Peggy Noonan: Noonan: 'Is That Allowed?' 'It Is Here.'

July 5th, 2012

The Wall Street Journal
By Peggy Noonan
July 5, 2012

There’s something Haley Barbour reminded me of called the Gate Rule. The former Mississippi governor said it’s the first thing you should think of when you think about immigration. People are either lined up at the gate trying to get out of a country, or lined up trying to get in.

It says something about the health of a nation when they’re lined up to get in, as they are, still, with America. It says, of course, that compared with a lot of the rest of the world, America’s economy isn’t in such bad shape. But it says more than that. People don’t want to come to a place when they know they’ll be treated badly. They don’t want to call your home their home unless they know you’ll make room for them in more than economic ways.

And so this July 4, a small tribute to American friendliness, openness, and lack of—what to call it? The old hatreds. They dissipate here. In Ireland, Catholics and Protestants could be at each other’s throats for centuries, but the minute they moved here, they were in the Kiwanis Club together. The Mideast is a cauldron, but when its residents move here, they wind up on the same PTA committee. It sounds sentimental, but this is part of the magic of America, and the world still knows it even if we, in our arguments, especially about immigration, forget.

So, three stories of American friendliness, openness and lack of the old hatreds.

There was a teenager who came here with his parents and younger brother. They arrived New York and got an apartment on 181st Street and Broadway. He spoke little English but went right into public school. The family needed money, so when he was 16, he transferred to night school and got a day job at a shaving-brush factory. He wore big, heavy rubber gloves and squeezed bleaching acid out of the bristles. Soon he went part time to City College, and then he entered the U.S. Army.

This is a classic immigrant story. It could be about anyone. But the teenager went on to become an American secretary of state, and his name is Henry Kissinger. Here is another part of the story that is classic: how Americans treated him. The workers at the factory were older than he, mostly Italian-American, some second-generation. They wanted to help make him part of things, so they started taking him to baseball games. “It was the summer of 1939. . . . I didn’t know anything about baseball,” he remembered this week. Now here he was in the roaring stands at Yankee Stadium. About the people in the bleachers, he said, “the most striking thing was the enormous friendliness, the bantering.” In Hitler’s Germany, “I saw crowds, I’d go to the other side of the street.” Here, no sense of looming threat. “That I would say was a very American part of my experience.”

He was “enchanted” by the game—”the subtlety, the little nuances—you can watch what the strategy is and how they judge what the opponent is likely to do by the way the fielders position themselves. . . . It is a game that combines leisure with highly dramatic moments!”

And there was the man called Joe DiMaggio. The factory workers would sort of say, “If you take a look at Joe DiMaggio,” you will learn something about this country. DiMaggio was “infinitely graceful” as a fielder, “he would sort of lope towards the ball . . . nothing dramatic, he didn’t tumble, he didn’t strut, and he made it look effortless.” He didn’t “stand there wagging his bat. . . . He would just stand there with his bat raised. . . . He was all concentration.”

Years later they met, and Mr. Kissinger, faced with his boyhood idol, that symbol of those early years, was awed. It was like being a kid and meeting a movie star: “I didn’t know exactly what to say to him.” They became friends. “He had a fierce kind of integrity.”

So Henry Kissinger learned some things about Americans, and America, thanks to a bunch of Italian guys in a brush factory downtown. They were good to him. They were welcoming. Probably when they or their people were new here, someone was good to them.

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