Illegal Immigration

Note: Elsewhere in this edition of A Line of Sight the problem of illegal immigration is addressed. Exercising a moment of personal privilege, I want to also recognize my grandfather’s legal immigration to America and by extension all the 'huddled masses yearning to breathe free' that have made this the greatest nation on earth.

One hundred years ago this month Art Beauprez left the port of Liverpool headed to Ellis Island. Included on the 17 listed on the ship’s manifest with him were his brother, Bene, and six other residents of his hometown Langemark, Belgium, which was a very small town near the French border dominated with lace weavers and agriculture.

Like so many other immigrants, Art was poor, very limited in formal education, and listed on the ship's manifest as "laborer." Desperate for a better life, he borrowed the money for his boat ticket, left behind a wife, Irma, one of the town’s lace weavers, and a young son, Jim. He’d send for them months later after finding work, hope, and opportunity in America.

He spoke Flemish; a rare language that I'm sure made his assimilation into the teeming streets of New York difficult. But, I'm also sure that motivated by fear to survive, he learned the new language, currency, and customs quickly.

He made his way to Moline, Illinois, and then on to Louisville, Colorado, where a small community of Belgians were already located. He shoveled coal into furnaces at a power plant to support his growing family until he feared the blaze of the fire was threatening his eyesight.

Louisville was primarily a farming and coal mining area at the time, and he thought he might be able to teach himself how to make a living from the land. On a hand shake, a neighbor loaned him the money to buy an 80 acre piece of land. In later years, he added more land to the farm, and it became home to his six sons and two daughters, all of which went into farming themselves on their own places.

My Dad, Joe, was the sixth of eight siblings. Born in 1918, he would only get through eight years of school before returning to work on the farm and do his part to see the family through the difficult years of the '30s and the Great Depression. He and my mother married in June of 1940, and struck out on their own living pretty lean. After moving from one place to another in their early years, they answered a call from "Pa" – my grandfather – to return to the home place and farm for him. That was in January of 1949 when I was four months old.

It was a very good home for mom and dad for the next 54 years. Dad passed away two years ago last September; he would have been 89 this month. My Mom is in assisted living just over a mile away. She still talks to him every day and kisses his picture each night before she goes to sleep.

The farm was a great place for me, my two brothers and sister to grow up though I'll admit I sure didn’t always appreciate it like I should. Mike and I were partners in the farm and dairy herd until 1990. As good of a farmer as my Grandpa and Dad were, Mike was even better. Mel became a highly regarded teacher and then principal in the local school district, but always had time to help out around the farm, too. Rita still lives nearby, just like Mel and Mike. She and her husband built their own successful family business, and now have all three of their children working together in it. Her daughter, Amy, lives in my parent's home, and Rita's son, Rich, bought the house next door.

Claudia and I look straight west each morning from our kitchen window, and though there are now a lot of roof tops where the cows and the fields used to be, I can still see the top of the barn and the silo just a quarter-mile away. I think a lot about my parents and all they did for our family and especially this week, I think about Art Beauprez landing at Ellis Island one hundred years ago. Full of anxiety, alone, unsure, and unfamiliar with this new country, but he had hope in his heart and a fire in his belly. And, because America provided the fuel for his fire, abundant opportunity blessed him and his descendants. He worked very hard, he was committed to his wife and family, and he had great faith in God. And God blessed him in return.

This is the story of America. We call it the American Dream. That is why immigrants came here years ago, and still do.