Immigrant Impasse

Immigrant Impasse

By J. J. MacLeod

Copyright 2016 J. J. MacLeod

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Prologue

The first immigrants arrived 15,000 years ago as the ice receded and Asian inhabitants crossed the Bering land bridge into North America. Early settlers who crafted distinctive spear points unearthed near Clovis, New Mexico eventually spread to numerous locations across the continent. These ‘Clovis people’ were the progenitors of virtually all Native Americans, whom Christopher Columbus called ‘Indians’ in the mistaken belief that he had discovered a new trade route to the Indies. French explorer Jacques Cartier made a similar miscalculation in 1535 when he proclaimed that the St. Lawrence River was a newfound northwest passage to China.

Spanish pioneers built their first fort in St. Augustine, Florida some thirty years later. More outposts soon followed as thousands of Mexican settlers fanned out throughout the Southwest. Meanwhile, one hundred and four Englishmen founded a colony at Jamestown, Virginia in 1607. They were befriended by Paspahegh tribesmen who supported the agriculturally-challenged colonists. Native Americans had been farming for over 4,000 years, cultivating varieties of corn, squash, beans and tobacco that still make up more than half of all crops grown in the world.

Conflicts arose as more immigrants began to arrive from Northern Europe, displacing and devastating indigenous populations with infestations of diseases for which they had no natural immunity. The Native Americans were pushed back as immigrant agriculture expanded, creating increasing demand for cheap labor. As a result, the first African slaves were imported in 1619, together with large numbers of poor young people who couldn’t find work in England and labored as indentured servants to repay the cost of their passage to the New World.

Private British settlers virtually controlled the economy through established lines of credit with England, essential to the growth of cash-poor colonies dependent on trade with Europe. By 1790, most white Americans were of British ancestry. Although Jews had been living in New Amsterdam since 1650, Rhode Island was the only colony that allowed a permanent Jewish community. Even Irish and German Catholic immigration was opposed in the 1850s because of the feeling that Papist beliefs were not compatible with American values.

The Fourteenth Amendment was ratified in 1868, guaranteeing that all persons either born or naturalized in the United States were citizens, regardless of their parents’ immigration status. This was extended by the Supreme Court in 1870 to allow Africans to become citizens. Asians were still barred from naturalization, but not from living in America until the Chinese Exclusion Act effectively blocked further immigration in 1882. Japanese immigrants were confined to the Territory of Hawaii by a so-called Gentlemen’s Agreement implemented in 1907.

Quotas established in 1921 and 1924 controlled immigration on the basis of national origin. Each country was allotted a proportional share of its population living in the U.S. as of the 1920 census. This curtailed the influx of Jews and Orthodox Catholics from Russia and Eastern Europe, ethnic groups whose undesirable foreign radicals might provoke an uprising. During the decade of the Great Depression, immigration slowed to a trickle, aided by coerced repatriation and deportation of some two million Mexican Americans who were mostly citizens.

Asian exclusion laws were eventually repealed and most racial distinctions were removed from U.S. code by 1952. Operation Wetback deported more than a million migrants in 1954 before amnesty was granted to another three million Mexican residents in 1986. Despite all the attempts to control the influx, there are still nearly twelve million undocumented immigrants currently living in the U.S. Comprehensive reforms have been championed at various times by Republicans and Democrats alike, even enacted by the House and Senate. Yet, another thirty years have passed and not a single legislative compromise has made it to the President’s desk.

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The democratic election of 1952 ended in chaos when former President Fulgencio Batista, fearing that he was about to lose the race, led a military coup that seized dictatorial power in Cuba. He suspended the Constitution and revoked political liberties, including the right to strike. Aligning himself with the wealthiest landowners, he presided over a stagnating economy that widened the gap between rich and poor Cubans. His corrupt administration reaped huge profits from sweetheart deals with American Mafia who virtually controlled the gambling, drugs and prostitution in Havana. And to combat growing discontent among the people, Batista censored the media while carrying out widespread repression that killed thousands of protesters.

Ernesto Martinez was one of the fortunate few who found a steady job as a civil engineer. His salary was modest, but it was enough to put food on the table and afford occasional luxuries, if and when they were available on the black market. Even so, he was worried about his young family and could see the handwriting on the wall as the growing rebel-led resistance movement battled against the Batista government year after year. So he saved his money and made plans to leave his native land as soon as he could afford passage to the United States. When his wife informed him that she was pregnant, he was determined to see his child born on American soil.

They made the ninety mile trip under the cover of darkness, avoiding encounters with the patrol boats of both nations. While the passage was rough on the passengers, they were told that the bad weather would help them avoid detection by the authorities. Eventually they made their way to the back streets of Miami where the expatriate community was increasing by the day. Ernesto’s poor English disqualified him from doing anything other than manual labor, but he found work as a dishwasher, trash collector and part-time ditch digger to provide for his family. Within a few weeks after their arrival, Ernesto’s son Pedro was born an American citizen.

These life lessons were not lost on young Pedro, who called himself Pete and strived to master the English language from an early age. Out of respect for his parents, he continued speaking Spanish at home while practicing unaccented English in public school. Encouraged by his teacher, he joined the debate team in high school and learned how to view issues from both sides. The discipline of Lincoln-Douglas competitions helped him hone his ability to organize his thoughts and respond logically without resorting to emotion. As he had learned from the sport of boxing, getting angry would defeat his ability to think and cause him to lose the round.

Pete graduated with honors and earned a full-ride National Merit Scholarship to Florida State University, where he majored in speech and communications. Being away from home for the first time in his life was hard on him, but he was determined to succeed for the sake of his family five hundred miles away in Miami. Debate gave him a new family of like-minded friends who traveled together to regional and national competitions over the next four years. He was thrilled to be able to contend with the best and brightest minds from colleges all over the country, widening his circle of friends and furthering his interests in new directions.

In fact, this was how he met the girl of his dreams, fell head over heels in love and followed her to law school at Georgetown. For Pete, reading law was akin to drinking out of a firehose, consuming almost every waking moment just to keep up with his assignments. His one true love eventually tired of the grind, married a young man with family money and left both Pete and law school behind. He was devastated by the breakup, but turned his focus inward and applied his debate training to prepare for a career as a criminal trial attorney. But then something happened before his third year that changed the trajectory of his life once again.

Ernesto had been in declining health for several years. Hard manual labor had finally taken its toll and he was unable to stave off the ravages of time. He had rallied in the week that Pete was able to squeeze out over Christmas break, peacefully passing away in his sleep on the last day in May. Pete’s mother insisted that the memorial be delayed until the end of the school term. Ernesto had been extremely proud of his son’s accomplishments and would have moved heaven and earth to ensure that Pete finished law school. As sad as it was when the family gathered together in late June, it proved to be an unexpected revelation for Pedro Martinez.

He had grown up in a community of immigrants from all over the Caribbean and Central America. While many of his father’s generation still conversed in their native Spanish, Latin Americans were much like what Shaw said about England and America: countries divided by a common language. Aside from the differences in dialect, there were many old political grudges and differences that persisted into the present. Some felt strongly that Cuba should continue to be shunned for its Communist sins, while others argued for reconciliation and reunification. Yet, despite their differences, they shared a common bond in the quagmire of immigration.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Pete realized that most of his neighbors were stuck in a legal time warp. Among Pete’s contemporaries, most were birthright citizens born in the U.S., while their parents remained undocumented with no clear paths to citizenship. Cuban immigrants had special consideration under the Cuban Adjustment Act, fast-tracking them to permanent residency, but the rules were different for other Caribbean and Central American nations. These inequities caused barriers to voting, employment, social services and even basic protections for those who were fearful of making legitimate complaints to the authorities.

The future was bright for a criminal trial lawyer with Pete’s skills and abilities, but these people needed an advocate who could help them navigate the complicated maze of immigration rules and regulations. While the public was fixated on the back-and-forth love-hate relationship with Mexican immigrants, Pete’s Miami neighbors had many different roadblocks based on country of origin and, in some cases, ethnicity. Ernesto had given his life to ensure that Pete would have the opportunity to make his place in America, and all the time his future life’s work had been there waiting for him to engage in the struggle.

As a result, he returned to law school and redirected his course in the third and final year. He had to work hard to make up for lost time, but he was able to fill in the missing pieces and still finish near the top of his class. After graduation, he completed successful stints with two of the three leading firms on the East Coast, earning enough money, fame and corporate clients to open his own office in Washington D.C. At that point, his sizable hourly rate enabled him to fund pro bono cases for needy clients like his former neighbors in Miami. He also had the luxury of preferential rates for old friends like Jeremy Foster, a former debate opponent from Columbia.

Pete and Jeremy shared a special bond. The dirt-poor Cuban-American and former foster youth had worked hard to earn scholarships to their respective schools, and they both excelled at something they loved doing. After college, Jeremy was recruited by the CIA while Pete went off to law school. Even with hectic and diverse schedules, they still managed to get together from time to time and deepen their relationship. While their friendship endured, it still remained their secret because of differences in their chosen careers.

Jeremy was an officer of the federal government, testifying before the Congressional Select Committees on Intelligence on a regular basis. Pete represented various high-profile clients who were under indictment for crimes which could result in them being deported or imprisoned. The appearance of a friendship between two such men wouldn’t do either one of them any good. No one even knew that Pete had been acting as his personal lawyer until Jeremy died unexpectedly.

Then it became Pete’s sad duty to reveal the contents of Jeremy’s will to his ex-wife Brenda. They had been married for nine years and divorced for many more by the time of his death. Still the best of friends, Brenda and Jeremy lived parallel lives that never quite seemed to intersect. Now she was surprised to learn that he had a lawyer she had never heard about before. Even more surprising was the fact that he had left her five million dollars with instructions to continue the philanthropy he had begun after their divorce. That bequest became the starter dough for the Foster Foundation, a non-profit funding entity guided by an independent board of directors.

Pete was delighted when Brenda asked him to serve on the board, not only to honor Jeremy’s memory, but also to add his voice to the process of selecting needy clients. The mission of the foundation was to provide loans to ordinary people with extraordinary ideas and no other source of funding. It all began with a single loan to Sophie and Nicky Richards, immigrants from Italy and the former Soviet Union who had a better idea for distributing specialty electronic products throughout the east coast. Their success enabled them to repay the loan many times over, in appreciation for Jeremy’s generosity and his faithful support of their dreams.

What did Brenda say about Harry? Sophie asked while standing at her sink, washing the last of the dinner dishes. With only the two of them still living at home, she hated to waste electricity by running a mostly empty dishwasher, almost as much as she hated the thought of dirty dishes piling up anywhere within the confines of her dream kitchen.

He still has a persistent cough, but he’s feeling much better, Nicky replied to the mother of his children, now all grown up and living on their own. Even Sophie’s younger sister Fabiana had moved out to study fashion design in New York City. Her dream was to become another one-name Italian designer and brand name like Gucci, Versace and Armani. But first, she had to learn the trade and pay her dues in the fashion district.

But can he still go this weekend? The show starts Friday night, she persisted. Plans for the outing had been in the works for weeks, and she was concerned that their preparations were about to go up in smoke.

That’s his intention, My Love, Nicky said. Brenda has been feeding him Jewish Penicillin for a week and he’s weaning himself from taking pills at bedtime. Although they maintained separate residences, Harry and Brenda were good friends who often got together at one place or the other during the week. Weekends were generally spent at Brenda’s apartment.

How can he be weaned and taking Penicillin at the same time? she ask quizzically.

It’s just a joke, Sophie. Jewish Penicillin is another name for chicken soup.

Chicken soup is funny? Why is this a joke? English is such a crazy language.

Yes, Dear, Nicky agreed. English idioms were often lost on Sophie. Her language skills were more than adequate for their household and business needs, but that was as far as she cared to go. He should be much better by this weekend. Remember, the ‘Murder Mystery Weekend’ was his idea in the first place.

Why drive to Pennsylvania in this weather? Don’t we have murders we can watch around D.C.? All I ever hear on the news is ‘crime in the capitol’. Although they lived and worked in suburban Maryland, NA Richards & Company was firmly established in the business community of Washington D.C.

It’s just an early dusting of snow. The roads should be clear enough by Friday. We’re going to a nice country resort to relax, enjoy some good food and spend quality time with Brenda and Harry. We hardly see them anymore.

So what is this murder business about? Why don’t they just say ‘come to our nice country resort and relax’? she asked.

Marketing, My Love. It’s a come on to get your attention. There are plenty of country resorts all over the area, but only one offers the chance for the audience to participate in a dramatic production. We’ll have the whole weekend to search for clues and solve the mystery. The Courtland Valley Inn had combined interactive performances with superb meal service in a unique format that kept guests engaged from Friday night until the final act at brunch on Sunday. A comfortable three hour drive from Washington, it was especially popular during the fall when the trees were at the peak of their colors and local apples were ripe for picking.

Sounds like as much fun as Jewish Penicillin, Sophie said sourly.

You’re going to love it, so quit complaining. When was the last time we had a chance to get away together? Let’s make the most of it. NA Richards had an experienced management team and competent staff, but the business still demanded a lot of attention from the owners. Sophie oversaw the operation of the front office while Nicky made sales calls and kept things humming in and out of their sizeable warehouse.

I like getting away, but you and Harry are more into this murder business. Me, I could care less. Sophie’s lifelong love for classical music and opera made it difficult for her to appreciate the appeal of other forms of entertainment.

Whatever would make you say that? he said, knowing full well what was coming.

You two are like little boys, always playing spy games and chasing bad guys. Didn’t you have enough before you got arrested? Sophie knew in her heart that Nicky could never say no to the man who had turned him into a double agent and stood by him when the FBI would have put him in prison and thrown away the key. Harry was at his side when Ukrainian-born Nikkoli Alexandrovitch Roskofski renounced the country of his birth and pledged to support and defend the Constitution of the United States as Nicky Richards, American citizen.

Now, be fair. I admit to having a misspent youth, but all I did was help Harry out a time or two in the past. Now I’m just a dull businessman with a beautiful partner, he said soothingly.

Such a liar you are! Your tongue should fall out from being so twisted.

OK, I was a Soviet spy and Harry was the CIA Case Officer who arrested me, but that was thirty years ago. Now he runs a quiet security business and needs a little help every now and then. Since we happen to sell surveillance equipment and he’s so technically challenged, I have go along to operate it properly. Is that better?

And you enjoy it! Admit it. Business is boring and you love to play Batman and Tonto.

I think you mean Batman and Robin. Tonto was paired with the Lone Ranger.

You know what I mean, she snapped. This murder business is for the two of you. Brenda is just going along because she is such a nice person. Jeremy’s untimely death had triggered a series of events involving Harry, Brenda and Nicky in a federal investigation that reached the highest levels of government. And that wasn’t the only time Harry needed his help.

And so are you, a nice person. Trust me, you’re going to enjoy the experience and the time with our good friends.

So what about the weather? Is it supposed to clear up, or what? Alternating warm and cold fronts and a dip in the jet stream combined to produce chill winds and earlier than normal snow showers over the eastern states. While the snowfall did not accumulate appreciably, the daily cycles of thawing and refreezing were enough to snarl traffic and obscure the skies as the daylight was already being pilfered by the coming of the winter solstice.

The last report I saw said that the low pressure cell could stall out and bring us more snow over the next few days. We’ll just have to wait and see.

Are your tires OK for the trip? Maybe you should get new ones before we go. Sophie’s Mediterranean heritage never prepared her for living for months with the snow and ice of winter. It was something to be endured rather than to be savored.

Harry wants to drive his truck. He has four-wheel-drive and heavy tread if we run into any problems on the back roads. The extended cab 250 diesel had been part of a package deal that Harry made when he purchased his current home, a fifth-wheel trailer parked on a rental lot in a mobile home park on the outskirts of the district. Having previously lost his house in the divorce proceedings, he was glad to have found an affordable alternative in the increasingly costly metropolitan area.

I thought you said this place was on the highway?

According to the brochure, The Courtland Valley Inn is located on a county highway, just off the state road and accessible from several Interstate Highways. It looks to be about a ten-minute drive from the main road we’ll be taking up through Frederick and Gettysburg.

But Harry says we need a truck? Sophie knew that the high-riding vehicle was comfortable, even for those in the back seat, but it was still a work vehicle that belched clouds of black smoke before it was thoroughly warmed up.

Harry is a prudent man, Sophie. The weather could be fine on the way in and then turn nasty over the weekend. We don’t want to be stranded in Pennsylvania, do we?

Sophie ignored his question and launched into a barely audible Italian monologue. Nicky and Harry had cooked up this weekend adventure and she was wasting her time trying to figure out what was behind it. Based on her past experiences, they seldom did anything frivolous without a reason. At least she could count on Brenda being good company and that was enough for her to look forward to.

Reuben ‘Ben’ Baumer had lived his whole life in Courtland Valley. His German forefathers had come to America in search of cheaper farmland and established one of the first orchards on the spring-fed land along the midpoint of the Appalachian trail. Ben grew up surrounded by the apple business, learning early on that the labor-intensive operation depended on careful planning and watchful maintenance of the trees and maturing fruit. He knew a great deal about varieties, grafting, pollination, soil balance and nutrition, chill hours, irrigation, pruning, thinning, pest control and picking. Most of all, he knew not to put all his fruit in one basket.

His father insisted that Ben have something else to fall back on when conditions conspired to ruin the harvest. Despite his best efforts, agricultural endeavors were susceptible to drought, flooding, infestation, mispollination, frost or hail damage, windstorms or wildfires or simply insufficient labor to pick the harvest. Every generation of Baumers had suffered one or more such losses, and it was up to Ben to create his own insurance policy against financial ruin. So, in addition to the agricultural classes he took in Happy Valley, he earned a bachelor’s degree from the Penn State School of Hospitality Management.

Ben was fond of saying that his greatest achievement in college was courting and winning the hand of Carla, his lifelong partner in business and in marriage. She came from farm stock as well, raised in the Quaker tradition but still feisty by disposition. Instead of deepening her knowledge of the soil as Ben had done, she found expression in literature and the dramatic arts, investing herself in school plays and stage productions on the way to her Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. She wasn’t afraid of work, but she avoided lab classes whenever possible and minored in business and accounting instead. It was an odd combination of interests, but she grew to love the discipline of numerical expression as much as she enjoyed the escape into literary arts.

Theirs was a match made in heaven, two individuals unevenly yoked in temperament and approach to problem solving, yet with complementary skills and interests that were well suited to their life’s pursuits in Courtland Valley. When Ben put his hospitality training to the test, they