carved-stone and red-brick building. At the entrance, the men were separated from the women and children, and all were grouped into long lines.
Government doctors quickly screened the new arrivals for diseases, passing along those deemed healthy or shaking their heads in rejection when they detected tuberculosis or a severe defect. They sent those not accepted to special holding areas, more like cages, condemned to a return voyage to whatever land they had left.
Then the final line, the ultimate evaluation for the “Non-English.”
“Hey, Mike, what do I do with these two dagos?”
The older man turned and saw the two standing there: short, rough-clothed, worn high-top leather shoes, tired.
Children! God help them, just kids.
“Send them over, Tim.”
He knew that his partner was always a little too eager to stamp the fatal word UNSUITABLE across the papers of the incoming, but there was something in this couple’s eyes, a spirit he rarely saw among the tired line of people.
He looked at the boy. Strong, determined, fix-jawed. This one could succeed. The girl holding onto the boy—there was hidden strength there, too.
“What are your names? Do you understand me?”
He hoped they did. It would make his decision much easier, and then he smiled inside as he heard the strongly accented English.
“My name Antonio Gallini.”
The man turned to Anna, but Antonio spoke up before he could question her.
“My wife, Anna Abrescia Gallini.”
It was a small lie.
The inspector looked at them.
Married? Right—and I’m Charlie Chaplin.
“Okay, son, here’s a list of what you need to do. Keep it with you. You look strong. I know a place that needs strong men. What do you do?”
“I am stonemason,” Antonio stammered.
He handed the boy a piece of paper.
“Take this card. There’s a metal foundry just outside the city. They can use you.”
He didn’t tell the kid he would receive a commission for sending him, but it was a damn sight better than what his partner would have done.
He offered another card—another commission.
“Here’s a cheap place to stay until you get set up. Now give me your papers.”
The inspector took them, examined them, and then pulled a fountain pen out of his breast pocket and made a change in the names.
“I’m doing you a favor, kid. In America, your name is your ticket. It’s now Galen.”
He took a big rubber stamp and marked the papers: ENTRY ALLOWED.
A few minutes later, they walked out of the teeming building and onto the ferry taking them to the place where they would begin their new life.
Dearest Mama,
Anna and I have settled in a place called Newark. It is not far from the great city of New York. I work at the iron foundry. Anna and I are still living in the boardinghouse that a nice officer told us about. As soon as we put enough money aside, we will move to a boardinghouse near work.
Tell Papa that I love him and meant him no disrespect, but Grandpapa is right. The old country is not for us anymore. How is Grandpapa?
Please tell Father Infante that his English lessons have served us well. Anna and I are studying for our citizenship and we both read the questions and recite the answers in English.
I will write again soon.
Your loving son,
Antonio
There was more, much more he wanted to write, but this was his first letter home and he wasn’t sure if it would even reach the little village. It was August 1914, and the war his grandfather had feared was beginning. Besides, he needed to check on Anna. She hadn’t been feeling well the past few mornings and could not keep down the food she ate. He did not know why. He wished he understood women better.
The postman left letters on a table in the boardinghouse foyer for the residents to sort out for themselves.
She felt a stirring within her as she descended the five flights of stairs and saw the envelope Antonio had sent away several months before sitting on the table. At first she couldn’t understand the words stamped on it: LETTER REFUSED.
Then she realized. Pietro must have seen the return address and handed the letter back to il postino, rejecting it as he had his son.
She did not carry it back up the stairs. Instead, she asked the housemistress for an envelope and piece of paper. She stuffed the first letter inside. Carefully she addressed it to Father Infante at Saint Paolo’s Church and enclosed a note asking him to give it personally to Maria Gallini.
Quickly, while her Antonio was still at work, she walked to the post office and paid the twelve cents to the man behind the window. She used the pennies she had saved from the laundry and sewing work she did for the housemistress and other boarders. She added a silent prayer to go with the letter. She wanted to hurry back. Antonio did not like her being out at all, now that he knew she was carrying their child.
When she turned to leave the building, the pain hit her and she collapsed to the floor.
“Mr. Galen, your wife is very sick. I’m afraid the baby came too soon.”
He stammered the question he wanted to scream out: “My wife, Anna, will she…?”
“No, she’ll be all right; she’s a strong woman.”
A little while later he walked out of the charity hospital that cared for the poor and the immigrants of the city.
God is punishing us. We should not have gone to City Hall for a marriage license. We should have gotten a priest’s blessing—and I should have made things right with Papa.
Why hasn’t Mama written?
She sat in the rocking chair on loan from the housemistress. It now had been several months since she had lost the baby. She continued to sew for the lady, and for other boarders who had helped out when she returned home from the hospital. She heard the knock on their door, and then the mistress called out.
“Anna, it’s me, Mrs. Flaherty. I have a letter for you.”
Her heart jumped.
“Come in, Signora Flaherty, come in.”
“Looks important. Got foreign stamps on it, like what my late husband Sean would send me when he went back to Ireland for The Cause. He never returned. Aye, but I’ve told ye that before, haven’t I? Ah me, that man.”
Tears
