Carrie and I are in New York City this week, staying across from Central Park, right in the middle of museums, Broadway and sidewalk spectacle. Down the street we can see Trump Tower. The streets are packed — carriages, trike tours, food carts and performers everywhere.

Every language imaginable fills the air.

And here’s what stands out: I haven’t met a native-born English speaker in any service job. Everyone I’ve spoken with is an immigrant.

All working. All striving. All chasing the American dream.

New York is a high-voltage version of that old promise:

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

We took a trike tour through Central Park. Our guide, who called himself Gary, narrated which movies were filmed where — more than 800 films have used the park.

I asked him where home was.

“Turkey,” he said. He’s been here 11 years and is a U.S. citizen. He’s been giving tours for eight. He also works a second job, has a wife, a family and a........

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