Today marks the 142nd anniversary of the day my great-grandfather, Carl Ludwig Theodor Schumacher, arrived in the United States. What must he have been thinking as he first looked on this new land that was to be his home? Grandpa was just 25 years old when he made the tough decision to leave his homeland and board the SS Gellert in Hamburg, Germany, on April 6, 1884, bound for a new life far from his parents and family. Since the age of 18, he’d been reading letters from his uncle and cousins raving about America, especially Minnesota. So, he decided to go. For seven years, he worked hard caring for the horses of a wealthy landowner to save the $50 needed for his fare. He knew the Atlantic crossing could be dangerous and that he’d miss his family deeply, but he was determined. He also understood it would take years of hard work to achieve the American Dream he envisioned, but he wanted this new life. He would go on to succeed, but today my thoughts are less about his dreams and more about the emotions he must have felt making such a life-changing decision. It could be years before he could go home again.
At 25, a young man isn’t necessarily so grown up that moving halfway around the world doesn’t feel overwhelming. Such a move would be daunting for anyone, no matter how self-assured they are. Arriving at a place like Ellis Island—or in my grandfather’s case, Castle Garden, since Ellis Island wasn’t built until 1892—meant not knowing exactly what you’d face before being allowed into the United States. Many newcomers were required to Americanize their names to make it easier to fit in, forever changing their identity. That’s what happened to my great-grandfather, whose name was changed from Schuhmacher to Schumacher. Still, for most immigrants, this felt like a small price to pay for the promise of the American Dream, and many even saw it as a rite of passage into this great country.
I can’t help but think my grandfather must have felt some sadness over the change of his name, even though he would later use it again when he married. Still, census and other records list it as Schumacher, making genealogy a bit tricky. I doubt that was on my great grandfather’s mind as he waited for his turn at Castle Garden on April 21, 1884, but looking back on that day, so important to my own life, the thought crosses my mind. He had endured so much to reach this new land of opportunity, and I’m sure the massive changes left him weary. Yet, once he arrived in Minnesota and began building his dream, I imagine the uncertainties of the journey faded into a distant memory. He was home…his American dream.
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