On the Trail of the Immigrant

by Edward Alfred Steiner

One of the group which I had gathered around me was on his way to Palestine where his parents now live. His home is in a little Illinois town not far from Chicago. He began his career like many of his kind, by peddling. Now he owns a department store and allows himself the luxury of this long and expensive journey. He is leniently orthodox in his faith, has come close enough to his Gentile neighbours to have a glimpse of Christianity at its best, and has been completely permeated by the American spirit. His daughter is a high school graduate, plays the piano, gives receptions, dabbles in art, takes part in the Methodist Church fairs and on occasions sings in the church choir.

Such a close touch with American life was not vouchsafed to another Russian Jew in that group. He had lived in New York and had also gone through the long tutelage of hard bargaining and hard times. He too was going to Europe; but he went to buy diamonds, not to visit his relatives, and neither his past experience nor his vision was tinged by any idealism. He was money from the toes up, and in each pocket he carried some trinket, from fountain pens to diamond pins, which could be bought at a bargain.

The Hungarian Jews from “Little Hungary” had progressed most rapidly in becoming Americanized. They played poker from morning until night, could bluff with the true American “sang froid,” and swear at their ill luck; but that they had kept their Jewish shrewdness was shown by their leaving the game when the tide of luck was at its height. When they did not play poker they talked about the game of politics as played in New York, and they knew its ins and outs thoroughly. The higher and better note struck by Roosevelt and Jerome they had grasped in but a vague way; and that a man could be honest in politics was strange news to them, nor did they believe that President Roosevelt’s activities were without regard to his own profit in the game.

“Little Hungary” has been a bad political school and one need not be over apprehensive if he regards this poor political tutelage as one of the greatest problems connected with the influx of foreigners into our large cities. In speech and names these Hungarian Jews were almost completely metamorphosed, and their patriotism knew no bounds. On a certain day one of them dug out of the depths of his trunk a dozen or more American flags, with which he wanted us to parade up and down the ship to the notes of a patriotic air. Upon our refusal to do so he grew angry, saying: “Nice Americans you fas.”

In contrast to the steerage, the women in the second cabin appeared to have changed most, and among the younger women, the transformation seemed complete. I doubt that their clothing lacked the latest fashionable wrinkle; their physique had lost its robustness and they had gained in self-possession. I have noticed a very important difference in the behaviour of the second class coming from America and going there. The young women who go to America are more or less molested by the men, their language and behaviour one to the other is not always correct, and even the American girls have lost something of their dignity and reserve; but going to Europe the greatest propriety is observed, and although the young people have a good time together, the young women know how to take care of themselves, the men know better than to be obtrusively attentive, and if they try, they receive a rebuff from which they do not lightly recover.

The second cabin goes back richer not only in worldly goods but in conscious manhood and womanhood, in loftiness of ideals and above all else, pathetically grateful to the country which gave these gifts.

“I owe everything to America,” “I would give everything I own to America,” “It is God’s country,” are phrases from which I could not disentangle myself, so fervent and frequent were they. Some of these people have still a richer inheritance in the consciousness of having had a share in building up the country in which they have lived. Among these was a Jewish gentleman, Mr. K., who had in his possession letters from Christian people in his county, commending him to their friends abroad, praising his public spirit, his generosity towards the people of all faiths, and his uprightness in business. He was proud of the fact that he had voted for William McKinley when he ran for prosecuting attorney of his county, and that he had voted for him every time he ran for office. It is true that Mr. K. belonged to that class of Jews which came from Southern Germany and which is the best Jewish product that Europe has sent us; but his is not an isolated case, and nearly every county in America has produced such specimens coming from widely different portions of Europe.

But few Italians travel in the cabin; there were half a dozen who had reached that degree of prosperity, and they came from the South, had been engaged in the cotton business and were indulging in an European trip, while the product of their plantations was daily increasing in price. They were genteel, and quiet, and so well dressed and well groomed, that it came as a surprise to most of the passengers to find that they were Italians, and that they had risen from the “Dago” class. On them America has performed the miracle of transformation, in spite of its sordid instincts and its materialistic atmosphere; a miracle which art-filled Italy could not perform, a task before which both sculptor and painter are powerless.

The Slavs of the first generation who were in the second cabin, were nearly all saloon-keepers with their families; and although the change wrought upon them was great, their business obtruded, and they were not pleasant companions. They had retained the reticence of their race, spoke only when spoken to, were suspicious of one’s approach, but warmed to one after a while Their horizon had remained bounded by the mining camps in which their saloons were located; even those from Pittsburg, and they were not a few, had not looked deep into our American life.

That the Pole and Slovak will be hard to change, and that they present somewhat tough material, not easily assimilated, often forces itself upon me; yet when I see their children, that second generation, born in America, I can see no difference between the Slav and the German. One of the most beautiful girls on board of ship, one of the most refined in her attire and behaviour, was a Bohemian girl born in Chicago. Although she spoke the language of her people, she spoke English better, associated with the American girls on board of ship, and it would have taken a keen student of racial stock to discover her Bohemian origin. She is not an isolated figure nor an exception. On nearly every journey I have taken I have found her type, and I recall with especial pleasure and satisfaction the companionship of two Bohemian school teachers from Cleveland, Ohio, both of them born in Bohemia, but having grown to womanhood on the shores of Lake Erie. While they showed in their faces the Slavic strain, they were thoroughly Americanized and must have been a blessing to the children whom they taught.