My Dad, the Illegal Refugee ... And Employer of Hundreds Who Sought Work

Donald Trump told a rally in Portland, Maine on Thursday afternoon that the U.S. should block access from certain countries, even refugees who are otherwise legally admitted. His rationale? Immigrants from these nations have plotted to kill Americans. His list? Somalia, Morocco, Uzbekistan (he asked the crowd where it was located), Syria, Afghanistan, the Philippines, Iraq, Pakistan and Yemen.

My Dad, a Hungarian refugee, faced similar attitudes and policies in 1949.

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When my father died, I was 48 years-old. I knew my Dad came to America after he lost 26 members of his family in Nazi death camps and on the Russian front as human shields. Their crime? They were Jews. But I did not know my Dad was here illegally until after he died.

My Dad’s surname name was Lefkovitz— a dead giveaway that he was a Jew. When he met with agents of the French underground to come to America, they did three things for him. They gave him a French last name—LeRoy— to disguise his Jewishness. They gave him $5 as he boarded a cargo ship out of Hamburg. And they gave him false papers to enter America.

For the next 56 years, he lived in fear of being found out as an illegal alien—so fearful, he did not even tell my Mom, a Chicago-born American. She didn’t find out until he was eligible for Social Security benefits. After she pestered him to apply, he told her that U.S. government knew him to be three years younger than she (we) knew. [She told me about this after dad died and I started to teach a course on immigration and employment.]

Why did he lie and cheat the system?
Because the U.S. would not allow Jews over 18 years of age to enter America in the late 1940s. Fortunately, he looked younger than his years—and he had the benefit of an agent who forged convincing immigration documents.

In his 56 years in America, my Dad rose from a baker’s assistant in the Catskills, working from 3:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m., to a highly successful owner of a construction business and a sprawling horse farm in Chicago’s northwest suburbs. He made a fortune; but he was more proud that he donated a fortune to people who had less than him.

The current backlash against illegal immigrants evokes memories of my Dad’s long, marble kitchen table. He ran his business from the head of that table. His work crews came by for breakfast and coffee—and detailed work instructions— six out of seven mornings every week.

My Dad loved to hire outcasts. He knew they would work harder than anyone else. I can’t count the number of Polish carpenters who worked for my Dad. They were Catholic and spoke in heavy accents. It didn’t matter to my Dad, a Hungarian Jew.

He hired Rick (Polish) and Ray in the late 1970s, the first gay men I knew. Today, they would be married—then, they were both rejected by their religious families.
When Ray was on his death-bed with cancer, my Dad traveled to Lockport to beg Ray’s father to visit his own son before he died. Ray’s dying wish was granted because my Dad understood the destructive power of rejection. Ray and his father made peace.

James, a U.S. citizen and African-American carpenter from the South Side, was one of my Dad’s favorite employees because, in my Dad’s words, James was “a project” who worked out. James wept the day he left my Dad and took a better paying job, with my Dad’s blessing. James, an ex-con, was recruited by a Polish worker who told him my Dad gives people second chances.

Then there was Emil, the 82 year-old carpenter from Norway. Rick learned that Emil could not move on and do anything after his wife of 60 years passed away. Emil was an excellent finish carpenter. Rick got him to apply for work. My Dad gave Emil a one week tryout—and on Friday evening, as we prepared for Sabbath dinner, Emil trudged in for his paycheck. My Dad hired him.

For those among us who want to throw out immigrants: You are throwing out America’s best hope to be great. You don’t have to open your wallets to these people—simply open your hearts, your minds, and the gates to opportunity.