Greatest Sound Ever Created
Your name is the sweetest sound in the universe.
until it doesn’t suit you anymore. I took on the identity of Albert Schweissfuss after beginning as Sean Murphy. This is my account of life as an immigrant.
Ma stated the obvious: “There’s no future here for a young lad.” ===== I was fourteen years old and full of romantic notions of a prosperous future. We were just another cursed family living in extreme poverty. Even though her heart must have been breaking, she was forced to encourage me to leave home because she couldn’t afford to show any compassion.
“You must leave, son. Improve your life.
It began with more rain than usual. The potato blight, now in its second year, devastated the west of Ireland. The muddy potato fields were covered in a thick blue fog almost immediately.
Every window and door was filled with a horrible stench that hinted at death and destruction. Nothing was safe from its vile grasp. The eerie stillness got worse when the wind and rain stopped. The fungus completely destroyed the crop.
Two million emigrated and one million perished.
India received some corn and maize from England, but the grain was poorly ground, resulting in painful digestive issues. Thousands gave up and perished because they were too weak to operate the boats and haul heavy fish nets. I had no way. I simply could not. There had to be a better way, I knew.
I had a reason to leave the house and walk to Belfast, hoping to catch a ride.
===== Several attempts to legally work as a cabin boy aboard ships headed for the new world in Belfast were unsuccessful. A couple with three children who was about to board the ship and was watching the line of desperate, close-to-crying emigrants looked quickly at me and seemed to understand my situation. To this day, I still don’t know how they appeared at that moment. The father led me into the middle of the kids so I wouldn’t be noticed, and I boarded looking like a member of the group after giving a meaningful nod. Once they boarded, I sneaked into the steerage, as they were passengers in second class. The mother gave me a hug and quietly whispered, “God be with you, son,” before we parted. Despite being hungry, cold, and filthy, I did make it through the lengthy sea journey. I felt welcomed with the warmth of a family’s embrace, the exhilaration of being among throngs of people talking about a new beginning in a magical new land with floating elevators and exotic animals.
Vulgar quips and jokes that made some laugh out loud. always following the rosary. Some even claimed to be talented singers. We would endure Galway Bay or Danny Boy until someone yelled,
…….” Oh, Paddy, shut your damn mouth. You’re an agony in my arse.
The same ghost story was told over and over again by Mary Ann Rafferty.
…….”Fr. Ambrose, a charming young priest, was alone on a deserted road at dusk… We’d all repeat, “Oh at dusk.”
When the horrible old woman showed up, she was filthy, had a big nose that was crooked, and talked loosely. She enticed this pretty young priest. He shouted, “Knowing it was the devil himself,”
“Who are you, and what do you want?” in God’s name This with a quiet voice and a benevolent glance up.)
“And she was gone in a flash,” he said.
When I was fifteen, I was curious about why the devil wouldn’t think to make the temptress more attractive.
===== Upon landing at Ellis Island in New York, the first obstacle that needed to be overcome was I passed the medical examination despite having information that identified me as a child of the family that assisted me as a stowaway. after looking at my ID briefly. I heard, knees shaking, a six-second eye and lung examination and a mental alertness assessment:
He is young enough to succeed. Allow him to pass.
After that, each man took care of himself. I stood in line for hours with determination and youthful exuberance until, terrified, I approached uniformed officials. In front of a barrier, behind which are two doors painted blue with the words “Immigration” and “Deportation.” I began to pray.
It was a mess. I only remember people shouting names that didn’t make sense, someone answering with a raised hand, quickly signing papers, and then either being saved or turned away through a blue-painted door. I wanted to enter the world through that Immigration door, but I didn’t have the proper paperwork, and the ID tag wasn’t enough.
Either a miracle or careless, overworked entry officials caused what transpired next.
“Schweissfuss, Albert?” I raised my hand after repeating his name without receiving a response and hesitating for a moment.
Using a visa in the name of a stranger, I entered the United States of America.
===== From the barge to lower Manhattan, I breathed in the fresh air with my face in the sun. the awe inflicted by new sounds and sights. Dutzendes of seagulls making such a noise. It’s hard to put into words how I was simultaneously extremely confident and anxious. I wasn’t sure what the word “freedom” meant when I heard it, but the sun on my face and the birds flying overhead led me to believe it meant heaven. Hundreds of adults who held their hands up to the sky cried as they passed the Statue of Liberty.
My first job was washing dishes in a cafeteria. ==== It paid real money and provided delicious food. I shared their two-room apartment for a few cents a month and reunited with the family that had first become my friends. Since I had no other option, they were pleased with the additional cash. It was successful.
Meeting dozens of other Irish, German, and Jewish immigrants. I quickly discovered that the German pronunciation of my identification documents with the name Albert Schweissfuss was hilarious. It is spelled Sweatfoot! The original name must have been altered by the authorities to make it impossible to recognize. I prayed a remorseful prayer for the victim, hoping that things would work out for him.
Fr. Schmidt, a true friend and pastor at St. Peter’s Church in lower Manhattan who is also a German immigrant, was able to spot it before I had to use it, which was fortunate.
“The next time the bishop comes, I can fix this with the bishop and a few bottles of altar wine,” Weiss, we can only change the middle letters and keep the first name the same.
That’s how I ended up being. Weiss Al
Yes, that is me. ===== I’m an actor, a writer, a plumber, a painter, a tailor, and a painter. Reader, I’m probably even you. a component of the world’s greatest migration wave of people.
Despite the fact that I never saw her again, I know she loved me and was proud of me. She might have said….
“I knew he would get up and walk away,”
The woman standing in New York Harbor is my other mother. I frequently drop by and converse as if I were talking to Ma. I need to be careful when I use new words like “swell.” Ma will notice that I’m adapting and forgetting the traditional Irish insults.
Reading never gets old for me:
I raise my lamp in front of the golden door and ask, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” “Give me your wretched refuse,” “Give me your teeming shore,” and “Send these, the homeless tempest-tossed to me.”
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