Intermittently throughout the decades, I've been afflicted with what has been called, at various times in history, "the spleen," "vapors," "falling into a brown study," "melancholy," "the blues," and currently, "depression." But now I have devised a very effective remedy for this affliction.
With the help of the Ellis Island Foundation, I located the manifest of the Rotterdam, the ship that arrived in New York on August 23, 1904 and which brought my grandparents to the new world. I purchased and studied a copy of this document. My grandfather, Joseph Uzilewsky, was 27 years old when he arrived and is listed as a "chemist's (i.e. pharmacist's) assistant." My grandmother, Sonia, was 20 and has no profession. Neither of them admitted to being either a polygamist or an anarchist. There's a specific column on the manifest in which each new arrival was required to say how much money he's bringing into the country. Almost all of the immigrants have a few dollars, but Joseph and Sonia have nothing at all. Nothing.
When I fall into periods of unhappiness, I think about my grandparents arriving here without a nickel in their pockets and unable to speak the language. And then I think of my own position in life. I had a job that allowed me -- no, required me -- to read as much as possible, and occasionally to write something about what I had read. My principal task was the pleasant and useful one of learning the young 'uns how to read and write. Now I'm retired and someone puts money in my bank account at the beginning of each month. It's not a lot of money, but it's enough to allow me to do whatever I please.
I have no reason to think that I'm smarter or more talented than my grandparents -- in fact, everything that I know about genetics leads to the conclusion that they were exactly as gifted as I. No question but that I've been a heckuva lot luckier. I could have spent my entire lifetime rolling cigars in a hot, airless back-room-behind-the-store, as my grandfather did.
I keep the Rotterdam manifest under the glass on my desk. When I start to feel gloomy, I force myself to take another look. I don't dare allow myself to succumb to depression. How justly would my grandparents have scorned the mopings and the woe-is-mes of someone so privileged as I have been.
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