Herman disagreed, saying that her condition was only because of her pregnancy. He begged them to show mercy. To deport her now would be dangerous and inhumane. The baby would be here in little over a month. Shaking their heads, the doctors disagreed, and Lotta was ordered to be deported. She was taken onto the steamer Kron Prinz, bound for Bremen.
Grace was still on vacation and unreachable, but her assistants at the People’s Law Firm sprang into action. They knew that issuing a writ wouldn’t work again, so they racked their brains for an alternative. Finally, someone suggested a radical solution—one that, although not a victory, might provide a compromise. What if Herman could—at the government’s expense—also be deported so that he could stay with his wife? Grace’s workers petitioned the court but were denied. So they got on the phones. United Hebrew Charities agreed to buy Herman passage on the steamer, and the law firm added another twenty-five dollars. If the couple had to leave America, let them at least leave together. Grace’s assistants sent the order over to Ellis Island as quickly as they could. Immigration officials agreed to the concession, and the firm procured Henry’s ticket to Bremen. From there, they could track back to Liverpool, where Herman’s father and brother now lived.
Back on Attorney Street, Herman was swiftly trying to pack up his important belongings, including two feather beds. He well remembered the hardness of the steamer steerage bunks and wanted his dear wife to be comfortable as the boat pitched about. But no one would let him on a streetcar with such a floppy, unwieldy burden, so Herman ran to the dock himself, with the two mattresses flopped over his back.
When Herman made it to the dock, wheezing and sore and with only five minutes to spare, he was overjoyed to see his wife, Lotta. His mouth fell even further when he saw his baby son asleep in her arms. Early that morning, while Herman was scrambling with his beds, Lotta had given birth to a healthy baby boy. Herman couldn’t stop staring at him. Then he realized that this changed everything. His son was only three hours old, but he was an American citizen. Herman remembered that Grace’s lawyers had told him that it was unlawful to deport an American citizen. The law surely could not separate mother and child; Lady Liberty was not King Solomon. She didn’t have a sword.
The steamer was held at dock while Grace’s assistants tried to find a federal judge to issue another writ of habeas corpus so that Lotta’s health had time to recover from childbirth. Clearly, circumstances had changed, but this was the easiest, best approach to stop the deportation. But it was noon, and all the judges in the city were away at their long lunches. The writ remained unsigned, and the ship sailed off to Germany with the new family, who left their new home and business behind.
No one was separated, which was a mercy. But Grace’s lawyers couldn’t shake the cruel fact that Herman and his family had been forced out of the country even though they had a legal right to stay. When Grace finally returned from vacation, she heard the story and felt sick to her stomach. The government had gotten away with something she could have easily stopped; she knew the letter of the law of this particular case in and out. But she had missed her opportunity to help. Grace tried desperately to locate the Romaniks in Germany, but to no avail.
Shaken by her experience with the little tailor, Grace seemed determined to make up for what she was sure was her fault. She immediately threw herself into more cases as she careened between her offices day and night. She became more aggressive, especially when it came to deportation. Antonio Vigiani was an Italian barber who established himself in New York and then sent for his brother’s family from Italy. But they were rejected at Ellis Island and deported. According to rule 11 of the immigration law, when someone was ordered deported, the person could appeal to Washington; the attorney fee for such an appeal was capped at ten dollars. But some unscrupulous lawyers took advantage of the importance of this appeal and charged higher fees.
Caesar B. F. Barra was one such lawyer. Barra took Vigiani’s case and undertook to have the deportation verdict reversed, but, instead of charging $10, he asked for $150. Vigiani loved his brother, so he paid the fee. After the court ruled that Vigiani’s brother and family were to be deported anyway, Barra kept the money. Vigiani sought out the People’s Law Firm, spitting and flailing at this gross injustice. Grace went to Barra and showed him, in print, the $10 limit of the law.
“Go ahead and crack your whip,” Barra said. “I will return nothing.”
Grace went before a judge, cracked her whip, and got Mr. Barra disbarred.
Grace couldn’t understand how an Italian lawyer could prey on his own countrymen. In fact, one of Grace’s busiest orbits was the newest branch of the People’s Law Firm in the heart of Little Italy. Though her practice there was not very old, Grace was quickly learning just how much the Italians had made this part of New York City their own. There were wooden stands with fruit spilling over. Sun-bleached palm crosses and tiny paintings of Christ in perfect gold ovals stood watch in nearly every window.
As the summer began, Grace was hired by an Italian named Michael Pirolla to help procure a permit from the fire department. For years, the Our Lady of Mount Carmel celebration in East Harlem was among the city’s biggest religious events, running from Saturday to Monday night in the middle of July. One of its signature characteristics was the hundreds of flickering candles the local residents would string across their narrow streets to transform them into outdoor cathedrals. For years, this was accomplished using little wax candles in small glasses suspended on wires. The effect was magical, as the lights twinkled above the narrow, jagged canyons below. But setting up these lights was an arduous process, so the festival planners were hoping to switch to more modern acetylene carbide torches to light their festival instead.
When Grace explained her client’s request, Fire Commissioner Hayes turned it down on the spot. There was already enough danger from the fireworks he knew the Italians had been secretly amassing for a year. Acetylene gas, though inexpensive and bright, was even more hazardous. There had just been an accident where a warehouse burned down to the street. Grace related the answer to Mr. Pirolla, who expressed his displeasure. Grace agreed and was sympathetic. She said that, given the size and scope of the project, they just couldn’t do it without the blessing of Hayes. Grace advised that they respect his decision and try again next year.