In 1984 I traveled for the first time to Norway to visit my grandmother Dagmar. At that time I was not all that curious about my ancestry. Grandma, however, sat me down and showed me photos of the family prompting me to write the names on the back of the photos. She told me one story after another and my interest began to grow. The stories were of a large loving family. A family that had lived in the same beautiful area of Norway for as long as anyone could remember. Looking around me Norway seemed like a lovely place to live. The most obvious question was...why? Why Grandma did you leave Norway? How did you come to that decision and what was it like? As well as I remember some 30 years later, this is the story she told me.
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"It was not my idea but Paul's. When we were young Norway was not how it is today. People were poor and life was hard. For decades already many Norwegians were leaving for America where they said: "the streets were paved with gold". Letters arrived often, from those who had left, bragging how well they were now doing, sending photo postcards of their smiling well-dressed families posing in front of their home or with their new car. Paul and I were never foolish enough to believe that the streets were actually gold but we were young, hopeful and it seemed like a good adventure. Paul was totally swept up in the America fever and I was totally swept up by Paul. Our courtship was pretty quick. I had broken up with my boyfriend and stormed off to Oslo. Paul, who was my boyfriends' friend, had always had his eye on me. With his friends' approval, he followed me to Oslo. Not as tall or good looking as my old boyfriend but he was such fun. He danced so well and told jokes and best of all..he thought I was the most beautiful girl in the world. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth." And then she laughed. "I guess that is exactly what I did!"
"We returned to Skien and married when I found myself pregnant with Gerd, my first baby. Paul talked constantly about America and saved money for the ticket. The plan was that he would go first and I would stay here, near my mother, with the baby. He would surely send for us. He had an aunt in Chicago who he would stay with. There were lots of good paying jobs in Chicago, they all said, He left when Gerd was 15 months old.
Paul sent money. It does not seem like much now but at the time it seemed like a fortune. I had some doubts and fears about leaving but Paul wrote letters and sent photos. He and his friends were dressed so fine. They must be rich in Chicago!
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| 1923 Chicago, Illinois: Paul and friends |
At the end of 1923, the tickets for Gerd and myself came. Just a few weeks before our boat sailed Gerd died. She is buried in a paupers grave at Nordre Gravlund, I don't know exactly where. I had just one small suitcase and I took the train to Oslo. The agent helped me get on the boat. Paul had bought us cabin tickets! I did not know at the time but with cabin tickets, I did not have to go through the embarrassment of being looked at by the doctors on Ellis Island. I had some money that I hid under my skirt and although many others got very seasick, I was lucky and did not. I was afraid though. I thought I would never again see my mother and I worried what would happen if Paul was not there to pick me up. Right then I wished I was home and I didn't even care that I was about to be rich.
Chicago was not what I expected. Our apartment was in his aunts' basement. We had just a bed, a chair and a rug that the Salvation Army had given Paul. The pictures he had sent were taken in a studio. At the studio they rented the clothes, hats, and shoes just for the picture! Paul worked long hours in a Chicago brewery, fishing rats out of the vats of beer! I had to work too. I was so ashamed because married women never had work back home in Norway. I worked as a maid for a rich Danish family on the Gold Coast. I could not tell her I was married or that I had had a child or I would be fired. Chicago was loud, dangerous, mean and dirty. We lived in a neighborhood that was a mix of poor immigrants. At night the men would go to the Norwegian clubs where they would smoke, drink and do who knows what. Paul loved it in Chicago. I did not.
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| 1928 Chicago, Illinois Arnold and Grace Sevald |
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I remember my grandmother as a bold tough and determined woman, a real force to be reckoned with. But once upon a time, a hundred years ago, I envision a poor scared young woman who had just buried her baby, standing alone on the deck of the Bergensfjord. For two weeks she must have looked out across the vast ocean ahead of her clutching her small suitcase and praying her husband would be on the New York dock to meet her.
Thank you, Grandma,
I love you.
Thank you, Grandma,
I love you.
