Brandon Smith, Hour 6

Journal 1
	My name is Heidi. I am a farmworker from Poland of nineteen years old. I am keeping this journal as an account of my immigration to the United States. Should anyone want details of the immigration process, I'll record them all within this journal.

Journal 2
	In order to get on this boat, we spent all of the money we had at the time. We left for the United States in search of religious and political freedom. The people in our country were underfed. This is a result of the large overpopulation of Poland.

Journal 3
	The ships, as our countries, were very overcrowded. We were treated terribly by the ship's crew, like luggage. We stayed on the ship for eleven days at the lowest level. There, it was hard to see because there were no windows, hard to breathe, and very short ceilings.

Journal 4
	Toward the end of the long trip, we spotted that brilliant statue. O, my Lord! The statue of liberty shone in the evening sunset like a promise of a new life. When we got close enough to Ellis Island, we took smaller, separate boats to the island. There, we underwent vigorous medical inspections that took up to an hour for each person. Afterwards, we were sent to the registration hall, where the final procedures took place before we began our new lives. 

Journal 5
	To decide where we were to live, my family and I simply followed many other people from Poland. We arrived later in a city called Boston, which seemed quite nice, and began to look for places to live. In our search, we found that other earlier settlers from our country had established newspapers, grocery stores, and other conveniences fit to our tastes of home.

Journal 6
	Despite the nice city, the living conditions we've found at our new homeplace have been worse. The building we live in is very poorly kept. There is very little ventilation or light, and extremely few bathtubs. There is also a lack of privacy, as the toilets we use are in our yards. Hopefully this isn't all this country has to offer.

Journal 7
	I am very underpaid, but I desperately need some kind of income. Despite my experience in agricultural work, I do not want to continue with farm work. Children only get paid half the amount adults do. The days are very hard; I work fourteen hours each day.

Journal 8
	The Americans that I run into are very rude to me, treating me like they're better than me. Their words, if they any, are very harsh, as if we Europeans are a different race than them. I've heard recently that the native-born Americans have been wanting limits on the number of immigrants able to enter the country at one time. I almost, but not quite, regret coming to this country. However, my hopes are high that things will get better eventually.