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On
the Way to the Melting Pot
(Paa Veien til Smeltepotten)
Waldemar Theodor Ager (1917)
Translated by Harry T. Cleven
Prairie Oak Press (1995)
ISBN 1-879482-23-8.
On the Way to the Melting Pot is Waldemar Ager's
biting, satirical rebuttal to Israel Zangwill's popular 1908
play, "The Melting Pot." In its pages, we watch helplessly as
Norwegian immigrant families race to outdo one another in Americanizing
themselves, forsaking their Old World traditions, values and
even language. It is, in fact, a point of pride for many of
the families that their children are idlers who can not hold
meaningful conversations with their Norwegian-speaking parents.
In the Skare household, for instance, the children learned quite
early that their mother did not understand their speech. "Mother
became like a piece of household furniture--the most useful
in the whole house, essential and incomprehensible." Into this
milieu enter Lars and his fiancée, Karoline, two young Norwegians
just off the boat; and through their eyes readers obtain a Lettres
Perses perspective on immigrant life in a small American
midwestern city.
Ager penned the novel in 1917,
during the crest of the last big wave of European immigration,
and at the beginning of America's decade-long spasm of xenophobia
and "100 % Americanism." American doughboys had just gone to
France to "Hang the Kaiser!" and a push was on at home to level
German pride, cultural traditions and language. The anti-German
fervor spilled over onto other hyphenated Americans as well,
and Ager undoubtedly wrote Melting Pot in part as a reaction
to cries of "English only." A contemporary reviewer in a Seattle
newspaper wrote: "This is the great Norwegian book production
in America. . . . With a master's skill, [Ager] swings the whip
of satire and every other kind of whip that he has in hand over
meanness and soul-sickness. No one has ever made such fun of
veneration for all that is foreign [English] and contempt for
native values." In Immigrant Idealist, his literary biography
of Ager, Einar Haugen has this to say about the book: "From
beginning to end it is a satirical depiction of a population
in full flight from their Norwegian past to their American future.
. ." and praises the book for its lively dialogue. On the
Way to the Melting Pot opens the window wide on many of
the questions and pressures with which our own parents and grandparents
had to struggle. ~ Lizbeth Ager
Karoline,
a hired girl for Judge Highbee, has a set-to with one of his American
guests:
It was on the Seventeenth of May that they had some strangers
for tea. Karoline had decorated herself with a big Norwegian
Seventeenth of May ribbon which she had worn at the festivities
at home the year before. One of the ladies present took notice
of it as Karoline served and asked what it meant. "It is the
Seventeenth of May," Karoline said simply, and looked puzzled.
"Of course I know that," the woman
answered forbearingly, "but what does the date have to do with
that ribbon?"
"The Seventeenth of May is the same
in Norway as the Fourth of July is here in this country," said
Karoline.
"Oh, yes, I understand, but you're
not in Norway now, you are in America."
"Yes, but I am still Norwegian all
the same," the girl said shyly. "If I were an American and were
in Norway on the Fourth of July, I would do something to show
it. There are several at home who have been in America, and
they fly the American flag on the Fourth of July."
"Well, that's different, of course."
"I can't see any difference."
The woman tossed her head back and
turned to the others. "There ought to be a law against such
a thing," she said. "Daughters of the Revolution and Women's
Relief Corps should take up this matter. When people come here
from lands where they have been oppressed and can take advantage
of all the freedom our people have fought and suffered for,
then they should be forbidden to go here and wave the colors
of other countries right in our faces. If this land isn't good
enough for them then they can just stay where they are until
they can learn to appreciate freedom."
At first Karoline did not know what
she should say and fumbled, at a loss for words, with the tri-colored
ribbon. The worst of it was that she didn't know if she could
formulate her thoughts well enough when she spoke English. But
she had to say something: "Excuse me, ma'am," she said, "Norway
is not an oppressed country and I do not have one more bit of
freedom here than I had in Norway--and in Norway I could have
voted in the elections. I thought of waiting to travel to America
until I had had one opportunity to vote in my life because I
knew that here women are not considered much better than mental
patients and criminals are regarded in Norway--and if I didn't
get a chance to vote once there, then I knew I would never have
a chance because here women have no such rights-"
This came out in sobs and broken sentences,
but when she finished, Judge Highbee stood up and he was clearly
so moved that it made her almost fearful.
"Don't bother yourself about this,
Carrie," he said as though struggling to suppress his emotion.
"You will have an opportunity to vote here, too. We will no
doubt have to revise our ideas about foreign people and foreign
lands. In certain things they are further ahead than we are--in
some very vital areas they are ahead of us. The day will come,
and it is not so far off, when our American women will have
the same rights as the Norwegian women. Until that happens,
you are doing the right thing in wearing your ribbon. But,"
he raised a threatening finger toward her, "if I find you on
the Fourth of July without an American ribbon--well, you know
what the results will be."
"Maybe I can use the same one, because
it is red, white, and blue," she said quickly. He laughed. "You
are smarter than I thought," he said. "They are the old freedom
colors, and they do not belong to us alone."
And Mrs. Highbee touched Karoline's
arm lightly as she turned to go. "Is that ribbon all the way
from your home--in Norway?"
"Yes."
"May I clip a little piece from it
and wear it in honor of the land which does not consider women
to be idiots or dumb animals?"
"Oh! Take the whole ribbon, ma'am--please
take the whole thing."
"No--I couldn't do that."
"Take enough so I can have a little
piece too," said another of the ladies.
"Me too," said a third.
Karoline was red and embarassed and
stood curtsying with moist eyes as the scissors clipped and
her ribbon, bit by bit, went to the ladies. As though in a dream,
she heard Judge Highbee's voice in the speaking tube which went
out to the stableboy's room: "Dennis, put two of our flags by
the front steps--one on each side. It's Norway's independence
day and we want to celebrate."
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