto describes it. A land of oranges, lemons, a second Italy, but with real opportunity. If the letters written on behalf of his son by his literate friends are to be believed. Yes, life aboard the SS Germania is hell.

But if this peasant Sicilian family can endure the voyage, then, Salvatore hopes, heaven awaits them on that distant shore. A woman appears at the top of the iron stairs. It's his wife, Rosaria. She's soaked from risking her life by braving the storm on deck to get some lackluster food for the family.

With a tray in hand, the Sicilian mother descends the stairwell and makes her way through the cramped, heaving crowd of people and back to her loved ones. She then divvies up the food between her husband, two daughters, and two sons. It's hard not to wonder, did she manage to find any little treat for Francesco to celebrate his birthday? We'll never know. It's now 4 o'clock in the afternoon, Saturday, May 23rd. Five days have passed since that dreadful storm. And it's been 13 days since they steamed away from Palermo, Sicily.

It feels like far longer. But no matter. They're finally entering New York Harbor. Salvatore picks up little six-year-old Chico and climbs a ladder out of steerage to take in the sight. The boy is absolutely exhausted, but can tell something of note is happening. The deck is completely packed with people. Then the child sees something extraordinary. He'll later recall, quote, a statue of a great lady, taller than a church steeple, holding a torch above the land we were about to enter, close quote.

Whatever doubts his father once harbored about immigrating have entirely disappeared. He looks at his young son and exclaims, Chico, look, look at that. That's the greatest light since the star of Bethlehem. That's the light of freedom. Remember that. Freedom. The next day, Sunday, the Capra family and their fellow 1,400-odd steerage passengers

are on American soil. But not New York City. Rather, they're on a small speck of land just over a mile from Manhattan's coast and even closer to New Jersey's shore called Ellis Island. Now inside the three-story, red-brick main building, the Capra family and countless other immigrants wait and wait as they slowly make their way through an endless line. As they do, physicians give quick glances and ask questions to inspect them for obvious illnesses, physical ailments, and assess their mental health. If something appears off, the inspecting doctor writes a letter in chalk on the coat of the person in question. Later in the line, that individual will be separated and sent to a

second examination, which could mean nothing or could eventually result in deportation. But like most, the Capras do just fine, and soon they're face-to-face with one of Ellis Island's legal inspectors. Carefully examining the SS Germania's manifest log, the inspector speaks Italian or is assisted by an interpreter while assessing the Capra family's response to 29 questions. Again, the family passes. The next day, the Capras take a ferry to NYC. They then spend eight long days on a transcontinental train. Finally, after 23 days of travel and not bathing, the Capra's voyage from Italy's Mediterranean isle of Sicily to Los Angeles, California is over. Six-year-old Francesco,

little chico, he's hated this trip. He's just so little, he doesn't understand. But the child will adjust to his new country, his new home, and one day, he'll serve in the US military and make some of the most iconic, award-winning films of the 20th century, including Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and It's a Wonderful Life. But that's decades from now, when this young immigrant will become known as the acclaimed writer, producer, and film director Frank Capra. Today, in 1903, he's just one of the millions of immigrants streaming through Ellis Island. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck.

I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. Music Today's tale is the story of one little island in New York Harbor. Yet it will hit home for many of us, since 40% of all Americans living in our day and age have at least one branch in their family tree that touches this little patch of dirt. This is the story of the ancestors of well over 100 million Americans. It's the story of the ancestors of well over 100 million Americans. It's the story of Ellis Island. We'll start by contextualizing this first and by far most popular of all federal immigration facilities. That means explaining the development of U.S. naturalization and immigration laws from the Revolution right up to Ellis Island's grand opening on New Year's Day, 1892.

We'll then bear witness as young Annie Moore becomes the island's first official immigrant and witness a disaster that temporarily closes the facility. But once we get things up and going again, we'll experience it firsthand. That's right, you and I are going to get the full Ellis Island experience, circa early 20th century. We'll travel as Italian nationals, departing via Naples, getting seasick and steerage, then passing through the medical and legal examination process. And hopefully, Uncle Sam and God willing, find ourselves ready to start a new life in America. And hey, chances are very much in our favor, but given what we'll sacrifice to do this and how high the stakes are, I understand if you're getting nervous. Most are. So, have you kissed your mother and said goodbye to friends

and family? You better. You probably won't see any of them again. Go ahead, pause the episode, I'll wait. You good? Good. Then let's head back more than a century and catch up with an old pamphlet-writing immigrant friend from the Revolution as we begin tracing the legal history of naturalization from the colonies to the 1890s. Rewind. Do you remember Thomas Paine? We haven't hung out with him in over 100 episodes,

but I'll jog your memory. This late 30s Englishman only came to the American colonies in 1774. Now, in early 1776, his newly published pamphlet, Common Sense, is spreading far and wide the argument that the present conflict with the crown shouldn't be a civil war, but a war for independence. Hashtag colonial viral.

Yeah, you remember this. Well, in this much celebrated pamphlet, Tom points out that colonial America just isn't that British. To quote him, not one third of the inhabitants, even of this province, are of English descent. Wherefore, I reprobate the phrase of parent

or mother country applied to England only as being false, selfish, narrow, and ungenerous. Close quote. Now, you know Tom. He can get carried away and is likely being hyperbolic with his stats. Looking at the year 1790, immigration historian Rudolf E. Coley estimates that 48% of the United States' almost 4 million people are of, quote-unquote, English stock. That's a considerably higher figure, yet it still substantiates Tom's point that, even in the early days of the revolution, America wasn't super-English. Thus, the early republic is already a motley crew with roots from all over Europe and,

be they free or enslaved, Africa. And patriot leaders seem to embrace, at least to some degree, this not overly English reality. After all, His Majesty's revoking of the Plantation Act of 1740, which permitted Protestants and Jews to naturalize in the colonies with ease, really upsets them. Meanwhile, one of Thomas Jefferson's jabs at King George in the Declaration of Independence is due to his efforts to control and curtail immigration. To quote that seminal founding document, he, King George, has endeavored to prevent the population of these states, for that purpose obstructing the laws for naturalization of foreigners. That brings us to a unique question. How does a people without a common

ancestry and less than two centuries on the land build a national identity? Well, for the nascent United States, the answer is shared ideals, like representative government, or, I don't know, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. As Rudolf Vecoli puts it, quote, Having achieved independence, the leaders of the new republic faced the task of nation-building. Lacking deep roots in the soil and ancient ties of blood, they fashioned an American identity from the Enlightenment doctrine of natural rights. One became an American by assent, not by dissent. Such a conception of nationhood well-suited a, quote-unquote, nation of immigrants.

It's a beautiful concept, but one legislatively limited by the era's views on who could be trusted to uphold these shared values. Fulfilling its Article I, Section 8 constitutional charge to establish a uniform rule of naturalization, the new U.S. Congress passes its first Naturalization Act in 1790. This states that immigrants can naturalize, that is, become U.S. citizens, after two years of residency. At that point, immigrants seeking citizenship may go to a court, and so long as they are judged to be of good character, they will then renounce foreign

allegiances and take a loyalty oath to the Constitution. They and their children under 21 years of age are now US citizens. Citizenship is also a given for children born in the United States to eligible foreigners. By these means, millions of people in the early republic assent to the nation's ideals and become American. But I'm saying eligible immigrant because the 1790 law limits naturalization to, quote, any alien being a free white person, close quote. Indeed, while anti-slavery Thomas Paine celebrated America transcending mere Englishness and very real European divisions,

to quote his common sense once more, we claim brotherhood with every European Christian and triumph in the generosity of the sentiment. His words also prophesied the very limits imposed by the early republic. With both slavery and the transatlantic slave trade still legal, this 1790 law effectively invites only those presently permitted to participate in the U.S. political system to become citizens. The length of residency required to naturalize fluctuates over the next decade plus.

In 1795, Congress extends it from two to five years. In 1798, the diminishing Federalist Party raises that weight to 14 years with the Alien and Sedition Acts. We covered these in episode 18, so suffice it to say here that the Federalists are hoping to keep Democratic-Republican-leaning immigrants, those, to quote one congressman,

hordes of wild Irishmen, close quote, out of the political process. But this gets dialed back fast. In 1802, Congress cuts the residency period back to five years. The requirement that immigrants be free and white remains as well. Legislation on naturalization changes less for the next few decades, which makes sense given how much immigration slows amid the Napoleonic Wars. Only 1 million immigrate to the U.S. between 1790 and 1820. But as we know from past episodes, that changes as we hit the mid-19th century. Between 1840 and 1890, we have our first major period of immigration, during which 15 million primarily German, Irish, British, and Scandinavian immigrants pour into America's east coast harbors.

This increase in immigration corresponds with changes in naturalization laws. Starting in 1855, a married immigrant woman's citizenship becomes attached to that of her husband's. Women often didn't naturalize prior to this. Without the vote, it was mostly just another expense. But now, if a woman's husband naturalizes, or if he's already a citizen, she too receives citizenship. We see a sizable shift amid post-Civil War reconstruction. As we know from episodes 73 through 76, the reconstructing the United States passes constitutional amendments 13 through 15. To jog your memory, these effectively, one,

ban slavery, two, clarify that all born or naturalized to the United States and under its jurisdiction are citizens, and three, state that the right to vote shall not be denied or abridged on account of a citizen's color. In short, their intent is to make native-born black Americans full citizens with full political rights. Well, just months after the last of these amendments is ratified in early 1870, Congress passes a new law that extends naturalization to, quote, aliens being free white persons and aliens of African nativity and persons of African descent, close quote. Yeah, we've just entered a new era of who may, to borrow immigration historian Rudolf Likoli's phrasing once more, assent to becoming an American. But new eras

also bring new fears, and Congress answers these fears with new laws regulating not only naturalization, but immigration. This starts with the 1875 Page Act. It forbids convicts serving sentences and prostitutes from immigrating and specifies that forced laborers from Asia and Chinese prostitutes are banned. It smacks of a desire to stop human trafficking, but the real goal is curbing Asian immigration. Congress doubles down on excluding Asians with the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act.

As we know from episode 91, this places a 10-year moratorium on Chinese immigration and forbids those already here from naturalizing. While native-born San Franciscan Wong Kim Ark's future lawsuit will lead to the Supreme Court's 1898 decision that ethnically Chinese Americans born in the U.S. are citizens, future legislation will continue to limit Chinese immigration and block them from naturalizing until 1943. Congress excludes others, such as beggars, lunatics, and convicts that same year. And as the

1880s continue, organizations like Boston's newly formed Immigration Restriction League encourage these new barriers to entry. Further restrictions come with the Immigration Act of 1891. Inadmissibles now include, quote, all idiots, insane persons, paupers, or persons likely to become a public charge, persons suffering from a loathsome or a dangerous contagious disease, persons who have been convicted of a felony or other infamous crime, and polygamists, close quote. While the prohibition against polygamists has implications for faiths and cultures around the world, indeed, the New York Times mentions a group of Muslims being denied entry in the 1890s, the primary target is another unwanted group, Mormons.

With Mormon converts flocking to the U.S. from Europe, this immigration law adds fuel to the 1887 Edmunds-Tucker Act, which sought to eradicate polygamy by ending legal recognition of Mormonism's predominant denomination, the Utah Territory-based Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, declaring the practice of polygamy, adultery, and fornication illegal and punishable in the United States, and requiring anti-polygamy oaths to vote in the Utah Territory, among other measures. Amid all of this, the church's president, Wilford Woodruff, declares an end to the practice of polygamy in 1890, just before Congress passes its newest

immigration law. Church leader Brigham Young Jr. makes sure immigration commissioners know about the change. But wait, immigration commissioners? Yes, the 1891 Immigration Act does more than list groups not welcome in the United States. Recognizing that these laws have effectively taken immigration from being a state issue to being a federal concern, it also creates a new federal office to enforce these bans and regulations. Housed within the Treasury Department, it's called the Office of the Superintendent of Immigration. Until 1895, at least, which is when the office will get bumped up to bureau status,

and its exact home in the U.S. government will continue to morph from there. And nowhere is the new office busier than in New York Harbor. New York City has long been the nation's main entry point for immigrants. In fact, so many were coming through NYC by the mid-19th century that state officials found it a logistical necessity to set up a processing station in 1855. Now, they weren't so much vetting immigrants. As we just learned, only naturalization was really regulated at this point. Immigration was more a matter of having the courage and fare to cross an ocean.

The station's focus was more on caring for new arrivals and attempting to prevent predatory boarding houses or con artists from taking advantage of them. This initial welcome and processing happened in an old fort at the southern tip of Manhattan called Castle Garden Station. An astounding 8 million immigrants passed through Castle Garden during its 35 years of operation. That's two-thirds of all immigration to the U.S. for the period.

But Castle Garden's doors closed in 1890 because the newly named first-ever Commissioner of Immigration at New York's port, a Civil War vet and former two-term congressman from New York, Colonel John Weber, found it lacking. He wants a new facility with the space to keep up with the still increasing volume of immigrants that's also better equipped for all the assessing and vetting required by Congress's current and growing criteria. That's where Ellis Island comes in.

Named after an 18th century butcher and formerly a place for executing pirates before becoming a fort and naval arsenal, Ellis Island is just off the coast of New Jersey and to the north of the newly installed Statue of Liberty. It looks perfect to John Weber. In April 1890, Congress appropriates $75,000 to convert Ellis Island from an old arsenal into the nation's first federal immigration station. Costs will far exceed this, but the project includes increasing the size of the small island, renovating the five existing structures into a restaurant slash kitchen, dormitories, and hospitals, including an insane hospital, as well as constructing two new buildings. The most important new structure is the main building.

This 400 by 100 foot, three-story, heavily windowed, and mostly wooden structure is designed to handle up to 15,000 immigrants in a single day. It's where immigrants will be processed, undergo medical inspections, and, if found not to fall in an exclusionary category, permitted to procure train tickets to some distant state or territory or go join that great city right before them, New York. With Castle Garden closed and Ellis Island under construction, immigrants are processed almost next door at the barge office on the Battery. But this is very temporary.

At the beginning of 1892, Ellis Island is open and ready to welcome its first arrivals. Particularly its first arrival. It's a cold morning, New Year's Day, 1892, and the SS Nevada is lying at anchor in the waters of New York Harbor. She's an old vessel. It took 11 days for the Nevada to complete this transatlantic voyage, and the 127 souls on board, particularly the less affluent 107 down in steerage, couldn't be more grateful that this is ending. That latter group includes three young Irish siblings, Annie Moore and her little brothers, Anthony and Philip.

We don't have all the details on the Moore children. For instance, Annie is somewhere between 13 and 17 years old. The New York Times tells us she has rosy cheeks. Her brothers are younger. They've left their childhood home in Cork, Ireland, to join their parents and older siblings who came to New York four years earlier. I can only imagine their feelings, traveling the world so young and alone, yet knowing they're about to see their parents again. Provided they're allowed in, of course. And that moment is getting close. By about 9.30, the ferry boat taking them to Ellis Island is approaching their ship.

The Moore children and their fellow steerage passengers, which include a sizable group of Russian Jews, clamber from the Nevada onto the red, white, and blue decorated ferry. And yes, just steerage passengers. Figuring those with wealth won't be a burden to the nation, policy spares first and second class passengers from the trials and assessment of Ellis Island. But to keep our focus on Annie, she and all with her are thrilled as they steam through the harbor's waters. They've learned their ferry is decorated because they're going to be the first immigrants ever to pass through Ellis Island. It's now 10.30 a.m.

The flags fluttering in the cold breeze are lowered and raised three times. This is Colonel John Weber's signal that all is ready. What is happening on the ferry, though? We know there's a moment of uncertainty as to who will step off first, but sources conflict on the details.

Joseph Pulitzer's The World will claim that, just as a large German places a foot on the gangplank, a ferryman yells, Ladies first! and presses young Annie Moore forward. Another paper credits an Italian man for deferring to tearful Annie. We'll never know the whole truth of this moment, but one thing is certain. At about 10.30 a.m. this morning, the young Irish girl Annie Moore becomes the first immigrant to set

foot on Ellis Island. Our mustachioed superintendent, Colonel John Weber, greets them. He leads Annie and her brothers into the main building, where health inspections happen, and everything from her name to alleged age, and of course, her destined address, her parents' home on Monroe Street near the Brooklyn Bridge, are all officially noted. The colonel says a few words, then hands Annie a $10 gold coin to celebrate her status as Ellis Island's first immigrant. On hand to help young female immigrant Catholics, Father Callahan blesses Annie and gives her a silver coin, while some unknown figure gives her another five dollars. Annie and her brothers then go into the waiting room, where finally, after four long years, the children are reunited with their parents. I have no details I can give,

but speaking as a father, I can only imagine the euphoria of this moment. Not all will have the positive experience Annie did. Grand openings are exciting, but this is, after all, a place of inspection. Going forward, some will experience difficulties, while a small percentage will even be sent back. Still, nearly half a million people follow in her footsteps over the course of 1892. Wow, that is a lot of foot traffic. Can this facility's wooden structures really handle it? Is it safe?

Turns out those are excellent questions. It's just after midnight, June 15th, 1897. Ellis Island employees and hundreds of immigrants are sleeping soundly as Harbor Police Officer William Gaines makes his rounds. Then, at 1238 precisely, William sees or smells something coming from the main building, likely its northeast tower. Sources conflict on how, but one way or the other, he finds a small flame licking its way up the three-story building. The almost entirely wooden Georgia Pine and Spruce building. Good God, there's no time to lose.

William springs into action. He warns and wakes the facility staff, who, despite the rapidly spreading fire, keep cool heads and act quickly. Matron Mrs. Sophie Ruff rouses and leads dozens of women and children out of the dormitory. Nurses maintain their composure as they help more than 50 adults and children suffering from the measles, typhoid fever, pneumonia, and more out of the burning hospital. A dog belonging to the current commissioner of immigration charges into the flame-covered restaurant and starts dragging a sleeping waiter named Samuel Peterson from his bed. Waking, Sam dashes out as the brave Newfoundland charges deeper into the smoke-filled structure where he wakes and saves another. Two fireboats turn their hoses on the island's collapsing structures.

Meanwhile, Ellis Island's staff help terrified immigrants, sick and healthy, English-speaking and not, and of various faiths, including Hindus and several Mormons, into the ferryboats. They steam toward Manhattan. Behind them, brave firefighters work through the night, trying to save Ellis Island from the raging inferno. podcast. On our show, we help listeners like you make the most of your finances. I sit down with NerdWallet's team of nerds, personal finance experts in credit cards, banking, investing,

and more. We answer your real-world money questions and break down the latest personal finance news. The nerds will give you the clarity you need by cutting through the clutter and misinformation in today's world of personal finance. We don't promote get-rich-quick schemes or hype unrealistic side hustles. Instead, we offer practical knowledge that you can apply in your everyday life. You'll learn about strategies to help you build your wealth, invest wisely, shop for financial products, and plan for major life events. And you'll walk away with the confidence you need to ensure that your money is always working as hard as you are. So turn to the nerds to answer

your real-world money questions and get insights that can help you make the smartest financial decisions for your life. Listen to NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast wherever you get your podcasts. When Johan Rall received the letter on Christmas Day 1776, he put it away to read later. Maybe he thought it was a season's greeting and wanted to save it for the fireside. But what it actually was it was a season's greeting and wanted to save it for the fireside. But what it actually was, was a warning, delivered to the Hessian Colonel, letting him know that

General George Washington was crossing the Delaware and would soon attack his forces. The next day, when Rall lost the Battle of Trenton and died from two colonial Boxing Day musket balls, the letter was found, unopened in his vest pocket. As someone with 15,000 unread emails in his inbox, I feel like there's a lesson there. Oh well, this is The Constant, a history of getting things wrong. I'm Mark Kreisler. Every episode, we look at the bad ideas, mistakes, and accidents that misshaped our world. Find us at ConstantPodcast.com or wherever you get your podcasts. The Powerhouse is the only building that survives the 1897 Ellis Island fire.

The rest of the island's structures are left in char and ruin, with Joseph Pulitzer's The World reporting that, quote, of the main building, not a splinter that would burn is left, close quote. But, not a soul was lost.

Long convinced the facilities were a fire hazard, Ellis Island's current Commissioner of Immigration, Dr. Joseph Senner, always insisted that the ferryboats be ready for such an emergency. It's thanks to the doc's planning and the steadfast courage of his staff and his dog Jack that we only lost things and not people that night. There is a terrible casualty, though. All of New York's leather-bound immigrant registry books dating from Castle Garden Station's opening in 1855 right up to that moment. When the fire consumed them,

it destroyed irretrievable details on roughly 10 million immigrants. Few, if any, single nights in U.S. history can rival such a catastrophic loss for future Americans interested in their family history and immigrant roots. It's one that I feel personally. The last wave of immigrants in my family tree came through Castle Garden. The only remaining records for this almost half a century of immigrants are the steamship's less detailed passenger manifests. But Ellis Island quickly

bounces back as Congress appropriates funds to rebuild its facilities on a far larger scale. The island will be expanded. It will have everything it did before and more, from laundry to restaurants to hospitals, dormitories, and so on. Moreover, it will be built of sturdier stuff than the first time around. Yes, that means it's time to build the iconic three-story main building. A Flemish bond-patterned red brick structure with limestone trim and copper-topped towers on each of its corners, this new Beaux-Arts-style main building will endure right into our 21st century world. Reporting on the selection of architects William Boring and Edward Tilton's design,

the New York Times January 28, 1898 headline calls the future building, quote, a palace for immigrants, close quote. Construction gets underway as immigrants are processed temporarily at the barge office on the Battery. The new, improved, and far less wooden second facility is completed quickly and opens on December 17, 1900. The staff process and examine over 2,000 immigrants that very first day. Millions of people will risk everything to come to the United States, to pass through the vetting process of Ellis Island. We shouldn't overstate the vetting, as the vast majority will make it through. But the path is harrowing, and rejection is devastating. We shouldn't overstate the vetting, as the vast majority will make it through, but the

path is harrowing and rejection is devastating. It means getting sent back across the Atlantic and possibly never rejoining your family. How do you think you'd do? Well, it's time we find out by experiencing Ellis Island as immigrants. And since 1890 marks a shift in immigration patterns that brings more people from southern and eastern Europe than from the continent's northern regions, we'll assume Italian identities traveling during the first decade or two of the 20th century. But despite those specifics, I'll still point to experiences from various backgrounds to give you a sense of how things might go differently

depending on one's health, religion, nationality, economic status, and more. This composite experience will give us a good sense of what it's like for immigrants passing through Ellis Island at its heyday. Ready? Hmm, hold on. We're going Italian, so let me ask that again. Pronto? Perfetto. Andiamo. Almost universally, tears are at the start of every immigrant's path.

Take the future filmmaker Frank Capra, whom we met in this episode's opening. While it's true that the Capras awaited a happy reunion with his brother Benedetto in Los Angeles, Frank's two adult sisters, Ignacia and Luigia, didn't come. Such separation is either long, as was the case with Luigia, who followed three years later, or permanent, as was the case with Ignacia, who lived out her days in Italy. In other words, every immigrant story means leaving some friends and family forever. So while you and I might have had a great feast in our imagined Italian village, let's say somewhere around Naples, like Caserta, it feels like a funeral procession as parents, grandparents, cousins, friends, and more

accompany us on the walk or horse-drawn cart ride to the train station. We could probably relate to the Romanian Jewish immigrant, Marcus Ravage, who later recalls how his mother just fell apart at the sight and sound of his train steaming up to the station. To quote him, her sobs became violent and father had to separate us. There was a despair in her way of clinging to me, which I could not then understand. I understand it now. I never saw her again. Goodbye, Mom. Heart-wrenching, yet it's a better start than what Russian Jews are facing. While anti-Semitism has a long history in Europe, violence against Jews in the Russian Empire has gone through the roof since they unjustly became the scapegoat for the assassination of Tsar Alexander II in 1881. Now, organized state-sanctioned

attacks, called pogroms in Russian, are targeting Jews with abandon. Gangs chase down Jews of all ages, even children, strip them naked, then beat them, often to death. Meanwhile, Russian law technically makes immigration illegal. Russian officers often look the other way, gladly, but these inconsistently applied laws result in some desperate Russian Jews relying on smugglers to get across the Austro-Hungarian or German border. Being robbed blind through this process marks the first step in their journey to America. It's rough, but better than death. Being robbed blind through this process marks the first step in their journey to America. It's rough, but better than death.

And between 1871 and 1914, 1.5 million Jews flee Russian territory for the United States. Whatever our background, though, just getting to a big port city with New York-bound steamships, in our case, Naples, is a major undertaking. This is probably the farthest we've ever been from home. But a deal, this city is overwhelming. Loud sounds are everywhere. We're awestruck as we lay our eyes for the first time on a steamship and that endless blue horizon. But keep your wits about you. People keep offering to carry our bags,

sell us falsified smallpox vaccination certificates, or perhaps pull an aching tooth lest we get rejected at Ellis Island for it. Good thing we read the Italian Immigrant Handbook and otherwise did our research so we know that these quote-unquote services are cons or rip-offs. We'll ignore these hucksters and hold our bags close as we make our way to the ship. But we aren't leaving just yet. At least, we aren't if it's 1907. That's because this same

year that sees over one million immigrants pass through Ellis Island also sees the passage of another immigration act. In this one, Congress increases the reasons for which we could get rejected, while also placing the burden of cost for returning any turned away immigrants to Europe on the shipping company that brought them. As such, these companies are doing health inspections to try and turn away anyone who would get rejected at Ellis Island, and mandatory vaccinations are happening right here. Ah, yep, just as we thought, those faux vax cards wouldn't have spared us a thing. Meanwhile, German steamships make passengers sit tight for a two-week quarantine.

But coming from Italy, we're lucky. State officials ask us all the same questions used at Ellis Island verbatim, and they're coaching us on how to give the right answers. Man, what a leg up. But this is also exhausting. Between getting to the port and possible quarantines, we might be a month or more into this trip, and we haven't even left Europe. Finally, though, we're on board and heading out to sea. Long gone are the days of sail and their months-long transatlantic voyages.

Whatever vessel we're on, it's a steamship, and crossing the Atlantic shouldn't exceed two weeks. Traveling in first and second class is a good time. There are distinctions between these classes, obviously, but either way, we're talking private cabins, fine dining, entertainment, smoke rooms, bars, and quality outside time on deck. And, as I touched on earlier, they generally do not go to Ellis Island. When we get to New York, these esteemed ladies and gentlemen will do their medical exams and whatnot on the ship, then disembark at a pier in NYC. The only real chance they'll head to Ellis

Island is if they get flagged for further medical inspections or legal issues. But as for the rest of us, most of us, we're traveling down in steerage. We got a small taste of steerage with the Capras and the Moore kids, but here's a closer look at the, well, nightmare we're now experiencing. Our dormitory segment in the hole contains several rows of metal-framed bunks, upwards of 200 in fact. These are our beds. There are divisions, men, women, families, but still, no privacy. It's particularly terrible for women, though, as they face constant sexual harassment. Historian Tyler Anbinder notes this oft-overlooked aspect of steerage life in his book, City of Dreams. Quote, From the moment they got up in the morning to the moment they went to bed at night, women were pawed, groped, and propositioned, primarily by the ship's crew, but also by male passengers. Close quote.

As for food, we all carry our own, rarely if ever washed, utensils to eat our less than high quality meals that often include potatoes, meat, and bread. The coffee and tea are terrible. Nor is this a ladies first situation, so women traveling alone often end up with the scraps. If you have special dietary needs, you're out of luck. Jews staying kosher basically live on water and bread all the way to New York. Everything is filthy, sticky. Many can't figure out how to work the too few toilets, so they just relieve themselves wherever, and there's no real ventilation, so that smell is everywhere. Showering and laundry aren't happening either.

One undercover reporter posing as a steerage immigrant will later recall that the ship doesn't provide soap, towels, or baths, just a very few wash basins and sinks. So the 100 plus housed in our section are, like us, pretty ripe after a few days, and again, no ventilation. But we aren't done with the smells. Let's not forget seasickness, which causes nausea and sometimes vomiting. Further, inspections, vaccinations, and quarantines may keep disease down, but with these unsanitary conditions, illness definitely makes the rounds if it gets on board. To give but one example, a cholera outbreak sends 26 of the Moravia's 350 Ellis Island-bound steerage passengers to their watery graves on a late 1892 voyage.

23 of them are infants. Some post-1900 ships have new steerage, aka third class, which divides steerage into shared rooms for eight or less people. That alone resolves a lot of these issues, but these ships are rare and you and I aren't that lucky. The old-school steerage experience that leaves many feeling as though they've been treated like cattle will endure well into the 20th century. Finally, we make it to New York Harbor, but we can't disembark just yet. First, we have our second medical inspection, or third if the railroad we took to our port of departure inspected us, which could have been the case. The Marine Hospital Service, or Public Health Service after its 1902 name change, ferries a physician out to our ship. This will be it for the first and second class passengers.

For those of us in steerage, the physician is weeding out only those showing symptoms for the worst diseases. Cholera, smallpox, and so on. If some are found, they'll be isolated in a nearby hospital while the rest of us will remain on board, quarantined from the U.S. population until the powers that be are convinced we aren't ill. It could be quite a wait. Or not. In January, 1905, one steamship, the Fodderland, gets cleared after autopsy showed

that non-contagious pneumonia took the lives of its 11 dead. This spares the ship's 1,000 steerage passengers from a longer quarantine. But whatever miseries we've suffered on this voyage, there's nothing that compares to what happens next. As our ship enters the upper harbor, we see it. Frédéric Bartholdi's colossal work.

The Statue of Liberty. Is the euphoria overcoming us because of what the torch-bearing, red, fading-to-green Lady Liberty signifies? Or just the fact that this hellacious voyage is over? All things considered, I'd say those sentiments aren't mutually exclusive. It's only a brief respite, though. We all know the ordeal, the gauntlet run that lies ahead of us.

And if we fail, it means all of these weeks or even months of travel and all the money we've spent will come to naught as we're sent all the way back to Europe. Doesn't that thought just make you sick? Tonight will be a sleepless night in steerage indeed. But this time, not because of the still present smells and sounds, but because tomorrow we're in for the test of our lives. The feared Ellis Island inspection. After that onboard health inspection, we'll probably spend one more night in the upper harbor. Could be a few days even. That's not necessarily the case. It all depends on the time of our ship's arrival and how backed up the processing at Ellis Island is. But whatever our specific situation

might be, the hour is nigh. It's exciting. It's terrifying. We get to Ellis Island the same way the Moore kids did, on a ferry boat. One of these massive two-level vessels that can carry hundreds at once take us across the harbor's waters. Descending the gangplank on the island, we're immediately greeted by officers. They pin tags with identification numbers to our coats that correspond with our ship's manifest. We might wait a bit more. Could be hours. And in worst case scenarios, things are so backed up, we get taken back to the ship to try again tomorrow. But if this is a usual day, it won't come to that. We're soon walking into the red brick, limestone trimmed main building. Time to find out if we're deemed worthy to immigrate. Walking in on the ground floor at the turn of the century, we first enter the baggage room.

So many voices. So many languages. The old, the young, families, single individuals, all of them and us are exhausted, in need of a bath, filled with dread. Even those of us with all of our affairs in order. I mean, again, most of us will make it through, but there are so many rumors about what can get you rejected. And these are our lives. The stakes couldn't be higher. Okay, shake it off. Maybe drop some bags here. Make sure you have your vaccination certificate,

and otherwise, just remember to breathe. Let's do this. We and the rest of this cacophonous chorus of hopeful immigrants make our way up a flight of stairs. Little do we know that the assessment has already begun. Medical inspectors are watching us ascend, keeping a keen eye for limping, bad posture, or those who struggle to carry their bags. So whatever you do, don't stop

on a step to catch your breath. Basically, they're looking for any physical shortcomings that might indicate we can't do physical labor. There might not be any federal welfare yet, but Congress doesn't want any freeloaders coming through that might become a burden to the state. The physicians' gaze doesn't let up as we reach the top of the stairs. They silently perform six-second physicals, as they're known, with glances searching for anything that could indicate a physical or mental abnormality. Being too thin, noticeable swelling, rashes, you name it. Anything that, by law, will exclude us from entering the United States. Eventually, our line comes to the eye man.

It's every bit as awful as that sounds. The inspector stops and painfully pulls back our eyelids, usually with a button hook, to see if we have a contagious, potentially blinding eye disease known as trachoma. Worse, he doesn't disinfect anything between exams. Not before President Theodore Roosevelt specifically calls this out in his 1906 visit, at least. Statistically, you're fine. 80% or more of immigrants sail through without getting flagged. But let's look at what happens if, by this point, an inspector has noticed a visible rash, illness,

or decided a given immigrant just doesn't look right in the head. In these cases, they were flagged for further screening. As we were walking by, the concerned inspector wrote a word or letter in chalk on the right shoulder of these statistically few individuals. The letters are a shorthand. L for lameness, K for hernia, F for face, PR for pregnancy, X for mental illness, etc. And at this point, those so chalked are now being turned off the line for closer scrutiny. Men go to one room, women and children 15 years and younger to another. Those so chalked are now being turned off the line for closer scrutiny. Men go to one room, women and children 15 years and younger to another.

Lined up with others in their assigned room, all are required to undress partially. Gents are exposed from the waist down, getting inspected for venereal diseases or a hernia. The inspector will wear a rubber glove for that hernia check. He, uh, he isn't going to change or wash that glove while going down the line, though. Ladies are exposed from the waist up, and pre-1913, the physician inspecting is a man. Let's also not forget that there are teenage boys in the room. Many women will long recall the embarrassment of this moment. Those marked with an X go a different path. Suspected of not being the sharpest tool in the shed, that is, of being what the law describes as an idiot, feeble-minded, and so on. They head to the mental room to undergo tests of mental acuity. They might be asked to count in their native language, do basic arithmetic,

follow a pattern. Very few fail here. But what of those who aren't immediately cleared in these secondary physical or mental screenings? They're detained, and what happens next depends on the situation. They might be housed in steerage-like bunks, or, if they have a serious medical issue, hospitalized. And by the way, these hospitals see the whole gamut of life. During its several decades of operation, more than 3,500 die and about 350 are born on Ellis Island. Immigrants suffering from a contagious but less serious illness will receive treatment and likely continue with their immigration process after recovering within the next few days. Meanwhile, some health conditions or legal issues will keep individuals

on the island for months. In a few cases, even years. But it's simply game over for those suffering from a loathsome or dangerous contagious disease. These include parasitic infections, tuberculosis, venereal diseases, epilepsy, favus, or the island's biggest excluder, the disease that the button-hook-wielding eye man checked us for, trachoma. These and other illnesses will result in mandatory exclusion, or almost mandatory exclusion. In 1923, famous infected German immigrant Josef Rüder doesn't get deported. Having a very mild case and relatives in Chicago

willing to pay for his treatment, he appealed and won permission to stay. The doxodilous island operated on his fungus-infected finger, then let him leave the island to enter the U.S. as a healthy man two months later. And yes, many immigrants appeal a rejection to enter the U.S. as a healthy man two months later.

And yes, many immigrants appeal a rejection to a board of special inquiry. Some do so with the help of a lawyer provided by an immigrant aid group. Most make it through in the end. Only 2% of those coming to Ellis Island are ultimately denied entry to the United States. Still, it's a serious heartbreak for that 2%. Take Stanisław Horan, for instance. The Polish man had immigrated long before with his wife and is elated to have his four stepchildren finally joining him in the United States in 1921.

And I'll bet his wife is even happier, but we have no details on her in the records. Finally, after years, there'll be a family again. Then they're informed the oldest of the four, 18-year-old Karolina Klimek, has been flagged for trachoma. Working through the Young Women's Christian Association, Stanislav petitions, pleads, offers to pay for medical treatment at Ellis Island.

Anything, just don't send her back. No dice. Trachoma is considered too dangerous and too hard to treat. She's returned to Europe. The full family reunion is indefinitely postponed. If it ever happens, that is. Again, hardly anyone is turned away. But after all the time and expense to get here, the sheer terror of it happening makes this whole experience a suspense-filled horror show for many. And when it does happen, when it's your kid, your wife, husband, parent, God, it's like a sucker punch that knocks the wind out of your soul. Thus, despite the incredibly high success rate and a well-run operation that certainly puts the future airports of Newark and LaGuardia to shame, Ellis Island isn't only known as the Island of Hope.

It's also called the Island of Tears. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still aren't through our own immigration process yet, meaning we may yet fall into that bereft 2%. We still have that last interview. Having succeeded with our medical inspections, we carry on winding through the iron rail separated aisles of the registration room, AKA the Great Hall. Tile is everywhere in this approximately 100 by 200 foot

high ceiling space. And that makes every sound from our chatting, crying, shuffling crowd carry an echo. And there are plenty of voices. The room is full of nervous, sweaty people straight out of steerage. Our combined odors are foul, pungent, and everywhere. But the line moves along, and soon, our ship is up. We are up. Seated behind a tall wooden desk, an inspector, equipped with our ship's manifest, calls out our names.

And I hate to contradict your family lore, because I know it's deeply ingrained, but he doesn't botch or change those names. Actually, he nails the pronunciation. Ellis Island employs Italian, Yiddish, German, Russian, and other language speakers. Remember, this interview is intended to vet us, and the uniformed man we're now approaching can't very well decide if we should enter the country or be sent packing if we can't communicate well. The inspector has been

assigned to our ship because it came from Naples and he speaks perfectly passable, if not excellent Italian. Having countless interviews ahead and no time to waste, the inspector fires off his 29 questions. Name, birthdate, nationality, hometown, occupation, religion, destination. Much of this is straight biographical stuff. Then there are the questions that can get us in trouble. Are you an imbecile, an ex-convict, a prostitute, polygamist, or anarchist? With fears they'll become a public charge,

corrupt the nation's morals, or incite political violence, none of these groups are welcome. We answer a solid no across the board with these. But some people get stopped on these points. For instance, in 1904, the English anarcho-communist John Turner not only cops to his ideological position, but states his intent to evangelize it. Damn, a bold move considering it's been less than three years since an anarchist assassinated President William McKinley. John's rejected. Our inquisitor asks about finances. Do we have $25 each? Yes, and we show him our cash, demonstrating we are less likely to become a public charge. He asks about work. Do we have jobs lined up?

Most immigrants do, as do we, but we lie here and say no. Instead, we say we have good prospects. The reason for this is that immigrants with a job are seen as stealing work from American citizens. This view is pushed hard by U.S. labor organizations, and right now, having a job in advance means getting rejected. Thus, we do a delicate dance, stating we have job prospects, meaning we aren't likely to be a public charge, but we don't have work yet, so no, we aren't cheap laborers undercutting Americans. Good thing we were coached on this

before we left Italy. This question snags a few people every day. One last item remains if we're traveling after 1917, a literacy test. Congress has tried to add this to the examination process since the late 19th century, and every president has vetoed it. But in 1917, that august body has the

support to override President Woodrow Wilson. As such, the officer now slides a sheet of paper our way with something written in Italian. Good thing we're literate. This will get one to two thousand immigrants sent back every year. And that's it. It's all over. Assuming we had the right answers in this final, minutes-long interview, or the inspector let us slide on something small, as does happen, we've made it. If we didn't hit any snags, this process took an average of three to five hours. We grab any bags we have with us and continue on to the stairs leading back to the ground floor. These are known as the stairs of separation because they split three ways. Those on the left lead to ferry boats heading to New York City. Those on the right go to ferry boats connecting

to train stations. And the center path lead to detention centers for those who failed examinations, as well as a waiting room for women and children traveling without an adult male. They can't leave until a male friend or family member picks them up. But what happens next? Well, I guess that's up to you. I mean, that's why you came here, right? For the freedom to make choices. Welcome to the United States of America. Like I said before we left Italy,

the immigration process you and I just went through is a composite. Some of the details of where and when certain things happen change over the years. Health inspections might begin on the first floor. Different diseases might get more focused and so on. But overall, we just took a very real look into the Ellis Island experience up to and shortly after World War I. Immigration through Ellis Island significantly slows after that, though. The Great War stirs anti-immigrant sentiment. Meanwhile, many Americans of the era fear that the Southern and Eastern European peoples so heavily represented among the past 30 years' 18

million immigrants are not assimilating. Thus, in 1921, the Emergency Quota Act imposes a numerical limit on the number of immigrants permitted to enter the U.S. per year. Nations around the world are capped at 3% of whatever their share of the U.S. population was on the 1910 census. Congress doubles down on this in 1924 with another immigration act that cuts the 3% figure to 2% and dials the national quota back to the 1890 census. This law all but ends immigration from outside Europe. Thus it is that, in April of 1924, a New York Times headline proclaims, America of the Melting Pot comes to end.

This quota system will endure for decades to come. Ellis Island soon becomes a ghost town. By the 1930s, its primary role becomes detention and, somewhat ironically, deportation. During World War II, it serves as a detention center for many prisoners of war. It resumes its pre-war duties when peace comes, but in 1954, Ellis Island releases its last detainee, Norwegian merchant seaman Arne Pedersen,

then closes its doors, never to reopen for government purposes again. In its next life, Ellis Island will be a museum. So what do we make of Ellis Island? I think it's a special place. During its 62 years of operation, Ellis Island welcomed an astounding 12 million immigrants. 12 million who sacrificed, suffered, and in some cases risked it all to join, if I may bring back Thomas Paine's words, this American brotherhood. 12 million who wished, if I may also

remind us of the historian Rudolf Vicoly's expression, not to have their nationality defined by their descent, but by their ascent. And an assent to what? Here, I'll quote historian Tyler Anbinder once more. Quote, for nearly all of them, the term liberty perfectly encapsulated the reasons they had come to America. Liberty from hunger, liberty from fear, liberty from violence, liberty to pursue any occupation, liberty to live where they chose, and political liberty. These were the motives that had driven this extraordinary mass of humanity to the United States. Close quote. And by thus assenting, those 12 million became the ancestors of 40% of 21st century Americans.

To put that another way, if you're an American and this doesn't include your family, it still probably includes the family of someone you care deeply about. But without minimizing the absolute beauty of these ideals, nor the United States' success at fulfilling them to such an extent that so many would flock to its shores. Many who wish to ascent to the American experiment are still left out, sometimes despite being citizens. So next time, we'll follow one such group and bear witness as the American Brotherhood becomes a bit more of a siblinghood.

That's right, next time we'll hear the story of a fight for a constitutional amendment guaranteeing women's suffrage. HTDS is supported by premium membership fans. You can join by clicking the link in the episode description. I gratitude you kind souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. And a special thanks to our members, whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. Andy Thompson, Anthony Pizzulo, Art Lane, Beth Chris Jansen, Bob Drazovic, Thank you.