Norman’s Views on Canadian Immigration Officials

106-15th Avenue West, Calgary April 11, 1927

Dear Howie and Grace:--

Mother had a letter written, ready to sent you this afternoon, but I told her I wanted to put something in it; and as we were eating supper Presto! In comes a letter from Howard -- so I have time to answer it before Mother mails her east-bound letter.

I assure you I would have written before this, but I was not prepared for all contingencies, and so when Dr. Baker ordered me to bed for a week I didn’t even have the gumption to dictate a letter. Consequently, I shall begin at the beginning, or rather where I left off last which was somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, at Long. 161 E. and Lat. 38 1/2 or a few hundred miles from there --

We first set eyes on our Motherland [Victoria, B.C.] early Sunday morning, March 26 and that Sunday was the most heathenist Sabbath I ever spent -- it consisted in a prolonged series of immigration examinations, customs “ditto”, packing and unpacking, tipping, sweating, counting and rushing. By some unknown bygone so-called “law” the bloated, officious, self-important, blatant, bigoted, grubby-nailed, slimy-mouthed, thick-lipped, unreasoning son of Japheth (this, Japheth’s shame) politely called the immigration official informed me (but not politely) that due to the almost criminal fact that I was born in Japan (sniff) I had no claims to the status of a British subject, but was considered as an immigrant. Mother, of course, was exempt from further cross-questioning, but I had to wait my turn with the hordes of hindous, Chinese, etc. to get my medical exam etc. However, I was comforted by the fact that the aforesaid chicken-headed, two-legged animal etc. nearly chocked himself and also ruined his voice by howling and yelling at this fellow to come forward, that one to shutup, this one to sit down that one to be d---d etc. etc --only his last command was usually made under his putrid breath as officers and doctors were within earshot. Fortunately for me the ranks of the immigrants had been considerably thinned before I came. My examination merely consisted in telling them I had seen 17 summers, had any disease they wanted me to have such as measles, German measles, mumps and all such childish ailments, had never had an operation for appendicitis, yes intended to live in Canada but couldn’t say whether I intended to die there, and I also belonged to the white race -- I distinctly remember washing my face that morning -- The doctor made several feeble attempts to air his musty wit on the subject of my unusual birthplace and then sent me out.

The next gruelling gauntlet to run was the customs, where a chap with a thin, inquisitive nose (a wonderful nose to punch, at least I felt that way) kept poking this part of his physiognomy into every corner of my valise and bag, even unravelling my slippers and taking a dainty sniff therein. He soaked us $6.40 on our silk wearing-apparel but still looked at me as if I had opium up my sleeve and then with a final cyclonic disturbance which sent my brushes to the floor on one side of the barrier and a neck-tie and a book or two on the other, and “sent us packing”. There followed a frenzied attempt to get my things repacked, but strangely enough either my valise had shrunk, or I must have received some one else’s packing also, for my valise refused to be closed. So failing to close it by all manner of persuasion, patting, fairly mild viterperation [sic] and vocal urging, I resorted to sterner measures, and taking the brute (the valise) I started to bully it, stamp on it, pick it, pound it and squash it -- these seemed to make it more amenable, and after wringing my handkerchief and airing my scalp we proceeded to the other side of the barrier to settle down to a nice half-hour wait in the blue-aired dock until Mrs. Ramsey took Mother off -- and I departed with Tom. Heal.