Two weeks ago, I told you what I knew about my
maternal grandparents and how and when they passed away. Today, I'm over on my
dad's side of the family. There are a lot more holes in their story, but at
least I do have memories of Grandma.
Dad's dad was born in Germany in 1886, and his mom in 1888. They married in 1906 and had three boys and three girls. In 1923, Grandpa immigrated to the US with his oldest son. The following year, Grandma came over with four of the other children. One daughter, Hannah, remained behind. I've never known why and have found absolutely nothing about her online, except that she is listed as still living in Germany when Grandma died in 1968.
I'd like to think I got some of my determination from my grandma. She came over on that ship by herself, certainly not knowing any English, with four children in tow, between the ages of six and twelve.
Their passport photos tell the story. My dad is on the far left. This picture of his sisters always reminds me of those two little girls in the original movie, "The Shining", for some reason.
Anyway, they settled in Chicago, where one of dad's aunts was living with her husband. Dad was only nine years old at the time. He never talked much about life in Germany. He did say, though, that they had a hard life in Germany, and that when the Great Depression hit the US five years later, they didn't live in poverty any worse than they had in the Old Country.
My grandpa died before that, though, in January of 1929. I've been told he died of Black Lung and that he had worked in coal mines in Germany.
Grandma didn't mourn his passing for long, as she remarried sometime later that year. It was more out of necessity. She still had kids at home that she needed to support.
According to the 1930 census, she and her new husband were part-owners of a delicatessen in a Chicago suburb. By 1940, the family was living on a farm way up north in Tripoli, Wisconsin. Her second husband passed away sometime between then and 1945, when my parents met.
So, poor Grandma was widowed twice, one daughter was left behind in Germany, and another one died in California of a heart condition when she was only 43.
I don't really remember much about Grandma, except for the old farmhouse she lived in in Tripoli. On the dining room table, there was always a tablecloth with fringes on it, and I remember braiding them or combing them out with my fingers.
She died on May 15, 1968. Mom said I was too young to go to the funeral, so I stayed with one of my aunts from the other side of the family. The saddest part, though, was that her grandson, my cousin Ben, died in Vietnam on May 7, and I don't know that the family got the news until after Grandma had died.
They are buried side by side in the local cemetery. Wie Traurig.
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