I think I spoke prematurely yesterday about my experience at the front desk at Gallaudet’s Le Hotel Posh. Earlier in February, after attending the Blogging/Vlogging conference at Gallaudet, I bemoaned the desperate lack of ASL skills exhibited by the front desk staff at the GUKCC. I had hoped that someone, somewhere, in the bowels of campus would pick up on this lack of communication and correct it.

Yesterday, I thought perhaps someone had indeed started reading the Sandbox on more than a casual basis, because the clerk, while hearing and clearly not fluent in ASL, nevertheless knew more than “thank you” and was able to understand what I said. This was a vast improvement, and I noted it in my last post.

However, earlier this evening, I needed to replace a lightbulb that wasn’t working and to make a minor request. I confidently went downstairs, strode across the lobby, and approached the desk. I started signing. The clerk took one look at my hands, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and proffered them to me. *SIGH*

Ok, my penmanship is not as pretty as my ASL (which isn’t as pretty as my typed English), but here goes. I wrote down in my doctor’s handwriting (or perhaps surgeon’s handwriting? I’m not winning any penmanship awards, I’ll tell you that), handed the paper back, and was soon given a lightbulb and my request handled. The only sign I saw the entire time was, “Thank you.” (I assume the clerk also knows the sign for “hello,” “goodbye,” “eat,” “time,” and one or two other words, but I don’t think I’ll stand around and test his proficiency in American Survival Sign (ASS))

This is NOT acceptable, folks. I’m thinking I should refrain from being a cybernaut and instead bang out an old-fashioned letter upon my return home, and send it on to the appropriate people. As I’ve noted here and elsewhere, communication is Gallaudet’s raison d’etre, and at the root of many of its flaws. If you’re in a front-line position at Gallaudet, whether clerk, faculty, staff, DOSS/DPS officer, or another similar high-contact job, you need to be far more proficient in ASL than you think you presently are.

I sincerely hope the third time’s the charm, and I see some permanent marked improvement the next time I stay at the white elephant Kellogg Conference Hotel.

New York City, like many port towns, is a city of endings and beginnings. For many in the United States, it’s where our families first entered America, ending their lives in the “Old World” and beginning a new one in a nation seemingly full of possibilities and promise. Until 1954, that point of transition was located by the docks, at Castle Garden, or Ellis Island.

Today’s immigrants frequently arrive by plane, and undergo the journey through customs. While customs can be anything from a relative breeze to a trying experience, it’s nothing compared with the long waits people had to make at times at Ellis Island, or the days of isolation on the West Coast’s Angel Island. A few years ago, we were able to get a slight glimpse of what it might have been like for the European immigrants when we toured Ellis Island, which had recently reopened as a museum. On that particular trip, we only viewed the main building; the rest of the island was closed to the public. There was a vague promise that some buildings and areas might eventually re-open.

It’s about ten years later, and a lot has happened since– not just in NYC, but also in regards to Ellis Island. While no new buildings had opened, immigration records became available online, which is a boon for genealogists like me (most of my ancestors came through other ports, or arrived in NYC earlier, at Castle Garden, so Ellis Island records have been a bust for me. But they might not be for some of you…).

Just last week though, the announcement came that new portions of Ellis Island would again re-open as part of Ellis Island National Monument and the Immigration Museum. Not only is that exciting news for history buffs like me, but it’ll also give the average visitor a chance to see more of what their ancestors might have gone through, and bring home the story of immigration and immigrants a bit more. At a time when there’s been quite a bit of rancor in the press lately over immigration, I think it’d be useful for people to perhaps reflect on where they came from, how their families got here, and how the struggles and challenges of the past enabled them to enjoy the lives they have today.

I’m not sure when I’ll go to NYC again– it’s an expensive town to visit. A friend recently took his family to the city on a day trip, and told me it cost more than he’d planned. I can understand– L.A. isn’t exactly cheap thrills either, if you want to see some of the highlights (the Huntington Library and Gardens, for example, is $15 per person; a single ticket to see the Queen Mary in Long Beach will set you back at least $22.95 for the cheapest tour). But if you plan to go, and you want to see Ellis Island, I suggest you pair it with a visit to the Lower East Side; although it’s far more upscale and trendy compared with the days of Five Points, the Tenement Museum gives you a glimpse into what it was like for immigrants after they left Ellis Island and arrived in Manhattan. I’d like to see this particular museum again, to see what they’ve added, if anything (looks like they’re setting up a new room for the “Irish Immigrant Experience”). It’s definitely an eye-opening experience. You can read books and watch movies that reflect the immigrant experience, but there’s nothing like actually seeing what a two-room apartment that held large families or numerous unrelated individuals, and realizing that we’re fairly spoiled today.

Of course, the area is much different today, and the waves of immigrants that lived in this part of New York have since moved to the suburbs and beyond, where some of their far more prosperous descendants live today. Something worth considering the next time you think immigrants don’t belong here. The family that today works in the orchards picking your fruit and vegetables could very well spawn a child that eventually makes it out of the substandard housing and living conditions in the fields, and have descendants who live next door to your own offspring. It’s happened before…