Elmer's Autobiography

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ELMER OLSON
Written in Florida in 1993-94

This autobiography consists of my early childhood years, my later days in Rockford, my college years in Rock Island, Illinois, my army years which took me eventually around the world, my years with various employers, both before and after my army years, my marriage in 1941 to the best wife a guy could ever find, a succession of the greatest sons a guy could ever have, plus a great family consisting of two of the greatest parents, plus four great sisters and one brother.

THE EARLY YEARS

I was born on February 3, 1916, in the little town of Hancock, Michigan, located near the extreme tip of the Keweenaw Peninsula.  Unfortunately, when we visited Hancock this past summer, 1993, the town fathers still had not seen fit to erect a bronze or marble plaque commemorating Hancock as my birthplace.  We lived in this small town of Hancock where I spent an extremely happy childhood.  I was too young to realize that I should be anything but happy, considering that we were anything but well-to-do.  In fact, I always thought the contrary, that we were rather well-to-do because we had only five children while so many other families, including our own relatives, had rather large families.  The Taube family, on my mother’s side, had 12 or 14 kids, and the Nelson family, who followed us to Rockford about two years later, had 10 children.  More about the Nelson family later.

We all attended a Swedish Church and Sunday School where the Pastor, a Rev. Granquist, was a fire-and-brimstone preacher, and he insisted that we learn Swedish in Sunday School and refused to believe that we were now all Americans.

We lived in a house on Garden Street, up a rather steep hill from Portage Lake.  I really had a carefree existence, particularly in the summer.  I went barefoot from the time school let out until we resumed it in the Fall and we had few restrictions as to play areas.  The favorite one by far was the City Dump where we could find everything from dead horses to cigarette butts.

We had no refrigeration so my mother shopped every day and the groceries were delivered by horse and buggy.  We had a cow named Nellie in a pasture near the house.  My mother had four small daughters and she made all their clothes – working at night when they were all asleep.  We would squabble during the day but an evening ritual was “Forgive Me” – repeated by all of us at an early age.  Thus all one’s sins were forgiven.

My best buddy was my cousin, Woodrow Person, and occasionally we would get into trouble.  One day, we embarked on a life of crime by entering a 5¢ and 10¢ store in the neighboring town of Houghton, brazenly each stealing a Hershey chocolate bar from the candy counter, foolishly running out the door with the manager in full pursuit.  Catching us on a train viaduct he took us back to a partitioned office where we were held long enough to contemplate whether a life of crime was for us.  I even remember that I had a hole in the knee of my pants and wondering if I should expose the hole with my hand so he would think I was poor and feel sorry for me, or cover it up so I would look better.  Eventually he let us go with the promise that we would confess to our parents.  We were too innocent to disobey, and suffered the consequences.

My father had many jobs.  He worked at the Quincy Mine, the Copper Smelts and also drove a streetcar between Hancock and Calumet.  All of his jobs were above ground and he was never a miner.  At the Smelts, he worked across Portage Lake and used a rowboat to get to work. 

QUINCY MINE, HANCOCK MICHIGAN

Sometimes on Sunday afternoons, we would get all dressed up and ride the trolley to Calumet.  This was a real treat and kept us out of trouble for a couple of hours.  We had picnics and we had swimming areas but our amusement wants were simple and inexpensive.

To me, Christmas was the most exciting day of the year.  I would get goose bumps just looking at the Christmas tree.  We had no Christmas lights but there were many candles (they were lit only at certain times).  On Christmas Day we went to Sunday School on a long sled pulled by my father.  The Upper Peninsula always had a lot of snow and it was a beautiful sight.

SNOW GAUGE, UPPER PENINSULA OF MICHIGAN

One of the preparations for the holiday season was the making of root beer.  We mixed the brew, bottled it, and sealed it and it was supposed to be left to brew and sparkle.  Most of the time we were too impatient and drank it early.  Sometimes the corks would pop and the root beer would be all over the floor.  I can’t remember that gift giving and gift receiving were very important.  We all received an orange and some nuts but beyond that I doubt there was much.

In 1925 my father had a chance for a job in Rockford, Illinois.  Economic conditions were not good in the Upper Peninsula and my parents felt that it would be more income and a step upward.  It was probably not an easy decision to make – a new job, a new state, a new church.  Another new beginning.

Our furniture was shipped by train and we made the long trip from Hancock to Rockford in a two-car caravan.  My Uncle George and my Uncle August drove all night and we finally arrived in Rockford, unbelievably tired and dirty.  My father had gone earlier and we had an apartment waiting for us at 1240 Crosby Street. 

1240 CROSBY STREET, ROCKFORD IL

RANDOM RAMBLINGS

So far, this narrative has been pretty much in chronological order; the years in Hancock and the move to Rockford.  Now the format will change to move this blessed project along.  I will jot down my thoughts when I think of them, regardless of when they occur.  If I repeat myself, it’s no big deal.

The Nelson family followed us down to Rockford about 1927.  The trip must have been harrowing:  2 parents, 10 or so howling kids, probably in a Maxwell automobile.  One fond memory I have is that the tires were all flat and when they pulled into Rockford, about 500 miles from Hancock, the tires had been stuffed with blankets, since they would no longer hold air.

Another fond memory I have is that Vivian Nelson’s husband, Jim Cassioppi, knew that I lived and dreamed the Chicago Cubs, and he actually invited me to go with him to a game at Wrigley Field in Chicago!  You have never seen such an excited kid, so excited that I couldn’t sleep through the entire night.  When we arrived at Wrigley Field, in the first balcony, I was flabbergasted at the sheer beauty of it, looking down at the green grass and the players.  The players included pitcher Lon Warneke, catcher Gabby Hartnett, third baseman Woody English, first baseman and also manager Charley Grimm, second baseman Billy Herman, shortstop Joe Popovich, and outfielders Riggs Stevenson, Kiki Cuyler, and Hack Wilson.  The Cubs were playing the New York Giants, with manager and first baseman Bill Terry, pitcher Carl Hubbell, and outfielder Mel Ott – about the only Giants whose names I remember.  I can’t remember what I had for dinner last night, but I remember the names of the Cubs and Giants in the 1920s.  The brain is remarkable.

I remember that Vivian Nelson came down to Rockford before the rest of the family, that she was real old – 19 years old – and that she stayed with us on Crosby Street.  The other Nelson kids were George, Albert (whose son, Dick, I will speak of later), Bert (my childhood best friend), Roy, Freddie, Douglas, and girls Violet and Betty in addition to Vivian.  I think that takes care of all the Nelson kids.

Uncle Alfred was really a remarkable man.  If he had had college training, he would have been a real inventor – another Edison.  He was always working on a “perpetual motion” machine – something that would run by use of weights, ball bearings, etc.  Unfortunately, he also had a weakness for the bottle, perhaps the only relief from the houseful of kids.  Aunt Betty, my mother’s sister, was a saint like my mother, Jennie.  My dad, also a saint, was the opposite of Alfred – no drinking, no profanity, not even card playing.  His whole life’s pleasures came from the church.  I think it was kind of unfortunate that we kids could not even play cards, but that was the church in our childhood.

MORE RAMBLING

After finishing college in 1940, I worked in the office of U.S. Steel plan in South Works, Chicago, a short streetcar ride from Burnham Avenue in Chicago, a few blocks east of Manistee Avenue, where Ad lived.  After we were married, I was drafted into the U.S. Army, on November 3, 1941.  I ended up at Camp Grant, outside of Rockford, in the Medics assigned to the Air Corps.  (The Air Force came along years later, as a separate branch of service.) 

I regretted that I did not apply for a commission, with my college degree and all, but what the heck, I was to serve only one year (“Don’t cry dear, I’ll be back in a year”).  After finishing basic training at Camp Grant, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, and I knew I was to be in the Army for more than a year.  We were assigned to the 12th Bomb Group, known as a medium bombardment group, with Billy Mitchell’s   B-25s. 

Our first move was to Tacoma, Washington, a long way from the Midwest.  I remember that I was supposed to be at Willard’s and Quisty’s wedding back in Rock Island, and here I was heading for God knows what – a brilliant college graduate in an army uniform, miserable, sad, dejected, with a new wife back in Chicago.  We were based at McCord Field, with a good chance of being shipped to the Philippines where they needed medics.  Instead, thank goodness, they shipped us to Esler Field, outside of Alexandria, Louisiana.  After a few months of additional training, we received orders for the big move overseas.  I remember finding myself on a troop train in the Illinois Central yards at 12th Street, unable even to make a goodbye call to my new bride in Chicago.  Talk about “involuntary servitude”.  We arrived at Fort Dix, New Jersey, in the summer of 1942, headed for a troop transport leaving from New York.  The ship was the Louis Pasteur, outfitted from a luxury cruise ship to a cattle ship.  We were issued full battle gear, with helmets and even rifles – the first time I ever held one. 

Aboard ship, we learned which side was starboard and which was portside.  It was a big ship with thousands of GIs aboard.  After a scary first few days, with German U-Boats in the area, we settled down for the long trip to Egypt, for what was to be a 30-day cruise.  We finally docked at Suez at the southern end of the Suez Canal, in August of 1942, and headed for a camp at Ismalia.  Now I was really far from Ad!  I think I mentioned before that when I headed for Tacoma from Camp Grant, I missed Willard and Quisty’s wedding in Rock Island, and now I missed meeting with Bill and Fran in New Jersey, perhaps their wedding.  What a sad sack I was – a real Bill Mauldin character.  After the Battle of El Alamein, German General Erwin Rommel turned table and retreated to the west.  The British Army, with help from our bomber groups, chased him all the way back to Libya, Tunisia, to Sicily and up the boot of Italy.

On the day I wrote to Ad saying I was shipping out overseas, she wrote to me saying we were expecting our first child.  Thus began our first four years of marriage.  It began in July of 1941 and we were separated until 1945.  I will hurry us along in the war years and get me back to civilian life.  After bravely fighting and winning the war, I returned to civilian life, and the drudgery of earning a living.

BACK TO MEANDERING

Ad is really a remarkable female.  I don’t know why she became such a decent, fair-minded person on things like civil rights, race relations, etc.  She was not used to that as a child.

We watch television, perhaps more than we should. I like my sports, and animals, and Ad likes her “Ben Matlock” and “In The Heat of The Night”.  We both like such harmless shows as “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy”, and such good things as PBS, classical music and concerts.  We attend performances at Ruth Eckerd Hall, with our dear friend, Jean Gee Lobell, whenever we can with such varied performances as The Bolshoi Ballet, Itzhak Perlman, and symphonies conducted by Jahja Ling.  We have seen “Cats” and “A Chorus Line” as well as Beethoven’s 9th Symphony with perhaps 200 people on the stage, including orchestra and chorus.  Lots of variation, but mostly classical.

We are creatures of habit.  We each have our own seats at the table, our seats watching the tube.  We have our own beds, of  course.  Ad is usually reading in bed while I’m still glued to the TV.  We both share in the cooking, and I do up the dinner dishes.  I am the Felix of the Odd Couple, though Ad certainly is not the Oscar.  I complain about my vision being blurred, yet I spot and pick up the tiniest speck on the floor.  She is precious to me, and I was lucky that we both went to Augie.

We have been fortunate to have made several trips together (what else?).  We have been to Scandinavia twice, London, Paris, Spain, Switzerland, etc.  We’ve been to Alaska, the most beautiful… and to the Amazon rain forest, the weirdest.

Our final settling in Florida, like everything, is by pure chance.  Our first trip to Boca Raton in 1987 led to a chance remark by Joy Rotello from Rockford, that her father was terminally ill and unable to use his condo in North Redington Beach, Florida.  We rented from her for two months for two consecutive years.  That led to taking our present apartment.  We like Florida and our apartment a lot.  We still haven’t made many real close friends, but some.  We have joined a Protestant Church, whose pastor, Dr. Gary Clark, is the best we have ever known.  His sermons are always delivered without ever looking at his notes.  Unlike our church in Hoffman Estates, where the ministers themselves were bigots (one hated Jews and the other hated Catholics), Gary is liberal and decent.

I have had my health problems, like two separate by-pass heart surgeries and other minor problems, but nothing serious.  While in the Army I picked up malaria, but nothing serious.

As I said, I love Ad very much, even though I am of noble Swedish blue blood and she is a commoner.  We have had our differences these 52 years, and though she has never yet been right, I overlook it.  To quote from My Fair Lady, “Why Can’t a Woman Be More Like a Man?”

When we were young and living in Chicago, we occasionally went to the Trianon Ballroom on the South Side, where we danced to Lawrence Welk, and to the Aragon on the North Side, where we danced to Dick Jurgens.  I remember getting real bold and drinking Virginia Dare Wine.

DANCE FLOOR, TRIANON BALLROOM, COTTAGE GROVE AND 62ND  ST

ARAGON BALLROOM, W. LAWRENCE AVENUE

DICK JURGENS BAND, PLAYING AT THE ARAGON

VIRGINIA DARE WINE LABEL

We’ve developed some good friendships with Jean Duwez, a guy from Cardiac Rehab at Alexian Hospital in Elk Grove Village, his wife, and Jim Hampton and his wife.  The Hamptons come down to Florida every year, to an apartment very close to us.  The wives are sisters,  Yvette and Suzanne, and they are from Belgium and have delightful French accents.

While in the Army I visited the Pyramids at Giza and climbed to the top of Cheops.  Also visited the Holy Land, Jerusalem, the Wailing Wall, Garden of Gethsemane, the Via Doloroso, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and Rachel’s tomb.  It was all Palestine, not Israel yet. 

When I was in India, Gandhi had not yet been assassinated and Bangladesh and Pakistan did not yet exist.  The U.N.  had not yet been established.

MISCELLANEOUS TRAVELS

Took a trip with Andersons and Zarubas to Nogales, Mexico where Quisty and I each bought bases to make lamps.  Both are finished and in daily use.

Travelled to New Jersey with grandchildren Jake, Andy, and Johanna.  Almost lost one suitcase back at Union Station, Chicago.  Almost missed the train looking for it.

Flew to Jamaica with same grandchildren.  Stayed at Shaw Park Hotel.  Kids were great and fun to travel with.

We have made several trips to the Michigan Upper Peninsula, visiting such places as Hancock, Copper Harbor, and several historic long-closed copper mines.  Michigan Tech University is located in Houghton, south of Hancock.  When I was a boy, this was known as Michigan College of Mines.

The most recent visit to this area was the summer of 1993, when we had a grand reunion with many of the family, including Florence and Eric Juhlin, Elsie, Helen, and Cathy from Rockford, and Paul and Phyllis from Baltimore.  What a trip!  We visited the old homestead in Hancock and took a picture with the usual lineup of sisters and brothers in front of the house on Garden Street.  Of course we visited Edward Ryan School, which we all attended, and we were even able to get inside thanks to a kind fellow who happened to be painting the school.

While at Copper Harbor, we went to Fort Wilkins, at the very tip of Keweenaw Peninsula, where there is evidence that Indians also mined copper, probably two or three hundred years earlier.  Fort Wilkins, an early military outpost, has been rebuilt and remodeled to resemble the early fort for the tourist’s benefit.

FORT WILKINS, COPPER HARBOR MI

The visit up there was not the first, of course.  Most of us have made periodic pilgrimages up there through the years, but perhaps this was the last.

Other miscellaneous visits follow in this narrative, some with the sisters, some without.  With or without, they have all been most enjoyable.

Many times we have visited Paul and Phyllis in Baltimore.  On such visits, Paul runs to the store at least four times a day.  He doesn’t believe in a big shopping when several small ones will do.  They live in a huge, beautiful home in an early settlement called Roland Park.

While David was at Harvard, we made several trips out there, to Cambridge and of course we visited Boston.  It’s a place where people drive fast and wild.  Boston Common includes the graves of some early American Colonists and Patriots like Paul Revere and his parents, and others.  Harvard itself is old, old, old.  I think it was founded in 1636.  While David was there it was the scene of some of the loudest Viet Nam War protests, and there were a lot of sit-ins and building takeovers to protest our involvement in that tragic war.

On the East coast we visited Williamsburg, which has been restored to its colonial days.  I think a lot of Rockefeller money went into the restoration.

Also out east is Cape May at the southern tip of New Jersey, where there are many elaborate old homes with a lot of gingerbread, painted in lovely pastels of all colors.  Helen and Elsie were with us on this trip.  This was after Jean had died.  How she would have enjoyed this place, too.

Other miscellaneous visits included those to the Black Hills in South Dakota.  This trip DID include sister Jean.  We were lucky enough to rent a beautiful chalet, perched way up high in the hills overlooking the Black Hills.  What scenery!  Of course we saw the carvings of Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson and Teddy Roosevelt by Gutzon Borglum, at Mount Rushmore.

In 1962 we took a camping trip to Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado, with Dick and David.  When we returned, we found that my dad had died.  They couldn’t locate us, and Phil represented us at the funeral.  We learned that from then on, we always call back home whenever we are on the road.  I learned the hard way.

While in the Upper Peninsula last summer, we took a guided tour through the Calumet Opera House, where such great actresses as Sarah Bernhardt and Lillian Russell appeared in the late 1800s.  Both were over 200 pounds.  They liked their opera stars big and beefy at that time.  Our whole family took the tour with us.

CALUMET OPERA HOUSE, CALUMET MI

SO MUCH FOR TRAVELS

My walks are now somewhat limited, with my legs kind of giving out due to advancing age, diabetes and laziness.  Ad does a lot of walking and swimming.  We have invested in a Walkman so we can enjoy good music while walking or just sitting.

Our moral values have changed somewhat on pro-life vs. pro-choice matters.  I used to be all pro-choice, and may still be, but when I look at our first great grandchild, Maisie Ann, with her marshmallow baby skin and absolute beauty, I am wavering.  Also, on the death penalty matter, I used to be against it always, but when I look at particularly heinous crimes, I waver on this issue also.

Things are better than they used to be on racial matters, but still not good enough.  It’s hard to realize that when I returned from overseas and was based here in Florida, it was State Law to have separation of races, with separate drinking fountains, toilets, churches and schools.  I’ve always thought that we, as whites, cannot really judge what it’s like to be black.  A great show on TV, “I’ll Fly Away”, deals with this very subject – the struggle for equal rights in the early 60s.  I admire Jesse Jackson, except when he shouts.  When he speaks softly, he makes a lot of sense.

We love our new church in Indian Rocks.  It’s called Church of the Isles, United Church of Christ.  The pastor is the Rev. Dr. Gary Clark, a great person with great sermons.  I actually listen to them.  The music is great, with a gifted married couple, Norman Waite is the organist and choir director and Anne is the pianist.

CHURCH OF THE ISLES, INDIAN ROCKS, FLORIDA

I feel sorry for St. Pete.  They have spent many millions on a new baseball stadium, trying to get a major league team but have been shafted by the Owners, by San Francisco, by everyone who has a say in expansion.  St. Pete wants so to be treated like a grown-up city, which, compared to so many other cities, it’s not.  The market is really fairly small.  Bud Selig from Milwaukee is the real villain, though he, like everyone else with a say in the matter, denies any guilt.  St. Pete always gets shafted.

Last summer, with the help of Dick, we were able to visit the graves of Ad’s parents, way south at 119th Street and Kedzie.  The green shrubbery which we planted there was completely overgrown.  It’s now all clipped down, and looks nice.  It’s probably the last time we will ever see it.  The group of graves includes her parents, Uncle Victor, and a young Swedish immigrant named Hilding Anderson, who was killed by the police at a shootout at a demonstration of strikers from the steel mills.  Poor Hilding was not a striker, just a spectator.  A case of real police brutality in the 1930s.  He lived with the Wendells.

Oops!  Earlier I said I would write about Albert’s son, Dick, later on, but I never did.  Dick Nelson grew up to be a most remarkable man, determined not to let the bottle dictate his life as it had his father’s.  With little money but with lots of determination, Dick worked himself through high school, college, graduate school, bachelors and Master’s degrees, until he finally obtained his doctorate, the coveted Ph.D.  Today he has his own consulting firm and makes big bucks.

Which reminds me… while David graduated with honors from college, he did not obtain his doctorate, but his wife, Mary Lawson, did.  Anyway, one night the family was sitting around the supper table and David told Erik and Kim that now they would have to call their mother “Dr. Mommy”, but that their father was still plain “Daddy”.  To which Erik said, “Mommy may be a doctor, and Daddy may not be, but Daddy has a job!”.  Today, Mary Lawson has both.  She is a professor of psychology at a college outside of Chicago, and she also has a doctorate.

MISCELLANEOUS MUSINGS

Finally, I’ve come to the end of this writing of, if not the living of, my life.  It would be kind of nice to live to see the turn of the century, but that’s still quite a few years off, and I’ll be 83 years old by then.  It’s been a good life, and it still is.  I love Ad very much, and my whole family – my children and grandchildren, our one great grandchild Maisie, Andy’s daughter, and other great grandchildren still to come.  I can’t imagine that entrepreneur, Johanna, taking time off to have children, but I hope she does.

What a great family we do have – David and Mary Lawson, Erik and Kim; Phil and Mary Olson and Brad and Tim, and Dick and Mick and their children Jake, Andy, and Johanna.  Now I really am signing off.

THE END