Shocking words! Especially when you discover that they were applied to your mother’s family. Yet these were the words I saw on the document before me that I had just chanced upon while searching for something else.
I had long ago gathered ship passenger records of my mother and her family, the Nachmanoviches, who arrived in Philadelphia in 1907, and of my Nachmanovich grandfather’s brother’s family, who had arrived in Philadelphia earlier in 1891 and settled in Boston. The brother’s family name upon entry, however, was inexplicably Greenberg, rather than Nachmanovich. They had lived for a while in South America, and Kasriel Nachmanovich had somehow evolved into Carlos Greenberg.
While researching the family history, I had looked up the Greenbergs in the Boston city directories and found them listed in 1892. In 1893, however, the directory stated that they had “removed to Brazil.” They reappeared in the Boston city directories a few years later. I was never able to find their ship passage to and from Brazil at the U.S. National Archives, but I was always curious about it. Family lore held that one of my grandfather’s brothers had gone to South America. I wondered if that was Carlos or if there was still another, unknown brother I might be able to trace.
In September 2006, after the Boston Passenger Lists were posted on <Ancestry.com>, I searched for Carlos Greenberg, hoping I could find those voyages from Boston to South America and back. I found nothing for Carlos, but thinking he might have come in with an alternate first name (Karl or Kasriel), I decided to search for one of his sons’ names—Michael/Michel. Sure enough, I found a Michel Greenberg, and, because it stated that his nearest relative was Carlos Greenberg, it appeared I had found the right record. Upon closer scrutiny, however, the record stated that Carlos Greenberg was his uncle.
I then clicked on the image of the 1904 passenger manifest and saw a whole family of Greenbergs. The first person listed was Ida, then several children, including a Michel. I was very excited, thinking that perhaps I had found the family of the third Nachmanovich brother. But the father’s name at the bottom of the list was Joseph. That was odd. My grandfather’s name was Joseph, and, as a matter of fact, my grandmother’s name was Ida. The children listed for this family were Atte, Minde, Gitel, Michel, and Leah. This was, without a doubt, my mother’s family (although her name was Etta, not Atte). Thus, it appeared that they had arrived in Boston in 1904 under the name of Greenberg, as relatives of Carlos Greenberg, who had paid for their passage. I was taken aback by what I saw to the right of their names: “Deported, same ship, L.P.C.” (likely to become a public charge).
When I came to Boston in 1950 to attend Wellesley College, my mother and I arrived a few days early and stayed with her cousin, Hannah Greenberg Cone. During the visit, I once overheard Hannah say something to my mother about the family being sent back and how great it was that my grandfather had been allowed back in. When I entered the room, my mother hushed Hannah and quickly changed the subject. I never thought to question my mother afterward.
I became interested in genealogy long after my mother had died, so I contented myself with asking some cousins if they had heard the story to which Hannah had alluded. One cousin said he had, but that his mother told him the whole ship was sent back because of some fear of disease or something. Stories abound about people being sent back for eye diseases, so I thought perhaps that was the reason. I searched for records at the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) in Washington, DC, for ship detainees and boards of inquiry but found nothing. I resigned myself to the fact that I would never know the real story. Then this 1904 record popped up on my screen.
I had just written an article for our Boston genealogical society newsletter on a talk given by Marian Smith, senior historian at the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, and had been in e-mail contact with Smith about the article. When I came upon this startling discovery, I sent an e-mail to her to ask where I might find further information.
Smith answered immediately. She said that I was very lucky; she had found that an appeal file was held at NARA and that I might be able to obtain the contents of the file, if it still existed. Smith instructed me to write, giving all the information I had, to: National Archives, Civil Reference, 7th & Pennsylvania Ave, NW, Washington, DC 20408. ATTN: RG 85—or, alternatively, via e-mail at <www. archives.gov/contact/inquire-form.html>.
I wrote immediately to the suggested NARA address with all the information about the name of the ship, the date of arrival, the names of passengers, and so forth. I even enclosed the jpg image of the ship manifest.
A few weeks later, I received an e-mail (I had included my e-mail address) with instructions on how to fill out a form and order the file, paying either by check or credit card. The minimum mail order amount was $10.00. Within a couple of weeks, a packet arrived from the National Archives Trust Fund containing a file of 14 pages.
The Greenberg (Nachmanovich) family had arrived at the port of Boston on December 14, 1904, on the S.S. Cymric of the White Star Line. Although they had $20 on arrival, more than some of the others who were allowed to disembark, they were debarred and questioned by a Board of Special Inquiry. A typewritten transcript of interviews with my grandfather, under the name of Joseph Greenberg (with an interpreter), and, then with his brother, Carlos Greenberg (who had come to greet him and who it was said spoke good English), were included in the packet.
Joseph was questioned as to who had paid his passage (his brother), how long he had stayed in London en route from Russia (three months), why he had stayed there so long (he was told that with his ticket, he would have to wait for the next ship). He was also asked if he had worked while in London (no) and if he had asked the Jewish Board of Guardians for any help (yes, and they had given him three pounds sterling).
Carlos was then asked his occupation (poultry business), how long he had been in America (16 years), how many children he had (seven, two of whom were independent but did not contribute to the family), whether he had paid the passage for his brother (yes), had he rented him rooms and furnished them (yes), did he have money in the bank (no), and what would his brother do in America (join him in business). According to the NARA file, after these interviews, the Board of Inquiry voted to refuse entrance to Joseph and family, as they were declared likely to become a public charge.
They were, however, notified that they had the right to appeal. In the appeal, a Boston lawyer retained by Carlos argued that the only reason the family was judged likely to become a public charge was because, while in London, they received a small amount of money from the Board of Guardians. They did so only because they were erroneously told that they would have to stay in London a long time. The lawyer argued that this assistance did not prove that Joseph Greenberg would not be able to support his family once in America.
A five-page letter from Hannah Greenberg (daughter of Carlos), then age 16, written in beautiful handwriting on Girls High School stationery, pleaded for the admittance of her uncle and his family. She argued that he had had enough money even without the money from the Board of Guardians, but that he feared having to stay in London a long time. She said that her older brother and sister were earning good money, and together with what the father earned, they could easily help the uncle’s family. She claimed that they could furnish bonds for $30,000 and, in addition, there were two cousins in Fall River who were well off and could help.
In a rebuttal document, Commissioner George Billings of the Department of Commerce and Labor in Boston argued that these were “assisted immigrants,” partly by the brother, partly by the Board of Guardians in London. He claimed that one of the classes specifically excluded from admission to the United States by the Act of March 3, 1903, was “paupers.” The commissioner claimed that these people (my grandfather and family) had “pauperized” themselves by going to a charitable organization in London for help. Therefore, being “assisted immigrants,” they should be denied admittance and deported to the country from which they came. On December 19, 1904, the Greenberg appeal was dismissed, and my mother’s family was sent back on the same ship to Liverpool.
Reading this file made me feel so sad for my mother and her family. Can you imagine leaving your home in Russia at age 28 (my grandmother) or even at age 35 (my grandfather), traveling with five small children all across Europe to England, boarding a ship and traveling two weeks across the Atlantic, steerage class, and just dying to reach the shores of America with a hope for a new life? And what happened? They are refused entrance and sent back. Can you imagine how my grandparents must have felt? Can you imagine how Carlos, my grandfather’s brother in Boston, must have felt? He had saved for months, maybe years, to bring his brother and family to America. He had even rented an apartment for them and bought furniture. Carlos was not a rich man, and all his efforts and sacrifices turned out to be in vain. How terribly painful! No wonder my mother never wanted to talk about it.
I was appalled to read how arbitrary the authorities had been. A more sympathetic immigration officer would not have barred them for a technicality, but would have allowed them to stay, since they were young and able to work and had relatives here who were willing to help them.
Fortunately for my mother’s family, they did not give up easily. Joseph managed to get back into the U.S. in 1906 (I have never found out how) and brought the rest of the family over in 1907, by then with the addition of another child, born in Liverpool, England.
On the upside, wasn’t it amazing that I could find these records more than a century later?
Note
See Bussgang, Fay Vogel, “A Treasure at the American Jewish Historical Society,” (AVOTAYNU, Vol. XI, No. 4 Winter 1995: 20) for the discovery of my grandfather’s 1907 letter asking the Industrial Removal Office, which had brought him to Columbus, Ohio, to help him bring the rest of the family over from Liverpool.
Fay and her Polish-born husband, Julian, have done extensive genealogical research during their ten trips to Poland. They also translated into English a collection of wartime accounts of child survivors still living in Poland—The Last Eyewitnesses: Children of the Holocaust Speak. Fay is past president of the JGS of Greater Boston.
