Old habits can be changed to new compunctions. There is no standardized method of discovering or of spiritualizing men, of holding intercourse with aliens or of receiving what they bring; but we can develop sympathy and understanding, by knowing the people as individuals, their countries, literatures, languages, arts, great national characters—in a word, their histories, even to economic conditions. Thereby do we come to an understanding of reasons for immigration of the present day and of aspirations for life here. Thus equipped mentally for further sympathetic appreciation, first hand observation of conditions will help; or if that is not possible, an imaginative putting ourselves in the immigrants' places from the time they leave their old world homes with all their worldly goods in their hands and, in spite of homesickness and fears, with courage and hope in their hearts—with them as they exist in their steerage quarters and with them when they pass through the portals and mazes of Ellis Island, in the main uncomprehendingly but always trustfully. I can not attempt here to draw the detailed picture; but if you cannot see it for yourself, Mr. Edward Steiner gives it graphically and faithfully in his "On the Trail of the Immigrant." At last, the Federal government accessions the immigrant. He is passed on, properly numbered, to be shelf-listed by states, cities and towns, coming finally to libraries and other institutions to be cataloged. It remains to us then to decide for our own work whether there shall be one entry under the word "alien" or whether his various assets shall be made available by analytical entries.
Somewhat of all this we must know to appreciate what the immigrant can contribute to life here, and to library progress, if we are wise enough to call it forth or make opportunity for its expression. It is vain to hope for the assimilation of the alien as a result of conscious benevolent effort. We too often forget that each of the hundreds of thousands is a human being! With a sense of the finest they can bring with them, we should have an increasing knowledge of how they live here, what they think and how these elements can be influenced by books and personal contact. The pressure of a congested neighborhood goads to thoughtful search for remedies.
No one will go far along these paths without realizing how avid libraries must be to reap the benefits of such diverse gifts, rather than to suffer from the dregs. We must correlate books and people as never before to attain progress.
"If we once admit the human, dynamic character of progress, then it is easy to understand why the crowded city quarters become focal points of that progress." As an earnest of what is being done in many libraries elsewhere, may I tell of our work in New York, of that only because I know it best. What has been done in one place and more, can be done in another through interest, desire and adaptation.
The necessity of having the library near the people for whom its use is intended is, of course, recognized. This is more especially true when the people are foreigners. The New York public library has forty-one branches and all that are located in districts where foreigners live have, beside English books, collections of books in languages native to the residents. By so doing we believe that we convince of our friendship those adults who do not and even those who may never read English. This is a fundamental necessity, opening up various possibilities for imparting American ideas and ideals. The less English the grown people read the more they need knowledge of true American ideas to help keep them in touch with their children, who rapidly take on ways and manners strange to their parents, many of whom are uncomprehending, reticent and often sad. We go still further. We have assistants of the nationalities represented in the neighborhood, whose special duty it is to make known to their peoples the library privileges, also to know their people individually as far as possible and, of course, the books. Right here may I say that a foreign born assistant imbued with respect for her own countrymen and with true American ideals can in her enthusiasm do more to make real citizens than many Americans. This cannot be accomplished if, as happens with so many young foreigners, their own people as we see them in this country, are held in contempt. It were pity to scorn the strong qualities they possess, these "Greenies," as they call themselves. They live daily too close to the vital facts of existence to develop self-consciousness or artificialities to any great extent. We talk of simplicity. They have it. Courage, singleness of purpose, happiness in modest circumstances and astonishing capacity for work are elements of everyday life unconsciously developed. Their wealth of imagination, fostered by their own folk-lore and early traditions, could not be more wonderfully illustrated than it has been just recently in New York. The majority of us think of New York and other large cities as vast factories with the machine-like and vicious qualities of human nature uppermost, so it is most refreshing to contemplate "Old Home Week in Greenwich Village" and the "Henry Street Pageant."
"Old Home Week" successfully recalled Greenwich Village history in a dramatic way to its residents—American, Irish and Italian—and aroused a new sense of fellowship in sharing the district's activities.
To celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the Henry Street Settlement, a pictorial representation of the history of the neighborhood from the days of the Indians to the present time was given by its residents—men, women and children—before an assemblage of spectators from all parts of the city and representative of all its activities—civic and social. The last living picture, or episode, was of all the nationalities that have lived in the last fifty years in Henry Street, once the center of Manhattan's fashionable life. The Irish, the Scotch, the Germans, the Italians and the Russians appeared. They sang the songs and danced the dances that contribute so much poetry to the life of the city, while onlookers marveled at the temperamental qualities which made it possible for foreigners to reproduce with unconscious realism historical scenes of a city and a country not their own!
Such neighborhood pageants as this and the celebration in Greenwich Village, exert a wholesome and a permanent influence in our municipal life. In both these events the libraries of the neighborhoods took part. The library aimed to show that folk-songs and folk-dances are kept alive by folk-stories. The contrast between old New York and the present time was shown by the use of historical scenes—lantern slides—and a story; in the one case reminiscent of early Dutch settlers and in the other a poetic interpreting of the spirit of service in municipal life. Those planning the pageant felt that this was a direct help in making atmosphere or in inducing an interpretive mood in participants. Festival occasions like these bind together by national ties the people and institutions of a neighborhood and are rich with possibilities for the library. To a delightful degree they broaden our understanding of the folk-spirit.
So it seems natural to have stories in the library told by foreigners in their native tongues. From time to time we have groups of Bohemians, Germans, Hungarians, Italians listening to old world traditions and tales. Knowing the original and the translation enhances the value of the story in English for narrator and listeners. Through these story hours we are reminding the foreigner of his unique contribution to life here, and are showing our respect for his best. For a simple example, our picture books and book illustration in general do not express life as vividly or realistically as Russian, Bohemian or Swedish artists do. Having some of these in our juvenile collections has been a distinct contribution to establishing sympathetic relations with foreigners.
Yes, it is true that the Italian laborer loves Dante and Italian classics. It is relatively true of other nationalities. If we take for granted that we should know and libraries should have, French and German standard writers—and this largely because their literature is older, more translated or their languages better known—may we not also take for granted that literary history is still in the making? Should we not bestir ourselves to know latter-day masterpieces, if such there be, and the older literature which has helped mould or inspire writers of them, in Swedish, Finnish, Bohemian, Polish, Hungarian or any other language spoken by the people surrounding us? Perhaps the need of realizing what these literary contributions may mean can be emphasized by the fact that in one week, June 2 to June 9, 1913, thirty thousand souls, nearly five thousand daily, passed the man at the Eastern gateway. Eighty per cent or thereabouts are going beyond New York City these days.