Grandpa Paul Sevald was a snappy dresser

One of the many memories I have of my maternal grandfather, Paul Sevald, is that he always dressed well. He was a machinest by trade but he always wore a dress shirt and suit. The whole get-up including those elastic bands around your sleeves to hold them up. A white (only white) hanky with his initials embroidered on it peeking out of his breast pocket, folded just so. And garters to hold up his socks. You don't see them anymore. His shoes? always polished and his curly hair never seemed to need a cut, he looked like he was fresh from the barber. He wore a hat to church on Sunday, the kind Harry Truman wore. If I close my eyes I can still see him on a Saturday afternoon at the Sears on Six corners in Chicago. While my grandma and I shopped, he people watched. He would buy a bag of nuts and position himself at the escalator watching the folks go up and down. He would later comment on the hats the ladies wore and he wasn't at all pleased if a woman wore pants or didn't have her gloves on while "out on the town". He only "dressed down" if he went fishing out on Navy Pier and even then there was a neatness about him. Shirt always tucked in, suspenders in place. But no hat...that was for Sunday.

 my grandfather

Paul Skoglund Sevald

b. 25 August 1894 Kragerø, Telemark, Norway

d.  5 September 1971 Chicago, Cook, Illinois USA

Vacation Bible School

I don't recall ever doing any activity that wasn't somehow connected with the church. I don't know if folks were really any more spiritual than they are today it is just... that was the culture of the times. EVERYONE belonged to a Protestant church, a Catholic parish or a Jewish synagogue. And all our activities were around the church. As a little kid I don't think I was even aware that there were any other faiths beyond Christianity and Judaism. You not only went to your particular church on Sunday (or Saturday if you were Jewish) but you belonged to church social groups, played on church sport leagues, attended church sponsored clubs and activities etc. As a kid I do not remember there being "megachurches" like there are now. Instead it seemed that almost every square mile there was a small local neighborhood church

School lasted until the end of June in Chicago. We could not wait for school to end and summer vacation to begin. The summers however could be long and hot and I am sure, just as my kids did, I and my siblings bothered Mom with "what can we do?".  My mom got a great idea. She signed me up for various Vacation Bible schools.  A friend of Mom's was the pastors wife of a Covenant church a few blocks  south of us. I went to Vacation Bible school there. Two good friends lived across the street from the Methodist church a few blocks west of us. I went to Vacation Bible School there. Our own Evangelical Bible church, a short car ride away, also had Vacation Bible School and of course I went there also. One year I even went to a Lutheran Vacation Bible School! Mom was probably okay with that since all her relatives back on Norway were Lutheran. Mom warned me though not to get any "liberal crazy" ideas. "You know the Lutherans, they think they can live it up and enjoy the world and still go to heaven." Sounded like a good plan to me.

Actually all the Vacation Bible schools were about the same. For a week we had somewhere to go and play games, sing songs, drink "bug juice", eat home-made cookies, make projects and listen to flannel board Bible stories. I especially loved the craft-time.  Coloring, cutting and pasting a Bible story based project that went home to sit proudly on top of our piano. Or give to grandma...she loved that stuff. 

Once we moved to the suburbs in the 60's there was the park pool and swimming lessons, sports teams, summer school, music lessons etc. all for a price. But in Chicago in 1958? There was Vacation Bible School. It was fun, all the Protestant neighborhood kids were there.... and it was free. 


     Good memories,

Grandma learns to drive

My grandmother Dagmar was a tough gal. I only once saw her cry. Not that she was without feeling. She was a very loving and generous soul. I think she just saw being weepy and having a "poor me" pity party counter-productive. She was the one who could always be counted on. Go to Grandma she'll know what to do. She would comfort you with a pat on the back and a hug "Go ahead and cry, the more you cry the less you will have to pee". After a bit of sympathy it was time for action. "Now we make a plan", she would say. She would assess the situation and figure out what to do. If that didn't work? "Now we make another plan". She was not a person you could keep down.

 Grandma was born in 1900 in a small rural area of Norway and lived most of her adult life in Chicago. All of her friends and most everything she needed she could find walking distance right in her neighborhood. Occasionally she would hop on the bus or take the "L" downtown. She never learned to drive. She didn't need to. When we moved to the suburbs in the 60's Grandpa would drive her out to our house.

Sadly, Grandpa was diagnosed with Parkinson's. He went downhill quickly and soon he was barely able to walk let alone to drive. So Grandma "made a plan". She was going to learn to drive. At the age of 66 no less. And she did! I remember vividly accompanying Mom and Grandma to the DMV on Elston Ave. in Chicago. Her English was not so good  and she had but a fifth grade education but she passed the written test! Off she went with the instructor and climbed into our Chevy for her road test. Mom and I watched through the DMV's large rear window as Grandma slowly, and I mean slooooooowly drove the course. Then we watched her go over the curb. Twice. We felt bad for her but in a way relieved for us and the rest of the city of Chicago who would be out on the road with her. Imagine our surprise as she came toward the building waving some ticket or paper or something and shouting  "I passed I passed"!

My Dad did not allow us kids to ride with her. She missed her exit on the Edens expressway once, stopped and backed up. Oh Lord could she weave! She would actually periodically bump the curbs as she seemed to tend to drift to the right. She knew she was not a great driver. One day she showed up at our house all proud.  "I didn't drive too good so I had to make a plan and now I drive good." She dragged us outside. Her plan? She had bought a rambler because it had a hood ornament. "Yust aim that guy on the hood with the line on the side of the road and you can't go wrong". "Ya, its a good plan". She never did have an accident maybe because she only drove her Rambler. None the less Dad still wouldn't allow us to ride with her.

I admired and loved that tough lady. She was not going to give up her independence. Nothing was going to get her down. Things don't go your way? It's okay to be sad and cry a bit but "now we have to make a plan". I myself didn't drive until I was 20 and Grandma was the one who loaned me the money to buy a car. "It's a good plan, a woman should drive". She fronted me $2300 to buy that beige "72 Pinto. I paid her back in weekly installments. Grandpa died and she moved back to Norway not long after.  Years later she confided to me that she left with only $500 to her name. It seems she never doubted I would pay her back. 

My brand new Pinto

Of course I would pay her back. I had a plan.