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The Hard-Working Immigrant

We come for freedom and the chance to live the American dream.

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    I don’t know about you, but one of the unexpected best things to happen during the COVID-19 pandemic was the early release of the filmed version of Hamilton.

    The line that gets the strongest audience reaction is shared between Hamilton and Lafayette—"Immigrants—we get the job done."

    The hardest working immigrant in my family was my maternal grandfather Murray, whose family fled the pograms of Eastern Europe in the early 20th century and came to America for freedom and the chance to live the American Dream. And his success fueled dreams of success for me, which were an important part of my own inspiration to become doctor.

    Immigrant

    -for Maurice O. Emhoff, DDS, 1898-1992

    When the Jews were slaves in Egypt,

    Pharoah’s molars crumbled from a diet

    seasoned with desert sand. Two thousand

    years later, the Jews are enslaved again,

    this time in Galicia, my grandfather fleeing

    to America, his earliest memory being down

    on his five-year-old knees to kiss Liberty

    Island’s earth and thank God for the USA.

    Flash forward and “Doc” Emhoff is the first

    Jew to graduate Columbia Dental School.

    With a Jersey City office next door to Mayor

    Hague’s, he drilled molars for crooked pols

    and pulled teeth from tough guys

    who fixed my driver’s license road test.

    A bear-hugging bulldozer of a man

    decked out in pinstriped suits and a star

    sapphire pinky ring, he’d peel off dollar bills

    from a wad held by a sterling silver clip

    and stuff them into my pocket. Master

    of the quick extraction, his power-grip

    fingers crushed my loosened milk teeth

    into gravel when he ripped them, bloody

    from my seven-year-old mouth.

    Grandpa Murray, rags to riches, American

    big shot, the man who dreamt even bigger

    for his first grandson when he placed a doctor’s bag

    in my crib, gave me stone skulls for bookends,

    taught me to polish dentures in his cluttered lab,

    and let me examine ten thousand extracted teeth

    he kept in a stack of drawers. The proudest man

    at my med school graduation, an immigrant

    who spent his life staring into America’s mouth,

    the stains and decay, bridges and crowns, the jolt

    of his booming voice commanding every citizen

    to bite down, grind, smile and open wide,

    the way America’s jaws had opened for him.

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