New York City, 1958.
Took the
kids downtown today to the Statue of Liberty.
Blu said go ahead, it's a slow Wednesday morning and they need a history
lesson that starts before 1958.
So down we
go until we’re there, looking up at her. I told them about Frederic Auguste Bartholdi, who
created the statue as gift from the French people to celebrate America’s 100th
birthday in 1876.
They had to raise a lot of
money to bring her here, though, and that took a long time. One way they did it
was with the help of the poet Emma Lazarus, who wrote
her famous sonnet The New Colossus in
1883. That helped raise funds at an art and literary auction – and helped pay
for the statue’s pedestal.
Ruby liked that, being as she’s a poet herself. (I tell her, “Don’t say
you want to be a poet. Just be one.”)
I also tell the kids how the statue was brought
over piece by piece and put back together once she arrived in the space of four
months. She was dedicated October 28, 1886 - ten years late for 100th
birthday celebration.
They ask if we can climb into the torch and I say no, but we can at
least get up to the crown. Gordy, of course, asks why we can’t get into the
torch and I tell them what I know.
During
World War I—on July 30, 1916, to be exact, according to the National Park
Service—there was a huge explosion at a munitions depot on a pier that
connected Black
Tom Island with Jersey City. Hundreds were injured and some people died.
They had to evacuate Ellis Island and windows were knocked out even as far away
as Times Square.
The
statue’s arm and torch was injured by debris flying around after the explosion.
And the whole thing happened because of German spies, who started the
explosion.
“But
– I thought World War I and World War II were on the other side of the world. I
didn’t know they were here,” Ruby says.
“War
is everywhere. You can’t confine war,” I tell her. The kids are all staring at
me, eyes wide.
“Let’s
go,” I say.
We
climb to the crown and take turns looking out – even Sophie, who closes her
eyes until the very last minute, opens and then closes them again.
When
we get back down, Ruby copies Emma’s poem word for word in her note book. I
tell her how hard Emma worked to help refugees, dying and trying and dying
again in order to be here.
The
last thing I tell them is that the Statue has more than one name. She’s known as the Statue of Liberty and some say Lady of the
Harbor. But Emma Lazarus called her Mother of Exiles and that’s the one I like
best.
Because
we’re all exiles in one way or another. From other countries, families,
relationships gone bad, our own mistakes.
--Skylar M.
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