I am not original in commenting that we are a nation of immigrants. Even some of those we call Native Americans may have come across the land bridge from Russia to Alaska in the dim mists of history. Every culture and family have their origin story, some more than one. They give us an idea of our past and are often a glimpse into the history of that time. They also give a glimpse of the present, as a world on the move is trying to find a better life than the one afforded them in their own collapsing nations of birth.
One of my origin stories involved the revolution of 1848 in Europe in which my ancestor picked the wrong side. When the reactionary forces returned to power after a struggle by liberals to get rid of monarchies, my great-great grandfather needed to escape from Germany in order to avoid prison or even death. My great-great grandmother bought a ticket on a ship leaving for the United States and at night, under the cover of darkness, her husband climbed up the anchor chain and hid out in her stateroom until the ship sailed.
Like most immigrant stories, if honest, this did not have a completely wonderful ending. My relative escaped punishment and started a new life in a country that could more easily embrace his ideas. However, his wife yearned for Germany the rest of her days. For, as the captain of the ship said to her as the ship docked in the undeveloped barren, dusty country of Texas, “Mrs. Obervetter, the best days of your life are over.” And for her, they were.
That quote is now often told with a chuckle, but it was no laughing matter to my ancestor. But in due time the next generations settled into life in the new country and have produced over the years lawyers, farmers, musicians, military men, diplomats and for all I know a scoundrel or two.
I have no easy answer for the immigration crisis now enveloping the world, but I do know I owe a vote of gratitude to an anchor-climbing ancestor who, through his courage and determination, gave me a life in this country.
