congregate volubly at Ellis Island for those who would pay attention.
Some fortunate people enter through a back door bridge from Liberty State Park in New Jersey rather than the tried and true ferry.
If you insist on visiting the Statue of Liberty, fine. I’ve seen her enough and I’ll probably never scale the heights to the torch, even if it reopens. At Ellis Island there’s a nifty view of the Lady of the Harbor’s back.
But there’s a lot I find more thrilling. It’s good to stoke up with a humous and kale sandwich in a café thronged with high school students. Check out the ho-hum view out an ordinary window. Just the Freedom Tower, up close and personal.
But nothing at Ellis Island is ho-hum for long. The high-ceilinged, well-refurbished, shiny Great Hall offers a view of how some of our ancestors arrived in America. One in four of us, in fact, have some tie to an immigrant who arrived here on Ellis.
If you take the Hard Hat Tour on the unrestored south side of the island, be prepared for a different view.
And this is why I love it. You can feel the presence of the past. The walls breathe magic.
There are 29 structures on the south side that have long since fallen into ruin, and lucky visitors get to go behind the scenes and see it all. The fantastic organization Save Ellis Island raises funds to restore the complex, and there is a long way to go. In the meantime, being there means immersion in a fever dream.
These were all hospital buildings, constructed in the most up-to-date manner, with proper ventilation.
Our guide points overhead to where the nurses lodged, in a bunk room we are not now permitted to enter because of its fragile state.
It was a mandate that all nurses be single. There were four female doctors on the premises as well. But the story becomes largely about nurses and the children they cared for, in addition to the treatment of contagious and infectious diseases, the problems that detained so many immigrants here until they could be released into the general population.
We are introduced to a nurses’s station, long disappeared.
Then and now. A sick ward—can you imagine it?
Here is a visual aid.
A French artist named JR created blown-up images from photos taken at Ellis in its heyday, then wheat-pasted installations throughout.
This was the era’s version of a psych ward. Spooky.
American sycamores across the site received the designation “Ellis Island Sycamores” in 1987 to honor the Bicentennial of the U.S. constitution, and their seeds are now being propagated. It’s said some of these trees get to be 500 years old. The name is derived from the Greek sukomoros, a type of fig native to the Mediterranean. The leaves of the sycamore resemble fig leaves.
Here on the south side of the island, the practices of arboriculture need a bit of attention. Pruning shears, anyone?
I would like to offer my attention. And in fact I plan to spend much more time among the ghosts of Ellis Island as an Educator, leading these Hard Hat Tours. I can’t wait.