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For much of its early history, a three-acre spit of sand situated in New York Harbor just south of Manhattan was known for little more than its abundant oyster beds. Dubbed Little Oyster Island, it would eventually be expanded to nine times its original size, take on a new name after its 18^th century owner Samuel Ellis—and become the nation’s first and largest federal .

During Ellis Island’s peak years of operation from 1900 to 1914, an average of 1,900 people passed through each day. Many were from southern and eastern Europe, including czarist Russia and Italy, but there were also Poles, Hungarians, Czechs, Serbs, Slovaks and Greeks, along with non-Europeans from Syria, Turkey, Armenia, Algeria, Guadeloupe and India.

With over 12 million new arrivals passing through its doors between 1892 and 1954, Ellis Island stands as an iconic symbol of the American immigrant experience.

“In reality, Ellis Island was the place where the United States worked out its extraordinary national debate over immigration,” writes Vincent Cannato, associate professor of history at the University of Massachusetts, Boston, and author of . 

At its start, Ellis Island’s “raison d’être was neither the protection of immigrants nor their complete exclusion, but rather their regulation so that only the fittest, ablest, and safest would be permitted to land,” Cannato writes. No passports or visas were needed to enter the country, and only of arriving immigrants were rejected entry. 

“In the 1920s, especially after the implementation of quotas and the consular visa system, Ellis Island shifts from an immigration processing station to a detention and deportation station for the immigration service and the Department of Justice,” explains Matt Housch, archivist for the Statue of Liberty National Monument.

First Through: Annie Moore, a Teenager from Ireland

Bookending Ellis Island’s 62 years in operation were Irish teenager Annie Moore and Norwegian merchant seaman —the very first and last people to be processed, and living embodiments of the island’s shifting role in American immigration history.

On December 20, 1891, 17-year-old Moore had departed Queenstown, an island now known as Cobh situated in the mouth of Cork Harbor, Ireland, on the steamship Nevada. Along with her two younger brothers, the teenager spent 12 days in steerage braving the rough Atlantic crossing to reunite with family already living in lower Manhattan. 

A memorial to Annie Moore and her younger brothers—the first immigrants to be processed at Ellis Island.

“Because many immigrants couldn’t afford to all go at once, it was common for the father and, say, one or two older siblings to go first, earn some money, and then send it back for the mother and younger siblings to come,” says , a professional genealogist and expert on Moore. “In Annie’s case, her father and two older siblings were here before her.”

On January 1, 1892, clanging bells, steam whistles and cheers filled the crisp winter air, as a crowd of newsmen hovered to witness the grand opening of the new immigration station and its very first arrival, the brown-haired Moore, who bounded down the gangplank with her brothers in tow.  

After entering the enormous double doors of the three-story wooden building, Moore was met with further hubbub: former Treasury Department official Charles Hendley inked Moore’s name in Ellis Island’s first registry book, federal superintendent of immigration for the port of New York John B. Weber gave her a ten-dollar gold piece, and she was blessed by a Catholic chaplain.

Why the unassuming Irish teenager was the first of the 107 immigrants in the ���𱹲��岹’s steerage to be processed is lost to history. Several accounts attribute it to acts of gallantry. But given that one of the main purposes of Ellis Island was to reassure the public that officials were screening out undesirables, according to Cannato in American Passage, Moore may have been chosen as a reassuring face of immigration. By 1855, the Irish Potato Famine had already prompted scores of Irish to settle in the United States, with over a quarter of New Yorkers claiming Irish heritage. 

The demographics of arrivals to Ellis Island in 1892 were decidedly different. Only about 8 percent of immigrants admitted that year were Irish, a number that dropped to 3 percent by 1907, Ellis Island’s peak year for arrivals, notes Housch. “In general, immigration from western and northern Europe declines, while immigration from eastern and southern Europe increases,” he explains, a shift that aligns with the ���𱹲��岹’s passengers, who were primarily Italian and Russian Jews.

As for Moore, it was long believed that she married a descendant of the Irish nationalist Daniel O’Connell, moved to New Mexico, and met an untimely death in a streetcar accident. This tale of westward migration, which echoed the spirit of early American pioneers, turned out to be a case of mistaken identity. 

“The spark was wishful thinking by an elderly lady whose mother was also named Annie Moore,” says Smolenyak, who was instrumental in . After some genealogical sleuthing, Smolenyak concluded that the real Moore married and spent her whole life in the Two Bridges area of Manhattan, not far from where she first arrived after leaving Ellis Island.

“She had a challenging life, but one that many other immigrants shared,” says Smolenyak, who found that Moore and her husband had 10 children, with only half of them making it to adulthood. “Tenement life takes a heavy toll. But as with so many, subsequent generations managed to climb up the socio-economic ladder. It’s the classic American dream saga where the immigrant sacrifices for the benefit of future generations,” she says.

Last Through: Norwegian Arne Petterson

Sixty-two years after Moore passed through Ellis Island, on November 12, 1954.

Hailing from Larvik, Norway, Petterssen was a crewmember of a Norwegian vessel and led an adventurous, globetrotting life—with a particular affinity for New York. “He overstayed his allotted shore leave there on at least four occasions,” says Smolenyak. “It was the last time that landed him in the media spotlight since he was the last detainee at Ellis Island.”

But Petterssen’s time in New York didn’t end there. According to Smolenyak, he was given until December 10, 1954 to leave the country, and then a further extension to December 24. When he was found still in the city two months later, Peterssen was finally deported on February 16, 1955 on the M.S. Stockholm. After more traveling, Peterssen finally settled in his hometown of Larvik, where he died just days after his 75th birthday on February 14, 1981.

“His experience would have been similar to others of that era at Ellis Island, but obviously different from those who arrived earlier to embark upon their new lives in America,” says Smolenyak. “In short, it’s a difference of beginnings and endings.”