Reluctant Welcome : They stepped off the boat onto Ellis Island, to hostile glares, discrimination and blame. In 100 years, not much has changed.

When it comes to immigrants, the mood is getting ugly.

Jobs are scarce and as the U.S. economy sputters, people accuse foreigners of stealing paychecks from Americans. One huge labor union poster says it all:

“Restrict All Immigration. Protect Yourself And Your Children Against Ruinous Labor And Business Competition Through Unrestricted Immigration.”

Millions talk wistfully about the good old days, when immigrants seemed less exotic, more respectful and truly eager to learn the English language. Anger is heating to a fever pitch in California, where citizens groups are lobbying for a crackdown on further immigration.

Meanwhile, politicians vow to seal U.S. borders and halt the flood of newcomers. The backlash boils into the press, where cartoons and commentaries inflame passions.

“Spoiling the Broth!” says a Los Angeles Times cartoon, ridiculing the “teeming millions” pouring into the American melting pot, as Uncle Sam looks on helplessly. “The U.S. Hotel Badly Needs a Bouncer!” shouts another newspaper’s broadside.

Immigration 1993?

Try 1885 through 1921, a time when newcomers bore the hostility of a nation’s economic turmoil--just like today. The Statue of Liberty may welcome the wretched refuse of someone else’s teeming shore, but Americans have traditionally given newcomers the cold shoulder when times get tough, blaming them for everything from rising crime to declining morals.

“That’s the downside of our great national self-image,” says David Riemers, a New York University history professor and immigration expert. “We love to get misty-eyed about our open-door policies. But we’re also pretty nasty to newcomers when it suits our needs.”

Few places reflect this recurring American contradiction better than Ellis Island, the historic gateway for 12 million U.S. immigrants from 1892 to 1954.

The former munitions depot in New York harbor was once the nation’s main port of entry, and a symbol of welcome rivaling the Statue of Liberty. Over the years, it has exerted a powerful grip on America’s conscience, exemplifying a spirit of generosity and tolerance.

Yet that rosy picture has long been tempered by hard political realities. Those who came through Ellis Island battled prejudice, and today’s anger over immigration echoes their struggles.

It’s been a family fight: Nearly 100 million people--or about 40% of the nation’s population--can trace their lineage to the Ellis Island pioneers. Russians. Italians. Irish. West Indians. Poles. Scandinavians. All braved rough seas, rotten food and cramped steerage compartments of aging steamships to reach America and start over. Once they did, some never let them forget they were different.

“With immigration, everything runs in cycles,” says Marian Casey, an author who is writing a history of the Irish in New York City. “The same fights recur over and over, and it really doesn’t matter which group you’re talking about. It’s always been push and pull.”

To be sure, there are differences: Those who came through Ellis Island were carefully monitored, given medical checkups and turned away if they failed to meet federal standards. Many quickly learned English, blended in and found work. Few sought public assistance. But that didn’t spare them the ridicule of their new neighbors, who gawked as they walked down the gangplanks.

Boat people still come to Ellis Island--but only as tourists. After years of neglect, the old complex re-opened in 1990 as a Museum of Immigration. It’s uplifting, yet paradoxical: While exhibits promote diversity, they clash with the current mood of immigrant-bashing. Indeed, some experts say the island’s feel-good glow may be outdated.

“How do you square the images of this place with the reality of immigration issues today?” asks Thomas Kessner, an author and history professor at City University of New York. “Lots of folks say we have to shut the door now. Others disagree pretty strongly.”

The debate has flared for more than 100 years, and it continues on a recent morning as a ferry leaves Manhattan and chugs toward Ellis Island. Once again, a ship of strangers sails past the Statue of Liberty and deposits them in front of the old way station. Their views on immigration are as varied as the countries from which their ancestors first came.

“There it is! My god, there it is!” exclaims Nancy Lieggi, as the quiet brick fortress of Ellis Island rises out of an early-morning mist. “I’ve waited forever to see this place!”

Lieggi, a Spanish teacher at Chatsworth High School in Canoga Park, grabs a companion’s elbow and excitedly points out the island. She gestures at the Statue of Liberty. Soon, curious onlookers gather as she retraces an epic immigrant journey.

“My grandfather came from Southern Italy to Ellis Island, and that’s how our family made it to America in the first place,” Lieggi says, bursting with pride. “Now I’m walking the same route he did. The only thing missing is that I should be wearing a babushka !”

A small, bubbly woman in her 40s, Lieggi adjusts her hair in the absence of the Russian kerchief she’s described and she grows impatient. There’s no time to wait, she tells her slower companions, dragging them up the stairs into the museum. They can eat lunch later.

“I wish everybody could come to Ellis Island, because Americans tend to forget that we were all strangers here at one point,” Lieggi says. “There’s a lot of anger toward immigrants in California these days. But I think a lot of that stems from a lack of respect.”

Jobs are a key issue, she concedes, because people are afraid of losing out to Central Americans or Asians: “But we’re the lucky ones. We’re here. And so maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to shut the door. If we had, would my grandfather have ever made it to America?”

Back on the boat, others are less upbeat. Gary Bresson, a salesman in his 50s from Florida, notes proudly that his Russian-Jewish grandparents came through Ellis Island around 1900. They had to fight for everything, he says. Today’s immigrants pose different problems.

“There’s a mean spirit in America today over these people,” Bresson suggests. “And part of it is that we’ve got to control our borders and enforce our laws. We can’t be a sponge anymore and absorb everybody. Frankly, I don’t know if America has room for any more people.”

Across the deck, Cindalea Edwards nods approvingly. She lives in Oregon but grew up in Glendale, and she’s familiar with California’s concerns over illegal immigrants. She’s also heard about Gov. Pete Wilson’s plans to deny health and education benefits to illegals.

“No question, we have to reduce the number of people flooding into California. It’s out of control,” Edwards notes. “But the anger these days seems greater than I remember. It’s almost as if people were at the breaking point.”

As a companion smiles in agreement, Edwards suddenly looks guilty and shakes her head.

“What I just said sounds kind of rough, and I guess it is,” she confesses. “I don’t know how you’d seal off the Mexican border, or if that’s even what we want to do. When I think of this island, I’m reminded that we’re supposed to be better people than that.”

Are we? For those unsure, the museum offers an eye-opening course in U.S. racial and ethnic history. It hits them in the face the minute they enter the building.

Of those immigrants who came to the Americas, for example, nearly 6 million were African slaves, according to one exhibit. The conquering white men also stirred up trouble for their hosts: Native Americans declined from 5 million in 1500 to fewer than 250,000 in 1900.

Asians surpassed Spanish-speaking people in the 1980s as the largest group coming to the U.S., according to a chart. More than 5 million immigrants came from 1980 to ‘90, a huge total compared to earlier years. Seven million will immigrate between 1990 and 2000, not counting those here illegally. Currently, the U.S. admits about 800,000 immigrants legally each year.

“How can we permit this?” asks Jake Reinhold, a New Jersey trucker who has taken the day off to visit Ellis Island with his family. “Look at these figures about the Mexicans. I got the solution. I really do. Just put ‘em back on the boat, baby. Outta here.”

Reinhold’s sentiments are provocative, even outrageous. They’re also nothing new in the American experience. All he has to do is wander upstairs to the exhibit on immigration’s history, and he’ll find a roomful of kindred spirits from the 19th and 20th centuries.

To get there, he’ll have to make his way past exhibits where visitors mass in front of computerized television screens and trace their own families’ immigrant paths. He’ll have to fight his way by uplifting stories of courage and grit, and the Wall of Honor, which proudly lists the names of some of the people who made the long journey to America. For the most part, Ellis Island tells an upbeat tale.

But Reinhold won’t have any trouble finding the darker side.

America absorbed more than 24 million immigrants at Ellis Island and other ports from 1880 to 1924, a staggering number compared to previous decades. The numbers swelled even as the U.S. economy bogged down in an 1893 recession, throwing thousands out of work. By 1910, 75% of the residents of New York, Boston and Chicago were immigrants or children of immigrants. Many Americans were not pleased.

Ellis Island highlights that hostility, and parallels with today’s climate are sobering. The 1885 labor poster calling for Americans to “Restrict All Immigration . . . “ takes an entire wall, and an adjoining room features the militant lyrics of a 1923 song:

O Close the Gates of our nation, lock them firm and strong

Before this mob from Europe shall drag our color down

There are Places here already, our flag is forbidden to wave

O! Close the gates of our nation, our liberty to save.

As visitors filter through the room, some shake their heads with disgust.

“It’s amazing that people were so worried about Europeans,” says Evelyn Baker, an elderly Bay Area tourist. “They turned out to be good Americans. They had a right to be here.”

Baker moves on and groans at the 1923 photo of a Hollywood homeowner on her porch, with a banner reading: “Japs keep moving. This is a White Man’s neighborhood.” It was all part of a “Swat the Jap” campaign that swept California long before World War II, and a companion pamphlet read: “We don’t want you with us, so get busy, Japs, and get out of Hollywood.”

Baker looks appalled. Then she changes her tune. California has too many people now, she says flatly. And the latest arrivals are, well, different.

“I never thought I’d be in favor of clamping down on immigration, but I am,” she says. “In California right now they’re walking across the border. And look at these gang members. Their parents just don’t care what the children do. We have to control our borders.”

It’s an old refrain.

In 1882, Congress banned Chinese, along with “any convict, lunatic, idiot or any person unable to take care of himself without becoming a public charge.” In 1903, the regulations expanded to exclude epileptics, professional beggars and anarchists.

Americans have long supported the idea of immigration. They only have trouble with the latest newcomers, whomever they happen to be. Like the Irish, who arrived in droves after 1840.

“The Irish were considered not merely foreigners, but an unassimilable group,” historian Thomas Sowell wrote in “Ethnic America.” “In an argument destined to be repeated about many groups, it was claimed that, although earlier immigrants could be absorbed into the mainstream of American life, the peculiar characteristics of this group made that impossible.”

Unless, of course, there was work to be done. Just ask the businessmen who have made a fortune off immigrants. One of the museum’s most vivid posters is an 1885 ad for the Central Pacific Railroad: “California: Cornucopia of the World. Room for Millions of Immigrants! Railroad and private land for a million farmers. A climate for health and wealth!”

San Francisco boosters sent out a call for immigrant laborers to help rebuild the city after the 1906 earthquake. The Brooklyn Bridge could never have been finished without thousands of construction workers from Italy and other countries. Yet even these immigrant achievements weren’t enough to assuage those who felt threatened by newcomers.

The real crackdown began in 1921, when lawmakers cut the annual immigration ceiling to 350,000 and quotas limited arrivals from “problem regions” like southern and eastern Europe. In 1924, the ceiling was again lowered, to 150,000. Those limits remained in effect until 1965, when Congress opened the doors to millions of new arrivals. A 1986 law had a similar impact, granting amnesty to millions who had been living illegally in the United States. By 1990, Congress had repealed earlier laws excluding various types of people or entire ethnic groups.

“We have a see-saw pattern in America when it comes to immigration, and people don’t remember that,” says Ed O’Donnell, a tour director leading a group of teachers through the Ellis Island museum. “We say that immigrants made us strong, but we give them a rough time.”

As he speaks, O’Donnell guides his group past an exhibit of Tin Pan Alley sheet music from the early 1900s that ridiculed immigrants and mocked their old-world customs. The titles would be considered racist today, but they once entertained millions: “I’m Going Back to the Land of Spaghetti,” “In Blinky Winky Chinky Chinatown,” and “Yonkle the Cowboy Jew.”

His biggest job, O’Donnell says, is reminding people to keep an open mind.

That’s easier said than done.

As the group files past the music exhibit, one teacher speaks for her colleagues when she asks about a solution: Do we just let everyone into this country?

“We need to find common ground,” O’Donnell suggests. “You have people who want to seal off the Mexican border with troops, and that’s not going to happen. But maybe we should expect that newcomers will learn our language, and that our immigration laws will be enforced.”

By mid-afternoon, most boat people have had their fill of Ellis Island and they slowly crowd back onto the Manhattan-bound ferry.

“I recently had some tourists say that the problem with today’s immigrants is that they’re so bizarre and unpredictable,” says O’Donnell, watching the large hall empty. “And I remind them there was nothing stranger to an American in 1906 than the sight of an Orthodox Jew walking down the street. Or an Irish Catholic in 1840.”

The ferry sounds a final warning and pushes off toward the Statue of Liberty. Just like they did 100 years ago, people gather their belongings and get ready for the journey.

“You have to give folks a history lesson from time to time,” O’Donnell shrugs. “I tell them that we all looked strange when we first got off the boat.”

* MULBERRY STREET: In the nation’s largest city, no street better reflects the varied waves of immigrants than Mulberry. E4