Measure of a Man by Martin Greenfield, Wynton Hall

brighter by the minute. I smiled and cried.
    The boat slowed as we entered New York Harbor. An enormous, glowing statue beamed beautiful against the wet black sky. I had no idea what she meant, how she got there, or why.
    I gazed at the shining cityscape. The buildings ran up and down in jagged peaks that stretched for miles. My eyes bounced from lighted block to lighted block—finally falling off into inky darkness at its outermost edges.
    I was struck by the arresting feeling that my life was born anew, that a land capable of building something so splendid was capable of helping someone so small.
    The Ernie Pyle docked. I couldn’t wait to disembark. Since I had to go through immigration processing, I spent an impatient night on board. I had no desire to go inside my cabin. Instead, I would stay up all night watching over my new nation like a proudfather watching his newborn sleeping. But I told myself I should try to get some rest so I’d be fresh to meet my family on my first big day in America.
    The next morning, when I stepped off the ship, an immigration official and a Yiddish–English interpreter helped issue me a green card. “You are an American, but not a citizen,” the official said.
    “You are wrong. I am Czech,” I said.
    “No, no more. Now you’re an American,” he said.
    “No, see, I was born in Pavlovo, Czechoslovakia,” I said.
    “I understand. But now you are an American. You aren’t a citizen. Yet. From now on you have every right that I have except you have to report every year. If you obey the laws, you will be treated just like me,” he said. “If in five years you decide you want to become a U.S. citizen and you take the required tests, you can officially become an American citizen. Okay?”
    “Okay,” I said.
    I couldn’t believe it. How could he say that to me? I’m an American? I just got here. I felt so grateful, so lucky, so undeserving. To me those were the biggest words I had ever heard. I took advantage of those words. What a country , I thought. This really is the place to be .
    The official handed me my green card. I looked at it proudly. “I’m really an American?” I asked the interpreter.
    “Yes,” he said with a warm smile.
    “Okay then,” I said. “I’m an American!”
    I didn’t know what to do next. Uncle Irving had sent me a picture, but I didn’t see anyone who looked like the man in the photograph. I looked all around for my friend Kalvin as well, butI didn’t see him either. Just as I started to feel a little uneasy, an old woman walked up to me. “Maximilian?” she asked in Yiddish.
    “Yes, I’m Maximilian Grünfeld,” I said. She flung her arms wildly around me, pelting me with kisses on my cheeks. I had no idea who she was.
    “I’m your Aunt Elka, your mother’s oldest sister!” she said. “Here, look.” She held up an old picture of me taken well before we were rounded up and arrested. “Your Uncle Irving, my brother, sent me this picture of you and asked me to pick you up. You’ll stay with me in the Bronx for a week before he comes to take you to Baltimore,” she said.
    “Oh, I see,” I said, having no idea what she really meant. “So nice to . . . You see . . . The lights in the harbor on the. . . .”
    Aunt Elka stood and looked at me with big, brown eyes. I was her nephew, and even though she’d never seen me before, she loved me as part of her family.
    “Thank you,” I managed finally. “I’m so grateful you came.”
    “You look too skinny,” she said, giving me a playful poke in the ribs. “We’re going to fatten you up. I want you to meet my son-in-law, Joe.” We shook hands and hugged. A few minutes later, I heard a familiar voice calling my name. It was Kalvin. He’d come just as he promised. I hugged him and introduced him to Aunt Elka and Joe Wernick. They offered Kalvin a ride with us.
    The three of us walked in the rain to Joe’s car, an impressive black, shiny Nash. I nudged Kalvin. “Reminds me of my