Rumors are surfacing that other staff at the Ellis Island station may be involved in similar rings pushing immigrant women into brothels run by gangs in the city or in Philadelphia.
The National Women’s Christian Temperance Union demands female inspectors be hired at the immigration station to promote the welfare of female immigrants. No progress has been made to that end.
“Something must be done to protect the young women who accept directives on good faith, but who are taken advantage of in a variety of ways,” says Margaret Ellis. “A call for reform is absolutely necessary.”
4
On Monday morning Alma dressed and pinned her hair to her head. Today it began—the daily trip to Ellis Island—and she felt wretched. She’d hardly slept the last two days; her mind had churned with every horrible scenario she could imagine. She headed downstairs for breakfast in the bierhaus, where her parents and Fritz were already gathered at the table. After pouring herself coffee, she reached for a slice of bread and k?se, her favorite cheese spread. Both tasted like sawdust, but she forced them down anyway. She’d need the energy for a long day.
Her stepfather glanced over the rim of his coffee cup. “I know you aren’t happy now, but you’ll see this is best in time. You’re a grown woman, Alma. If you won’t marry, then you need to help the family. Besides, John Lambert will look out for you.”
She gulped down the rest of her coffee, not trusting herself to deliver the polite agreement her stepfather wanted to hear. She was alone. She was an interloper in her own home, an unwanted nuisance Robert couldn’t rid himself of fast enough. Though John Lambert was a regular customer at their bierhaus, the thought of seeing the inspector at Ellis Island didn’t calm Alma’s nerves in the least. The gentleman had hardly spoken to her in the past. She paused, midbite, suddenly realizing John Lambert was likely the person who had helped Robert secure the position for her. She sighed. She didn’t even know what she’d be doing at the immigration station, and neither had her stepfather. He didn’t care as long as she was gone. She set down her bread, her stomach too uneasy to eat anything else.
Mama spread jam liberally on her bread. “It will be good for you. You’ll learn service and gratitude.”
Alma felt the sting of injustice and stood quickly to bring her dishes to the sink. She’d waited on her siblings and customers—and helped her parents—all her life. She knew nothing but service for others. But it would do her no good to argue. She knew it wouldn’t change anything.
Her brother joined her at the sink, clapped her on the back. “It’s six o’clock. Time to go, working girl.”
She glared at Fritz while pulling on her overcoat, scarf, and gloves and followed him outdoors. Though the sun hadn’t yet risen, lights flickered in bakery windows, and the scent of hot bread and cinnamon wafted on the air. Peddlers rolled their carts into position, eyes bleary and shoulders hunched beneath their coats. She didn’t envy them. Working outside all winter meant facing few customers, bitter winds, and damp feet from piles of slush. She burrowed into her coat a bit deeper, tucking in her chin to protect it from the frosty air. She would be facing those bitter winds daily now, too, on her ferry-bound commute to Ellis Island. The thought blackened her already dark mood.
The sleepy neighborhoods melted away as they neared Bowery Street and Chatham Square. One could hardly call the tenements quiet, regardless of the time of day, but Chatham Square was a different affair entirely. The red-light district roared with trains suspended on tracks overhead, and colored lights flashed in the windows of gentlemen’s clubs where scantily clad women traded their virtue for their wages. Flophouses and taverns, and some of the cheapest merchants in the city, populated the busy intersection. Alma did her best not to stare and attempted to put on the air of an experienced woman of the world.
As they passed Finnegan’s, a man stumbled through the pub’s door and landed face-first in a pile of garbage. Several prostitutes gathered outside the brothel next door and pointed and laughed at the drunk, who was now out cold.
Fritz chuckled. “That will hurt tomorrow, the moron.”
Alma walked around the man’s prostrate body, trying not to laugh.
Fritz crossed the street, and as she followed him, she eyed his wide shoulders, made larger from months of digging trenches for the soon-to-open subway trains. She was glad he’d insisted on escorting her all the way to the ferry her first week of work. Fritz was her favorite person in the world, her best friend. She had missed spending time with him lately, his new position as foreman keeping him busier than ever before. He was a natural leader and the hardest worker she knew, always had been. She couldn’t help but beam with pride when she thought of all he’d accomplished, and the way his bosses had already noticed how capable he was. And in a small sense, she was proud to have helped him get there with their Italian lessons.
She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and felt her churning stomach calm a little. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“It’s a rough neighborhood. I couldn’t let my little sister go it alone.” He winked. They walked beneath a series of large pipes that hung overhead and ran the length of the street as far as the eye could see.
“What are all of those pipes?” she asked. “They weren’t there the last time we walked through here.”
“They’re protecting bundles of wires.” Fritz bounded up the steps to the train platform. “Electric cables had to be moved aboveground while we dig the trenches for the trains. You wouldn’t believe the mess underground. That’s why so much of the digging has to be done by hand. It’s been a giant headache. One wrong move and half of the city loses power, or something catches fire.”
“That’s why you’ve had longer hours?”
“That’s a big part of it, yes.”
She didn’t have the opportunity to venture out of their neighborhood very often beyond visiting the park or attending church, but it was impossible to miss the massive trenches where streets used to be. The construction clogged the flow of carriage traffic and even disrupted the steam-driven cable-car tracks in the Bowery. The whole city moaned about it constantly, and the disruption made headlines in the New York Times.
“Don’t be afraid of the job, Al,” her brother said as they settled into a seat. “We both know you need to feed that brilliant mind of yours. This will keep you busy. You’re not happy at home.”
She knew he was right; the last year had become unbearable, the confines of her life suffocating. Still, Ellis Island wasn’t what she’d had in mind—at all. “But why did they have to send me there, of all places?” She wrinkled her nose.
He smiled and his light-blue eyes looked almost gray. “You’ll get used to it, and maybe save a little of your own money. Wait until you see how great it feels. You’ll be able to buy a new book or two.”