Lady Liberty and the Great Hall at Ellis Island Leave a Lasting Impression

They say travel broadens ones view of the world. And just so, our recent trip to New York was much more than scary van rides and fun outings.

We decided to spend our last day on a tour of Liberty and Ellis Islands, and make a visit to Ground Zero. From Battery Park, an old fort where the ferries dock, the Statue of Liberty looks like an index finger pointing to the sky. As we came nearer, I tried to capture what it must have been like for my Grandpa Joe and Grandma Kate, uncles Frank, Joe and John, and great -grandparents Frank and Margaret, as they made their way into New York Harbor. We have this great voice recording of Frank and Joe, telling of their trip from Germany, and seeing Lady Liberty for the first time. Joe recalls how they «scrambled up to the top deck, and all the adults were crying.»

I felt a small piece of that as we cruised by the front of the island. The green copper monument was larger than expected. The French sculptor Bartholdi designed her holding a tablet with July IV, MDCCLXXVI, the torch thrust high in her right hand, her right leg striding ever so slightly into the future. I have to say I felt a lump in my throat, and it wasn’t from the pseudo-eggs Benedict concoction we’d eaten at our hotel’s free breakfast bar.

Tilting my head back at the base of the pedestal, I saw her goddess-like but benevolent face against an achingly blue sky. Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free, she seemed to say. I was humbled and thankful for my birthright.

Ellis Island had a haunting quality. The building there was eerily sterile, not that I expected the calamity of the thousands who had just spent weeks on the lower decks of a steamship. Still, standing in the Great Hall where the immigrants had snaked back and forth between wooden benches until they made their way nervously to the desks of the agents, I could almost hear the commotion. (Oh, wait. I could hear it. We’d bought the audio tour package. Duh.) Anyway. It was a moment of some significance to be in the same place my ancestors had traversed over a century ago.

Upon our return to shore, we hiked six blocks to Ground Zero. We were so disappointed to find not one hint of a memorial or place of honor. The area of the former Twin Towers is now just a block-square construction site.

However, the native New Yorkers there on the sidewalk across from it spoke volumes with their eyes.

They just stood there, somber, staring.

My ancestors braved many hardships and fears in their quest for a better life. We gazed at a place where evil men thought they could take that away from us. Everywhere in what is arguably America’s greatest city we saw the newest of immigrants working hard to prove them wrong.

So we ended our trip to New York with a flight that was an hour late, and sat on the runway for another hour. But, you know, when balanced against the hardships endured by those who came before us, it was a piece of cake.

God Bless America.

(Suburban Journal St. Louis, MO June, 2008)

Source by Tom Anselm