"Time to get a job"

Shortly after my sixteenth birthday my father took me to apply for a Social Security card. Today all children need a Social Security number for their parents taxes but at that time you got a card when you were old enough to get a job. My Dad then told me "time to get a job". There was no option here. My Dad came from the "you don't work you don't eat" culture and he felt the best way to prepare me for life was to push me into it. I was born in the midst of the "baby boomer" years. This meant that there were hoards of teenagers competing for jobs. College graduates were working as busboys and bagging clerks. I found a part time job my junior year at the Sun Drug store 2 blocks from my house. Sun Drugs is still there although now it is a CVS pharmacy. My starting wage was $1.60 an hour! Big money to me at the time. I was envisioning all the wonderful things I could buy. I worked 2 nights a week, Tuesday and Thursday 6 to 10 and Saturday 1:30 to 10. by my estimation that was 16 x $1.60 or over $25! We stocked shelves and manned the front register. My Dad picked me up every night I worked. I told him not to come in to the store. It was "too embarrassing". Big mistake. After that he waited for me at the corner outside the drug store, right under the street light so I would for sure see him. Then he would call out my name in a goofy voice as I left the store or wave at me furiously. Sometimes he would wear a goofy hat, fake mustache or worse yet this awful hugh trenchcoat. He would squat down and do this goofy walk where he looked like a dwarf all the two blocks home. My work friends thought he was hysterical. Me? Not so much. No wonder anymore where my son got his off the wall goofy sense of humor. Not funny then but It has given me lots of happy goofy memories of my Dad since.


At some point someone must have been taking money out of the  register because we all had to take a lie detector test and were questioned  by the police. Looking back at that I would think, for sure now and most likely then also, it was probably illegal to do that to minors without even notifying their parents, let alone without legal representation. But what did we know? Here comes the real "crime". My first paycheck. I couldn't believe it! Where was my $25? I went home in a huff to show my Dad who I was sure would straighten it out for me. Wrong again. "Taxes", he said "for the government and the state".  Then he informed me a certain percent went to the church, a certain percent went to savings for college and he had me sign my check, give it to him and he handed me a lousy five bucks.

Life lesson learned. Welcome to working, tax paying America.

Love you Dad,

Dagmar's Stories - Grandma and Grandpa's engagement portraits

remembering one of the many stories my grandmother Dagmar shared with me

In the previous post I  celebrated the marriage of my grandparents Paul and Dagmar Sevald. Their marriage was small, most likely just the young couple and maybe a friend or two. They never had an official wedding portrait. They did have individual engagement photos taken.


On one of my last visits to Norway Grandma made a point of telling me the story of her family and passing on to me family photos. Among them this engagement photo of my grandfather. The original photograph is about 18" high and was originally displayed in an oval polished wood frame. It was no longer framed and a section of Paul's hair was missing. Where was the photograph of Grandma? Grandma immigrated to America alone. Grandpa had come the previous year and sent her the ticket to follow. She had only a small trunk with her but the precious photographs were packed safely inside among her clothes.


America was Paul's dream but for Dagmar living in Roaring Twenties Chicago? not so much. She said the happy go lucky Paul and she spent too many nights smoking, drinking and dancing the night away in local Norwegian dance clubs and bars. Once Dagmar had the two babies, my uncle Arnold and my mom Grace, she preferred quiet family nights at home and money in the bank. Paul danced on. Her pleading did not matter, so she assumed their family must not matter to him either. She threw his photo to the floor, her photo she "ripped up to tiny pieces and flushed down the toilet". It was 1929 and she packed up her babies and returned to Norway without him.

Good for you Grandma! She wanted better for herself and her children. And she got it. But I did wonder why she ripped up her photograph instead of his? So I asked her and her reply? She clicked her teeth in that Norwegian way and said "Oh yah, I should'a done that instead", and she laughed.

Grandpa surely got the message because he gave up the party life and Grandma returned to Chicago.  I remember him only as a devout Christian who did not smoke or drink, loving, generous, joyful and kind. But more importantly I remember that he adored my grandma, but he still loved to dance.

Grandfather's picture photoshopped, 

looks a little better don't you think?

Paul Skoglund Sevald

b. 25 Aug 1894 Kragerø, Telemark, Norway

d. 5 Sept 1971 Chicago, Cook, Illinois USA

A strong independant woman, my Grandma Dagmar, 
Grandpa knew she was a keeper.

**click on photos to enlarge for easier viewing**

Happy Birthday Grandpa Sevald!

Today I remember my maternal grandfather, Paul Skoglund Sevald. He was born 125 years ago today. He died when I was 19 but I remember him well and fondly.  When I remember him, I remember him as he was when I was a small child. He was always cheerful, happy and laughing. A fun person to be around, joking with my grandmother, dancing up our stairs and singing. Hugging and loving us. His last years were difficult as he suffered, truly suffered from Parkinson's disease. Unfortunately, due to his illness I don't think my younger siblings would remember how grandpa was in his healthy happy days. But I do, and let me tell you. Those days were great.

Happy Birthday Grandpa!

Grandpa and his first grandchild........Me!

**click on photos to enlarge for easier viewing**

A Frog in the Fjord - Weird things Norwegians do

I have often thought (and heard) that those of Norwegian heritage here in the U.S. follow old Norwegian traditions that were brought over by their ancestors. Traditions common to 19th and early 20th century Norway. Are modern day Norwegians very much like those of old at all? Which of those traditions or "Norwegian ways" did I see in my family that perhaps even persist in me all the way to 2018? Do some of those characteristics remain today in Norway? How like a modern Norwegian am I because of my Norwegian heritage?

I follow a wonderful blog. A Frog in the Fjord is written by a woman born in France who now lives in Norway. I just love her straightforward view of the Norwegian of today. A view that perhaps only an outsider could see. She speaks of what she considers good, bad and sometimes just odd characteristics of modern Norwegians but with an obvious love of the country and its people.

click here - check it out - a good read - and fun!

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A Frog in the Fjord - Weird things Norwegians do

I remember distinctly and with love my grandmother verbally agreeing with me. 

Ja Ja Ja, spoken while sucking in her breath! 

Enjoy A Frog in the Fjord , I did.

Which grandparent do I most resemble?

FamilySearch.org implemented something new. A facial recognition tool. You compare  a selfie with a picture of an ancestor and  BOOM! the softwear will tell you how much your looks compare. We don't get to choose the DNA that is passed on to us and to be honest with you, if I could have chosen I surely would have picked my Swedish paternal grandmother. She was born tall, blond and cute. But that wasn't to be. I matched very little with her and even less with my Swedish paternal grandfather.  I always knew that my looks decidedly came mainly from my Norwegian side.

The facial recognition tool agreed. My dear Norwegian grandpa Sevald. Well...of my four grandparents he would be the least likely to win a beauty contest. He was short, a bit on the stubby side, curly hair, ruddy complexion, but yep, he was the one. But I couldn't be more pleased. What a great guy. I only wish I was as good a person as he had been. I think I can be a bit crabby, stubborn and single minded. That must have come from my paternal Swedish grandpa!

Just 20% similarity to my other three grandparents but with Grandpa Paul Sevald?

Don't know how accurate the softwear is but it was a lot of fun. Give it a try?

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DO YOU LOOK LIKE YOUR RELATIVES? 

FAMILY SEARCH FACIAL RECOGNITION

Paul Sevald - Happy Birthday Grandpa!

My grandfather was born on this date: August 25th

The first child of seven, Paul Skoglund Sevaldsen was born in Kragerø, Telemark, Norway to Anders and Anne Marie Sevaldsen on August 25, 1894. His father was a missionary for the Seventh-Day Adventist Church. His mother died giving birth to his youngest sibling. Paul was fifteen. He worked on his uncle's farm in his teens and as a chauffeur in his early twenties. At twenty-eight he married my grandmother Dagmar. One year later he emigrated to Chicago where his wife soon joined him. He worked for many years as a machinest. He had three children, one of them was my mother Grace, and seven grandchildren. He died in Chicago September 5, 1971. He would have eleven great grandchildren and twenty one great great grandchildren (so far to this date). These are "facts" any one of his ancestors can discover.

I knew him well so let me tell you additional "facts" about Paul.
He was kind and generous. He was witty and funny. He loved to fish. He could tap dance. He was truthful and reliable.  He loved his wife, children and grandchildren, He was a Godly man. He loved Chicago AND Norway. He was a snappy dresser, He was friendly. He gave good hugs. He was forgiving. He was loyal. I could go on and on. Let's just say he was the best grandpa a little girl could have and I knew it.

Happy Birthday Grandpa Sevald!

Paul and Dagmar Sevald -Norway1937

My grandparents, Paul and Dagmar Sevald. On a visit to Norway they sit relaxing outside a family members home? This photo is very typical of them.

My grandfather, always dressed in the finest. Unless he was fishing or building/working on something he always wore a suit. Single or double breasted with a vest, tie and long sleeved white shirt. The tie always neatly done, never haphazard. I know he also wore those old timey green elastic shirt armbands. I think I can almost see them in this photo. What I can't see, but I guarantee you are there, are sock suspenders. God forbid his socks should fall down! The only hint in his dress, that shows he is relaxing, is that he took off his jacket and hat!

Grandma, of course, has her knitting with her. She always was busy doing something. Older ladies back in the day always wore a dress. I never saw her in anything but a dress but she was never a fancy gal, generally a flowery cotton dress of the variety she wears in this photo. Every day? Throw an apron on. Going out to shop or to church? Add a hat and of course a pair of white gloves.

They sit right next to each other because Grandma and Grandpa always did. He would reach across and give her a little pat on the leg. She would shake her head, smile and say "Oh Pa", pretending to be irritated by his little public show of affection. But she wasn't.

My Maternal Grandparents

Paul Skoglund Sevald

b. 25 Aug 1894 Kragerø, Telemark, Norway

  d. 5 Sep 1971 Chicago, Cook, Illinois USA   

Dagmar Gundersen Sevald

b. 10 Jun 1900 Eidanger, Telemark, Norway

d. 12 Jun 1991 Skien, Telemark, Norway

A Happy Family - Paul and Dagmar Sevald

I read somewhere that only those from happy families want to look into their family history/genealogy. I don't know if that is true or not but in the twenty years I have been involved in investigating my own family history I am proud of what I have found. 

 

A family member in Norway recently made this photo available to me. My grandparents Paul and Dagmar Sevald. They are the first generation of my family in the U.S.  My family history journey began with them. Hard working, salt of the earth, joy filled people who loved God and their family.  As my research branched out I found more and more of the same. Many people go into family history convinced of and to prove that they are descended from or related to someone famous or infamous, exciting, daring, brilliant, accomplished etc. etc. etc. I found no such surprises.  I have traced my family in all lines back many generations and have found no one considered extraordinary. No one  "rich"; my ancestors were generally poor tenant farmers, sailors and tradesmen. No one smart; only some in my own generation ever finished college, my ancestors mainly were literate but had a very basic education. No one famous or infamous; I have not yet found any criminals. Am I disappointed? Heck, no. I discovered my family lived through poverty, illness, war, tragedy and still they went on. Ever loyal to their faith and family. Yes, I come from a happy family. And THAT IS extraordinary.

Next Monday is Christmas Day and I will be busy making new happy family memories. 

until next year!

Christmas with the Andersons

 Christmas is now a few weeks off and today 

I wish to share a memory that I wrote about before. 

On my Swedish family blog I wrote this last year. 

A Christmas memory that returns to me with joy each year about this time.

Christmas with the Andersons - Love and Lutefisk in 1961

It's funny how some things or experiences you have as a child really stay with you.  A treasured memory of mine was our yearly lutefisk Christmas with the Andersons. Al, Mr. Anderson, was a good lifelong friend of my Dad's. He had known him from childhood. I think their parents even had been friends. He and his wife Ruth were wonderful people. Each year, sometime during the Christmas season, our family would go to their home for a lutefisk dinner. I never did like the lutefisk but Mrs. Anderson's meatballs were so so good. Mr. Anderson and my Dad would laugh over people they knew in their childhood, like "Snusbox Benson" and tell stories to each other in Swedish laughing all the while.

Their Chicago home was small and simple but oh so welcoming and comforting that I really treasured those visits. They had a dog named Patsy. After my kids were born I insisted on a Springer Spaniel just hoping it would be like that great pup that laid under the Andersons end table. My Dad was a bit older than my Mom and the Andersons had married young so their children were already teens when we were very young so I don't remember much interaction with them. Except, their son Len had a foosball table! How rich was that I thought! and they set it up right in the living room just for us! And even better, a Lionel train that really smoked and a station master that came out with each circle of the Christmas tree! You know that I HAD to buy that same station master for my Lionel. My husband and I built a beautiful Christmas train layout but that station master is the favorite of my grandkids as it was for me. For some unknown reason they call him "Bob".

The Christmas of 1961, now over a half century ago, is one that stands out above the rest. The Andersons, after prayers, lutefisk, Swedish jokes and reminiscing gave us the best presents ever. That year I remember in particular because my sister and I got Storybook Shirley Temple Dolls. She got Shirley Temple dressed as Little Bo Peep and I got Red Riding Hood. I couldn't believe it!   Christmas with the Andersons, a yearly treat even if we did have to "just try" the Lutefisk.

 playing foosball while Mrs. Anderson reads to my little brother
 a Christmas with the Anderson's in the early 60's

Dad was a WWII Veteran and he never talked about it.

In a few days is Veteran's Day. We honor those men and women who answered the call of defending our country. My father Melvin, was a veteran. A World War II veteran and he never talked about it.

As a child I saw this picture of him in uniform, displayed proudly in my grandmother's home. I asked him if he had been in the war and he replied only that yes, he had been in World War II and he had been in the Army. Other than that, he never talked about it.

I know that he received Christmas cards and periodically long letters from men he had served with and even visited Army buddies on occasion. However he always went alone, never taking my mom or we kids with him. He never talked about it.

AP photo, now owned and a copy may be purchased from www.realwarphotos.com

In the late 80's I came across this AP photo in the National Enquirer. It was titled"Ghosts haunt Omaha Beach" with some typical bogus National Enquirer story of people seeing ghosts of the soldiers that died on D-Day invading Europe. The photo however distinctly showed my father in the foreground! I took the paper to him and his response was "hummm, looks like me, we came off a landing craft like that into the water, I had a helmet with a cross on it like that and carried the exact same supplies." The photo prompted him to also identify other men by name. He explained that he did indeed land on Omaha Beach but not on D-Day. He was part of the reinforcements. I questioned him more. It seems that he was more than willing to defend his country but didn't feel he could ever find it in himself to shoot someone for any reason. His helmet with the cross indicated that they made him a medic.  "You didn't believe you could shoot an enemy?" I asked him incredulously. "How long did that last?" He thought for awhile and with a small sad smile said, "Halfway up the beach". I remember questioning him further about the war, just general questions, and he rebuffed me with "you don't need to know about those sort of things." He never talked about it again.

After his death I found in his dresser quite a bit of WWII memorabilia. Photos of him and other soldiers in boot camp and somewhere in Europe, his discharge papers, draft notice and other memorabilia. Those photos were never displayed or in an album and that was the first time I had ever seen them.

He had never talked about it.

After the death of my grandmother I became interested in my family history. The movie "Saving Private Ryan" was out and I wondered again what part my Dad had in the war. I pulled out Dad's discharge papers and did some internet sleuthing. He was in the 3rd Armored division, Spearhead unit that along with others fought their way from the beaches of France, cold, hungry and often with inadequate supplies all the way to Berlin. His particular unit, the anti-tank company, 423rd infantry, had high casualties. He fought in the Battle of the Bulge where 19,000 American boys died in that battle alone. His unit had liberated a concentration camp. He never talked about it.

from the pamphlet (passed by censor for mailing home)
Spearheading with the 3rd Armored Division, in the Bulge, Duren-Cologne, The Ruhr Pocket, East to the Elbe

Dad was part of what we now call the "Greatest Generation:" Those men and women, out of duty and love of country went when called during WWII. They saw lots and did what they had to do. They saw no need to glory in it.  Although I am sure what they experienced, saw and were forced to do must have haunted them, they did what they had to do, for their country, for their family, for their children.  They bore the burden of those memories to protect us. "Those are things you don't need to know about." 

He never talked about it.

Thank you Dad,

November 11 and every day

Remember all of those men and women who served. 

They did what they had to do

...for our country...for our families...for our children.

HONOR OUR VETERANS

***click on above photos to enlarge for easier viewing***

Family History Month, how I began my family history journey

October is Family History Month. Family History/Genealogy is a very popular hobby right now. I am guessing that it is a hobby mainly of those of us who are older, the huge amount of baby boomers who have seen the passing of grandparents and parents and are now facing their own mortality. Who are we and where did we come from? 

I remember as a child wanting to think of myself as strictly American. I am ashamed now to say I was a bit embarrassed of the thick accents, and what I thought friends would perceive as strange ways, foods, clothing and culture of my grandparents. Why did we not question Grandpa and Grandma? We only now appreciate the answers and knowledge they could have given us if we had only thought to ask before they left us.

Grandma Sevald. She was my reason and the one who spurred my interest in family history. My maternal grandmother, Dagmar Gundersen Sevald, left Oslo, Norway on the ship Bergensfjord in 1924. She landed two weeks later at Ellis Island where my grandfather, who had emigrated the year before, was there to meet her. She and my grandfather Paul raised a family and lived 40+ years in Chicago. After my grandfathers death she returned to live in Norway but would periodically return to Chicago to visit. After the death of my mother and uncle (her only children) I realized she was now elderly and most likely would not return. So I visited her in Norway three times. We did some sightseeing and visited some relatives but mainly we talked and talked. She told me stories of her life and her family. We looked at her photos, identifying them on the backside. She prompted me to write names, dates and places she remembered. After she passed, a cousin sent me a box that contained those photos and memories. I wasn't sure how to honor her memory or the memories/photos/stories she had entrusted to me. A local librarian first introduced me to building a family tree and loaned me a computer program to organize my box of Grandma's memorabilia. It was 1992 and I was on my way. 

I have since branched out to explore my paternal Swedish ancestry and the ancestry of my German born husband but it all began with and is dedicated to Grandma.  This is the dedication which I will always leave at the top of this blog.

Dedicated to Dagmar

Long ago I read that each of us will have, on average, ten great grandchlldren. 

Only two of those great grandchildren will even know what our name was.

She was born on a small farm in Eidanger, Norway on which her family had been crofter's since the mid 1600's. She had only a fifth grade education after which she worked as a cook on her father's boat. She lost her first true love and married a man on the rebound "because he could dance and he had a car". Her husband's dream was "Amerika". He left for America, worked hard and sent home money and two pre-paid tickets for his young family to join him. She buried her infant daughter in a paupers grave and two weeks later took a three hour train ride alone to Kristiania where she boarded a boat for America. She expected never to see her mother, father, brothers or sisters again. She arrived almost two weeks later at Ellis Island, New York. She spoke no English. She prayed that her husband would be there when she arrived. She had twenty five dollars pinned to her underskirts, one small suitcase, a train ticket and a tag tied to her coat that read "Chicago".

I want her descendants to know her name and more importantly, who she was.

She was Dagmar Gundersen Sevald from Skien, Telemark, Norway.

Dagmar, was my mother's mother. She had black curly hair and brown laughing eyes. She was not very tall but amply built. A joyous, positive woman of strong faith and spirit who never passed up a chance to tell you exactly what she thought or believed. She made me feel safe, special and loved. Before she died I visited her, living again in her beloved Norway, three times. She shared with me the stories and pictures of her life and that of our family. My interest in family history and genealogy had begun. I have dedicated all my family research to her. "Don't forget who you are" she would say. Don't worry Grandma, I won't.

Grandma, the way I remember her best.

Great Aunt Magda Sevaldsen

Great Aunt Magda Sevaldsen

Anna Magda Sevaldsen was my grandfather Paul's younger sister. Born 1906 in Hadsel, Norway her birth wasn't recorded until 1909 in the "dissenters" portion of the birth register. Even though she spent quite a few years living in the US, I never met the woman but I got a distinct impression that my grandmother Dagmar did not like her. She made a few vague negative comments about her that ended with her sucking in her breath and shaking her head.  Sisters in law often are just basically good folks that have nothing in common with each other but family ties throw them together in a way that irritates them both. Now, I do wish that I had known her.

Two cousins of mine in Norway, whose judgment I would trust, thought very highly of her. I have recently met through Facebook another remote cousin whose sister was a friend of hers and she told me that Magda was quite an intelligent lady and a poet. Another cousin by chance met Magda's daughter in, of all places, Hawaii. That daughter gave him four books of poetry written by Magda which he generously passed on to me. I am now in the process of translating them with the help of my old friend Google. Meanwhile, I googled Magda herself and find she was fairly well known in her area of Norway. Works she had written were included in the yearly Verdal books. Upon her death, she was eulogized quite kindly in the 1999 Verdal yearbook. 

Even those you love, admire, and trust dearly can be wrong sometimes. Magda seems like she was a free thinker, an artistic, imaginative woman with a very forward thinking, romantic view of the world.  Conversely, grandmother was a solid, "let's make a plan and get down to business" kind of a person. She had strong opinions about most everything. Dependable and constant. I loved that about her.  Magda and my grandmother were probably polar opposites. It is no wonder they weren't close. I loved Grandma but I wish I had known Magda also. Maybe for very very different reasons I would have loved her too. 

My Great Aunt 

Anna Magda Sevaldsen

b. 2 Nov 1906 Hadsel, Nordland, Norway

d. 22 Jan 1999 Verdal, Nord-Trøndelag, Norway

Grace was "Pa's Girl"

This photo was given to me by a second cousin in Norway. A photo of my mother Grace and my grandfather Paul in Chicago. I am guessing my mom to be about 10 or 12 which would date this photo to the late 1930's, during the "Great Depression".  I know my grandparents struggled economically during those years as did most Americans. This photo shows my grandfather as who he was and his relationship with his only daughter, my mother Grace. Often he was without work during those years and he was a machinist by trade yet he dressed impeccably. That trademark hat was always on his head. A full suit with tie and vest and although it wouldn't show in this pic I can bet the farm that he had sock suspenders and cufflinks on! A classy guy. And he loved, adored and was closest to his daughter, my mom Grace. My grandfather always had my mom by his side. He made sure she had all that she needed. I think my grandmother was a bit jealous of their closeness. 

my grandfather

Paul Skoglund Sevald

b. 24 Aug 1894 Kragerø, Telemark, Norway

d. 5 Sep 1971 Chicago, Cook, Illinois

my mother

Grace Gunhild Sevald

b. 4 Mar 1927 Chicago, Cook, Illinois

d. 21 Apr 1975 Park Ridge, Cook, Illinois

Grandma could be a firecracker

not a very flattering picture of Grandma is this?

In this blog I have often spoke of my love for my grandmother Dagmar and what  a wonderful person I believed her to be. My most favorite ancestor and the one I feel understood me the most. Perhaps because I think we had very similar personalities. In fact, she was the one who started me on this journey of family history and I have dedicated all my years of family research to her (see "dedicated to Dagmar" tab above). But as much as I loved her and speak volumes of good things about her I am quite aware that we are all complex human beings. Sometimes Grandma could be a real spitfire!  She was kind, generous and loving. It was hard to get her mad. But nonetheless DON'T GO THERE. She was a long long fuse but with a big charge at the end. In her defense, if she got that angry it was usually justified. And sort of comical to see also, which made her all the more mad. She especially did not like to be tricked and my Dad loved to play practical jokes on her.

I don't remember the particular incident but in this photo she was most likely reacting to one of my Dad's antics. She would click her teeth and proclaim in her thick Norwegian accent

"ooooo you loussy ting"

She had strong beliefs and opinions and no hesitation in sharing them with you. No beating around the bush with her. My husband of 40 some years, who knows me quite well, often says "just because it goes through your head Ranae, it doesn't have to come out your mouth". My Dad, who I also loved dearly, after a difference of opinion with me would give me what he thought was an insult.

"Ranae, your are just like your Grandma Sevald"

and my response in true Dagmar spitfire form?

"THANK YOU!"

1955 Grandma and Me

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

The war in Vietnam and Mom's gift

For those of us labeled "baby Boomers" (those born 1945-1960) the war in Vietnam is probably the most pivotal, important and disastrous event that defined us as a generation. It also forever defined for me the woman that my mother was.

Mom was a devout Christian and patriotic American. She belonged to a Republican womans group. As a member of "The Greatest Generation" her husband, brother and contemporaries had willingly gone to war to fight for their country and the liberation of Europe during World War II. She told me stories of how she, working as a secretary in New York, spent lunch hours with other girls at the train station passing out sandwiches and encouragement to young soldiers on the troop trains heading off to war. She was ultra conservative and a true believer of "my country right or wrong". Your country called? You went.

The war in Vietnam dragged on and on. This was also the first war that came to you on television in close to real time. By the late sixties we no longer just saw Father knows Best or I Love Lucy. We saw burning villages, burning people and scores of body bags. And why? Many of us just were not so sure anymore. The questions became arguments. The arguments became protests. The protests and demonstrations became larger, more vocal, more violent. 

 Local draft boards made the decisions on classifying the young men. Deferments were given to those going to college or those that were married or the sons of local politicians and friends. The inequities were obvious. The rich almost exclusively did not go to war. The minorities, poor, working class and middle class alone were called to duty. Some boys arrested for minor crimes were given the option of a stiff sentence or enlisting. Add to that; a boy could be drafted and die at 18 but he could not vote or even marry without the consent of one of his parents until the age of 21. The average age of the soldier in Vietnam was 19. In the mid sixties President Lyndon Johnson was sending hugh numbers of ground troups.  In 1969 most of the deferments ended and a draft lottery began.  There were still lots of inequities.

December 1, 1969; 366 blue capsules containing each day in the year were mixed and drawn in order. The first capsule drawn was September 14. If you were a male between the age of 19 and 26 and born on that day you were the first to be called for induction. The plan was that each year a similar lottery would take place for those who would be inducted the following year.* 

In 1970 I graduated from high school. My boyfriend had graduated the year before. It was his turn in the lottery. In the first lottery, which contained many more young men that this lottery would, numbers up to 195 were called in for physicals. He drew number 159. His mother cried. Two other friends were given numbers 2 and 3. They wasted no time enlisting in the Navy and Marines, hoping they could at least avoid being one of the ground troops.

The war in Vietnam totally changed our generation. Many older Americans also became more suspicious and cynical about the workings of government. Many young men became objectors some even leaving for Canada or Mexico. Initially they were referred to as "draft dodgers" but soon many parents also did not want to "be the first one on your block to have your son come home in a box"**.

My boyfriend who was from a poor immigrant family did not even have that option. In summer he was called in for his physical. They classified him 1-A.

I know it seems this story is mainly about the Vietnam years of my life, and it is, but I don't wish to be preaching pro or con. History will sort all that out.  I have the highest regard for those that gave service to our country and will also pay honor to the 56,000 young men that gave their all. The purpose of this story however is to tell you about my mother.

Mom came to me one evening and spoke to me alone.

"Ranae, you know the file cabinet next to Dad's desk? Halfway back is a folder. In there Is some money and a piece of paper. On that paper is the name and address of a cousin of mine in Canada. It is not right that so many do not have the same choices. If he wants to go, you give that to him, my cousin will help him." and then she added.."if you feel you have to go with him maybe it's better if I don't know. You are my daughter and I might try to stop you."  I nodded but said nothing. We never spoke of it again.

Richard Nixon promised in his 1968 campaign for president to end the draft. On June 30th 1971 the draft law expired so there were no calls or inductions in July, August or September, Nixon, hoping to win support for the war from the middle class went back on his word and on September 28, 1971 signed the bill extending the draft.*** Officials hoped the inductions would resume as soon as October but admitted most likely the number of calls for the year would be low. 125 was the highest number called. 

I never looked for that folder until after my Mom's death in 1975. It was not there. I really don't know if my boyfriend would even have left but I will love my Mom forever for giving him the choice.

The boyfriend is now my husband of 44 years and to this day he says that his favorite president will always be "Tricky Dick" whose campaign "promise" kept him out of Vietnam.

* The Selective Service System

** Country Joe McDonald: I-Feel-Like-I'm-Fixin-to-Die rag

*** Chicago Tribune Sep 29th 1971: Nixon signs the draft bill

The Syttende Mai Parade

Yesterday a Syttende Mai parade was held in Park Ridge, Illinois. I did not attend. I have not attended since the parade left Chicago. Boy, that was decades ago.

A little explanation is necessary. The Syttende Mai is the 17th of May. It is the day Norwegians celebrate the writing of their constitution in 1814. When I was a kid it was a day of national pride for those of Norwegian ancestry living in Chicago. It is hard to believe that Chicago once held a large Scandinavian immigrant population. The Swedes hung out in North Park, Andersonville and Lake View. The Norwegians were in Humboldt Park or Logan Square. In any of those neighborhoods today you would be hard pressed to find a person of pure Norwegian or Swedish blood. In a lot of ways I really wish I lived in a part of the country that still has folks that relate to being Norwegian. Stoughton, Wisconsin is one of those places. I highly recommend their Norwegian Heritage Museum "Livsreise". At the side of this blog is a link to it. But Chicago.....no.

When I was growing up those Chicago neighborhoods were already beginning to break down, turning into dirty, depressed, crime ridden areas. They were the neighborhoods of the Scandinavian grandmas and grandpas who just couldn't leave the old neighborhood even though their more educated and affluent children, now married to folks of all different back-rounds, had long since done the "white flight" thing and escaped to the suburbs. The Syttende Mai parade drew them back if only for that day. It was held in Humboldt Park and was a pretty big affair, bands, floats, dancers. We would meet in Grandpa and Grandma's apartment on Pierce Ave. and walk to the park.  After the parade we returned to their apartment for coffee and cake. Lots of fun and flag waving but you got out of there before the sun went down. It just wasn't "safe" anymore.

1964 - my sister, waiting for the parade to begin

Time passed. Grandpa died and Grandma moved back to Norway. The old Humboldt Park Norwegians died or joined their kids in the burbs. The Syttende Mai parade left Humboldt Park and also fled to the suburbs. It moved to squeaky clean Park Ridge. I did attend a Syttende Mai parade in Norway one year while visiting my grandma. Park Ridge? even Norway? It just wasn't the same. It wasn't Humboldt Park.

Funny thing...many of those same Chicago neighborhoods are now doing a turn around. They call it "gentrifying"and it costs big money to live there.  Sure, you can again walk the streets in relative safety but I don't feel like I would belong there either.
Where are the grandmas? the coffeecakes? the Norwegian flags?

Gratulerer med dagen!

**click → SO WHAT EXACTLY IS SYTTENDE MAI?   **