Memories of 39 Years Ago of Ellis Island’s Great Hall

Sol Taylor’s letter (July 14), “Island Memory,” really touched a nerve that sent chills up and down my spine. I made photocopies of his letter and mailed them to my parents in New York and an aunt and uncle in Jersey City. I was saddened to read so much history went up in smoke on Ellis Island.

In 1947, when I was 3 years old, my parents, grandparents, an aunt and I came to this country from Krakow, Poland. Even today, some of the most vivid memories of Ellis Island are still with me, and will probably remain in my mind till the day I die.

It was a bitter cold day in winter and the island was covered with snow and the building looked like a beautiful but foreboding palace in a crystal snowball. There were thousands of people in the Great Hall and the din and the echoes of many different tongues frightened me. (I’m told I spent most of my time on Ellis Island “wet at both ends.”)

The hall was cold and drafty and I was tired and cranky from the long voyage. A young Irish nun entertained me for more than an hour while my family waited to be processed. She made a hand puppet from a woolen sock and a couple of buttons. She sang to me and let the puppet comb my hair. (I often wonder where she was going and whatever became of her.)

Dzadek (Polish for grandfather, but in baby talk, I called him DzaDza which, in English, is pronounced “JaJa”) was in his 60s and not well at all, the long trip having greatly weakened him. He was taken to a separate room with my father and grandmother in tow for a special private inquiry. They were gone for so long, and I remember my mother crying because she was sure we weren’t going to see DzaDza or the others again, or that we were all going to be sent back.

My Aunt Antonia, however, had faith stronger than the Rock of Gibraltar. Almost five hours passed, and we were all united again--it might as well have been a separation of five years for all the hugging and kissing and crying that went on! (God, I can’t believe the tears that are coming now as I write this!)

The next day we were allowed to enter (but our family name Romanciewicz was shortened to Roman because as one of the immigration officials told us: “You won’t need to see a witch after your name here!”

As happy as I am to be an American, I do have three regrets:

1--I was asleep in my father’s arms when we sailed past the Statute of Liberty, and I am fairly certain I would today have at least some dim recollection of having seen the Lady had I been awake.

2-- DzaDza passed away on Jan. 2, 1948, but he died happy to know that he and his family were finally on American soil. I just wish he could’ve lived long enough to see us all become American citizens.

3--Native-born Americans couldn’t even begin to imagine the thrill, the emotional--even spiritual --experience of coming from a war-torn country and suddenly realizing you are here, you are free, you are American! I may have been too young to appreciate it back then, but by God, this month with the Liberty Weekend celebration in the newspapers, on TV--even on stage (I speak of “A Day out of Time (Ellis Island, 1906)”, a marvelous play at the Studio Theater Playhouse in Silverlake, which I most highly recommend), we can all be proud of each other for the great contributions we have made to the great melting pot we call America!

JOSEPH ROMAN(ciewicz)

Los Angeles