Diary Of An Immigrant As An Agent

March 1, 1909. At 8 o’clock this morning we did indeed arrive in
Naples. We entered the port, docked and awaited the arrival of our agent. We wait ed over an hour and still he did not show up. The sky is covered with heavy clouds and it l ooks like it will soon rain.
Some other agents, not ours, come over to us. I enquired fo r the agent of the “Anchor
Line” and one of the porters, hearing the name asked: “Ar e you looking for the Anchor
Line? Stay here and I will bring you your agent.” And in a bout half an hour the proper agent and the porter showed up. He examined our Steamship Ticke ts, found everything in order, and told the porter to place our baggage on his cart.
And so, there we were: the Agent, followed by the four of us, followed,
The grey- haired agent arrived by a different route, and we found our selves in an area under an open sky, behind a huge fence. There were hundreds of people there.
We were placed on a line.
At the center of a big table stood a doctor who was exam ining the eyes as each person passed by him. Secretaries, alongside him at the table kept m arking down just what his findings were. We are standing on line, waiting, waitin
g. The wind is terrible, almost knocks us off our feet. When the doctor was ready to lea ve; almost at the exit, our agent approached him and, pointing at us, whispered something to him. O ut of respect to the old man, the doctor returned and hesitantly started exami ning us. He attended to the children in order and nodded approval. Then he looked at my e yes and promptly said that
I will not be admitted to America.
From the excitement and the aggravation I could hardly c ontinue to stand on my feet. I felt the blood rushing through my heart as we were leaving. T he doctor advised that I stay in Naples and take some eye treatments. I asked the agen t what to do, and he replied that the decision was mine to make. I could either remain
I looked at the children, and they l ooked at me. We are unhappy, crying but cannot decide what to do. To send a telegram, I ha ve no money. And again, where to? To write a letter, when will it reach its destination? I enquire whether I could use my passport again and the answer is an emphatic NO; and that I have to pay two
Franks daily for food.
Something must be done, and I tell them that I am going bac
k. I ask for the next boat to
Alexandria and am informed that it is on the first of M arch. In this way he got rid of me.
Well, we went home, aggravated, worried, and crying. I sat down and wrote a letter to
Cairo. Night soon fell, and so our Lucky Day of this voy age came to an end. What we needed most, what we wanted most was sleep! Suddenly, l ike a lightning hit our window.
We looked outside and a sea of fire is before us. There was a terrific fire on the next block which was reaching our courtyard. There was an awful c ommotion. We left our room, ran out into the street, and one of the passengers went with us. He grabbed the children by their hands. Kalman (Charlie) and I followed him. All of us, including the landlady watched till the fire was put out, and about 10 o’clock we returned. And so we finished the first day of