Welcome to America

Like most Americans, I am the descendant of immigrants. In 1936, my grandmother, Jean Rizzi, boarded a towering ship bound for America. At 8 years old, she didn’t understand why she was leaving her home near Naples, Italy. But she knew that her father was waiting for her and the rest of her family on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. She clutched her mother’s hand and took her first steps toward a new life. 

My great-grandfather had already immigrated to New York City. Like countless others, he came hoping to find prosperity for himself and his family. He got a job working at a construction company. Once he had saved enough money, he sent for his wife and three kids to join him. My grandmother didn’t know what to expect. She had grown up on a small farm and had never traveled very far from home.

“I was nervous,” she told me years later. “But I was also excited about getting to see my new home in the big city.”

For nearly two weeks, they were at sea with no land in sight. They packed into one tiny room on one of the ship’s lower decks.

“I couldn’t wait to get off that boat,” my grandmother recalled.

On December 3, 1936, the ship sailed past the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. My grandmother thought the journey was over. For passengers who could afford first- and second-class tickets, it was. After a short medical exam, they were free to enter New York City. But the poorer third-class passengers, like my family, were ferried to Ellis Island.

The U.S. immigration station there opened in 1892. Ellis Island became known as the gateway to America. More than 12 million immigrants, mostly from Europe, passed through its doors. About 98 percent of them were admitted into the U.S. 

The immigration station on Ellis Island closed in 1954. The island is now a national monument, and the building where my grandmother waited in line is a museum. Millions visit each year to trace their family history. To immigrants like my grandmother, the island has always been a symbol of freedom and the American dream.

“To us, Ellis Island meant we had made it to America, our new home,” she told me.