No certificate is given to the alien at the time of his arrival, even if he is properly registered; nothing of the sort is required of him anywhere; he does not have to show it when he makes his declaration of intention to become a citizen, nor at any other time or for any other purpose—until after he has been here at least five years and comes to the point of filing his petition for final naturalization. Then he must have it—unless he arrived before June 29th, 1906; in that event it is not required of him.
He is not to go for it to the Immigration Service. He must get it in the most roundabout fashion. He must address a written application, through the clerk of the court in which his petition for naturalization is to be filed, to the Commissioner of Naturalization, who in turn requests it of the Immigration Service. The Immigration Service, if it can find the original entry (and sometimes—quite frequently in fact—it cannot), sends the certificate to the Commissioner of Naturalization, who sends it to the clerk of the court, at the same time notifying the alien that now he may proceed to file his petition.
But what if the arrival entry cannot be found? What if the alien cannot remember the name of the vessel, or other important facts relating to his entry, and thus give the necessary clews for the search? What if it was his misfortune to arrive at a port after the law took effect and before the registry system was in operation? Both the Immigration and the Naturalization Service take a good deal of pains to care for such situations; but frequently without success. All this involves delay, not only vexatious and discouraging, but likely to prove fatal in the case of an alien whose declaration is at the edge of expiration. Not infrequently an application for certificate of arrival is bandied back and forth between the two Bureaus for months.
There was a case in 1919 in which the alien described himself as having arrived on a certain date and vessel at New York; the immigration records showed no such arrival, and, what was worse, no such vessel entering New York at that time. After long delay it turned out that the alien did arrive on that date and vessel, but at Boston, whence, upon admission, he came by a domestic coastwise vessel from Boston to New York. Many other cases are by no means so simple.
A petition accepted for filing without the requisite certificate of arrival is regarded as incomplete, and may not be completed subsequently by attachment of the certificate, but must be marked “spoiled”; the four dollars paid as fee may be returned to the petitioner by the clerk, or can be applied to the filing of a new and sufficient petition. It has been the practice of the Bureau of Naturalization, after it appears impossible to find record of the applicant’s admission to the country, to refer him to the nearest immigration inspector for what is known as a nunc pro tunc inspection, for the purpose of satisfying the inspector that the alien should not be deported as “unlawfully present.” If the inspector is satisfied, he issues what is known as a “provisional certificate of arrival,” whose acceptance as sufficient for purposes of naturalization is subject to the discretion of the court. This would appear a reasonable way out; but in the case of petitioners living a very long distance from the office of an immigration inspector, it involves an extra, and perhaps prohibitively expensive, journey to the distant city for that purpose alone, and this difficulty has in fact been to some extent relieved by permission to handle such cases by correspondence and affidavits.
THE VEXATIOUS QUESTION OF NAMES
Another obstruction goes to the question of our treatment of the foreign-born laborer in industry—especially if he bear what we choose to regard as a “queer” name, difficult for us to spell or pronounce. The courts have, properly, no doubt, no patience with assumed names—particularly in a case where the alien cannot remember the name under which he entered the country. But it is a very common practice, in concerns employing a large number of immigrants, for the minor officials of the company, superintendents and foremen, to attach a name to a job, and insist upon calling the man who occupies it, “Mike Murphy,” or what not else, because that was the name of the first incumbent, and it is easier to pronounce than “Bahaoud,” “Behrensmayer,” or “Przybylski.” This, and the even more common practice of calling a man by a number, rather than a name, results in a vast deal of confusion, in a substantial discouragement of self-respect, and in the ultimate establishment of the neighborhood identity of a polysyllabic Greek or Armenian, perhaps, with a fine old Irish name. This will not do in the naturalization court. The petitioner must come in under at least the same name that he bore when he entered the country, and there must be no suspicion as to its not being his own.
But he does not have to keep that name. It is prescribed as lawful for the court in its discretion, “at the time and as a part of the naturalization of any aliens, ... upon the petition of such alien, to make a decree changing the name of said alien.” The fact of which the court must be convinced is that the petitioner is not attempting to conceal his real identity for the purpose of escaping payment of just debts or punishment for crime. Many aliens do thus change their names, and there have been cases in which the judge virtually compelled them to do so.
A naturalization judge said to the writer:
I have heard of a high-handed old judge, somewhere in the Northwest, who was in the habit of “suggesting” to every alien who came before him with a complicated mouthful of name that he change it to “Abraham Lincoln,” “Benjamin Franklin,” “George Washington,” or “Grover Cleveland.” No doubt you could find many a Pole or Swede naturalized as “Thomas Jefferson” or “Alexander Hamilton,” whose father, living in the same town, was known as “Konrad Kowalewski,” or “Ole Johanssen.”