tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77306067883126028392024-03-12T22:37:04.950-04:00Unshoveling the PastTo live in hearts we leave behind, is not to die. ~ Thomas CampbellUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger156125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-14273296571629797022020-09-08T14:11:00.000-04:002020-09-08T14:11:01.176-04:00Photo of the Day<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="104" data-original-width="580" height="89" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tPphLz6tIco/X1fHOsJQCDI/AAAAAAAABZg/cnhKBXIak7wTboS0NBQrOsNh173lpqk8QCLcBGAsYHQ/w500-h89/Screen%2BShot%2B2020-09-08%2Bat%2B2.00.23%2BPM.png" width="500" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><h1 style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-weight: normal;">I am officially retired!! </i></h1><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-86293582321904609182018-04-03T08:05:00.001-04:002018-04-03T08:05:47.972-04:00Clemmie and Grovie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I haven't posted in a long while, as I've been keeping very busy having fun with all my extra-curricular activities. However I wanted to post a little bit about a dog that I fostered for less than a week. She was a true sweetie and she has been adopted by an experienced dog owner in lower Manhattan. Her name is Clementine. She was a stray found in Manhattan earlier this year.<br />
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Isn't she adorable? I would have kept her longer but she is an alpha, and Grover is an alpha, and let's just say I failed in keeping the two apart in the multiple dog fights they had. And I have bite marks and bruises all over to show for it. They fought... and I lost!<br />
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Needless to say, Grover was relieved, as were Jake and Lucy, to have the house, and especially me, to himself again. And Jake and Lucy are actually more visible now after a couple months of strange and loud dogs in the house – Grover's not such an awful brother anymore!!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-32965702567230903932017-09-12T09:46:00.001-04:002017-09-12T09:46:22.528-04:00John Veckly, Jr. and The Forgotten War<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Through my ancestral research, I've reconnected with my mother's cousin Jane, who is my closest living connection to the Voegtly family. I'm so glad that I was able to track her down, rather randomly actually, through a letter I found when I quickly stepped into my home office to grab my slippers, since it was so chilly today. I noticed this single letter sitting on my desk amidst all the boxes and piles of paper, practically shouting at me to pick it up.<br />
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I don't recall seeing this letter before, or setting it aside, but there it was. I grabbed it and brought it downstairs to continue my online research later, but a clue written on the outside of the envelope by my mother led me to wonder. It was probably an hour or two later when I found an email address for one of Jane's sons and I sent him a hopeful email. It was only minutes later that he wrote back and confirmed I had the right person.<br />
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This found letter was sent to my mom in 1978 from her cousin, Jane, letting my mom know that her uncle, Jane's father, John Voegtly, Jr., had died. On the front and back of the envelope, my mother had written the key to unsolving a mystery that has stumped me for several months. It was almost as if she knew someone (maybe me) would be looking for this after her death.<br />
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Her notes said simply "My cousin Jane – daughter of my Uncle John (VOEGTLY), mother's brother – he changed his to VECKLY. I've been searching for months for Voegtly, not Veckly, and as soon as I entered the correct spelling, it was almost scary what I could find online. And I couldn't be happier.<br />
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I also found out that my mother's only other first cousin, Jane's brother, was killed in the Korean War when he was only 20 years old. He was a Marine like my dad was. And for awhile he was stationed at Camp Pendleton in Oceanside, CA, where I lived right after college, renting a room from a Marine wife whose husband was stationed in Okinawa for six months. Interesting to have that connection so many decades later. When we were kids my family went to visit Arlington Cemetery and I wonder now if we looked for his tombstone. I found the details of his service and a copy of his tombstone that I wanted to share.<br />
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<i>Private First Class Veckly was a member of Company D, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marines, 1st Marine Division. He was Killed in Action while fighting the enemy in Korea on November 1, 1951 and posthumously received the National Defense Service Medal, the Korean Presidential Unit Citation and the Republic of Korea War Service Medal. "Jack" Veckly was stationed at Parris Island, then Camp Pendleton, and traveled to Korea in the Summer of 1951.</i><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-44043591875503149272017-09-11T12:06:00.000-04:002017-09-11T12:07:19.603-04:00The Life of Ed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aCSzMLBOc1k/TfENu42rhjI/AAAAAAAAAUA/eo2z9T5Gr6M/s1600/mom.dad.willy.wisp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="412" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aCSzMLBOc1k/TfENu42rhjI/AAAAAAAAAUA/eo2z9T5Gr6M/s640/mom.dad.willy.wisp.jpg" width="640" /></a> <i>In the interest of posting more regularly, I have about 30 saved drafts, some years old, that I am sifting through. For the ones that are slightly still relevant, I will post them despite not being current. This is one of them.</i><br />
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I've been picking through various papers, photos, and scrapbooks that my family has saved over the years, including all these wonderful images and clippings from my ancestors. However it's the computer files that are the most sobering, and not surprisingly, emotional, for me to review. I am tentative about opening files on my dad's computer, feeling a little bit like I'm snooping and not quite sure I want to read everything, since, after all – they <i>are</i> personal!<br />
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But what does one do when someone dies and leaves an extensive library of work, either electronically or print?<br />
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Collectively, my brothers and I are all reviewing the contents of my parent's house, including papers saved in various places in the house. I copied the contents of their computer after my dad died, pulling all his genealogy and whaling research files, letters to the editors, his lists, and his memoirs. I know some families where they throw everything in the trash, rather than take the time, or effort, to review all that is there. I could never do that. I want to least see what they have been keeping all these years, hoping to find a little more insight into their lives and what as people, not parents, they felt was important at the time. Looking through the computer files goes a step further; I'm learning more about my parent's daily interactions with people through the various organizations with which they were involved. They are numerous.<br />
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Did I mention that my father <i>LOVED</i> sailing and that my mother was <i>TERRIFIED</i> of water? I didn't know this until I was much older and I'm glad I never realized it when we were little. In a Christmas letter to his friends one year my dad referred to my mother as <i>Chicken-of-the-Sea</i>. Nice, huh?<br />
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We would spend three weeks every summer on a 35 foot sailboat; it was much like camping, only on water. Whether we were living on the coast in Connecticut or in land-locked Ohio, we always had the <i>Willy Wispe</i> to sail the oceans and lakes. Thinking back, knowing how much my mom hated sailing, I'm sure she was quite relieved when we stopped sailing in the Atlantic. I'll share some sailing stories with you in future posts, including our "Children's Logs".<br />
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Among the documents my father had on his computer, I found this poem tucked into a folder with his whaling research. I somehow think it must've hit home for him when he read it. Maybe that's why he saved it. </div>
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Being in a ship </div>
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is being in a jail, </div>
with the chance of being drowned <br />
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<i>Dr. Samuel Johnson </i><br />
<i> March 1759 </i><br />
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From James Boswell’s <i>Life of Johnson</i>, 1791</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-18801325013499261042017-09-07T07:51:00.000-04:002017-09-07T07:59:30.651-04:00It's going to be a long day...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's days like this when I start with 2 big cups of coffee laced with espresso. <br />
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Today, though, a rarity will occur. An in-person meeting with an outside vendor. One of many design launch meetings today for a product my company is working on. Usually, everyone is on the phone in multiple locations too many to list here (it would bore you). But today, a handful of people whom I haven't met or haven't seen in years will be here in person. A nice change of pace, and an opportunity to catch up with old friends.<br />
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However, as you can see from my schedule, a day like this is a little like Sophie's Choice. When you have 4 meetings at the same time, which do you pick? Do you show up late and leave early? To every meeting? With most of my team out of the office this week, it's not like I can send a proxy. So I guess at least I will need to go to the meetings I've scheduled, since people would probably expect me there. Sigh.<br />
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This does make me wish it was a Friday instead of a Thursday. But I'll close my eyes and before you know it, it will be. Maybe I'll call and schedule a massage.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-18022827879263895782017-08-15T08:56:00.001-04:002017-08-17T11:30:15.615-04:00The Simple Life, Before Grover (B.G.)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Okay, pretty darn cute, right? And my life has changed for sure, for the better. But as my mother could have predicted, it hasn't been easy. This is sweet Grover, approximately four years old, an american cocker spaniel neutered male with a docked tail (which is why we know he's purebred). I adopted him in March from a wonderful rescue organization in Queens, NY. <a href="http://www.nyabandonedangels.com/">http://www.nyabandonedangels.com/</a><br />
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I've been wanting my own dog since I graduated from college, but I never thought it was fair to the dog when I worked full-time and spent 2-4 hours in the car commuting every day to work. Now that I'm lucky enough to work from home a lot, I made the decision that it was time to get a dog. I wanted a cocker because we had them growing up, and I also like their temperament and size. I also thought a dog would be a lot easier than a puppy. Start with a dog and if I don't kill him, maybe I'll get a puppy next time!<br />
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When I contacted AACSR, they set me up with an in-home visit for approval and then had me assigned to Jennifer to help find me the perfect dog. Though my requirements were quite simple but seemingly impossible to find (aka a dog with no problems whatsoever) it didn't take her long to find Grover. On paper he seemed perfect.<br />
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Grover was found as a stray in December 2016, matted and flea-infested, and very skinny (he's gained over 10 pounds since then!). I don't know much about him, other than he's trained in the basics, especially well house-trained, and is sweet and happy and grateful at every turn. He especially loves people, more than dogs, and especially more than cats – which is a bit of a problem at home. And he loves going on walks.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grover on the day we met, waiting to go to his new home.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cherry eye, before surgery.</td></tr>
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The only known health issue at the time was his cherry eye, aka nictitans gland prolapse, or prolapse of the gland of the third eyelid. I believe all dogs have third eyelids, where a tear gland is located. The rescue league was going to fix the eyes before I adopted him but I didn't agree with their vet's solution to the problem, so I took him home and found a specialist who could do the delicate surgery at my own cost (ka-ching! ka-ching!).<br />
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Days prior to his surgery though, Grover suffered a grand mal seizure or a fainting (scary as all hell to witness) and off to the emergency clinic we went. He was hospitalized overnight for observation. This delayed his eye surgery a bit, but with a little time and luck and no more seizures, in a month he had his surgery and his eyes were on the mend. Doesn't Grover look handsome with his new eyes? Just don't ask him to smile!<br />
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Fast forward to August, wherein I decided to groom him myself with a new pair of dog trimmers. Save a little money? Bond with Grover? I thought I did an okay job, although admittedly I got a little close on his neck and it was a little pink, but I didn't think overly so. This was last Sunday. He was fine for a few days until he developed a hot spot under his chin, about the size of a deck of cards, and hard as a rock. I immediately took him to the vet, where he was given antibiotics, and I, no judgment.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uUcK0WhYT04/WZLeypc8iAI/AAAAAAAABRI/NdbuBMiW7SAgO7iqxUmmkp7JKfcmKjxtQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_2069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uUcK0WhYT04/WZLeypc8iAI/AAAAAAAABRI/NdbuBMiW7SAgO7iqxUmmkp7JKfcmKjxtQCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_2069.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scab rolling over onto itself, oozing top and bottom.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QmjKUPB0kBs/WZLey9PmJhI/AAAAAAAABRA/602dEnS20vwX7WAb7vgBsnhFwL1G_TrzgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_2090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QmjKUPB0kBs/WZLey9PmJhI/AAAAAAAABRA/602dEnS20vwX7WAb7vgBsnhFwL1G_TrzgCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_2090.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunday, on the way home from emergency care with the dreaded cone.</td></tr>
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Despite the antibiotics, Grover managed to scratch his way to a new sore, above the scab, and he also started to hide from me. So off we go to the emergency clinic again. Over three hours later he appeared with the scab removed, a fresh, but sore-looking neck, a cone, and another prescription for steroids/antihistamines to accompany the antibiotics already prescribed.<br />
<br />
As we settled back into our day at home, Grover whining in pain, he had a mild seizure. Sigh.<br />
<br />
A day later I knew he was feeling a little bit better since he started growling at Jake (his feline arch nemesis). With some luck and training, Grover does not go upstairs anymore. The cats eat and do all their business upstairs, while Grover enjoys the downstairs and the outside. Lucy, Jake's timid sister, hasn't stepped onto the first floor more than a couple of times since March. I'm really hoping this improves over time.<br />
<br />
However, probably because Grover's not feeling well, he has decided he doesn't want to sleep alone and he barks, whines, and then howls until I come downstairs and sleep with him on the couch – which I've done for the last two nights. It's a little tough when you have to get up at 5am for work, but since this is ALL MY FAULT, how can I not?<br />
<br />
So, why am I documenting this when I have so many other things to post? I want to remember all this when I think of getting my NEXT dog. Grover's been great and I wouldn't change a thing, but it is a commitment for sure, both in time and money. Thank goodness I'm not having to pay for college!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-12952863313564459802016-12-09T18:16:00.001-05:002016-12-09T18:16:37.776-05:00It's been awhile since you've heard from me...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been so long since I've posted anything it feels foreign to me to write in this space. I'd like to be able to get back to writing again and sharing with you some recent stories and whatever is on my mind.<br />
<br />
I'm going to try and avoid talking about the events of November 8. As my birthday fell on the following day – it was a sad day – and one to remember for sure. That's all I'll say about that.<br />
<br />
I'll post a few photos to start.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OOBvBh2PMNQ/WEs3dp2CzjI/AAAAAAAABO8/sgwhwa9cL8sD64rh-YauMVCEOiGk3u6SACEw/s1600/Lucy2016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OOBvBh2PMNQ/WEs3dp2CzjI/AAAAAAAABO8/sgwhwa9cL8sD64rh-YauMVCEOiGk3u6SACEw/s320/Lucy2016.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VSVtM8ySmJI/WEs3XQvwCgI/AAAAAAAABO0/3Ye0P_YK47soBFGyhpsUKrm8yA0Bl9Q4wCEw/s1600/Jake2016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VSVtM8ySmJI/WEs3XQvwCgI/AAAAAAAABO0/3Ye0P_YK47soBFGyhpsUKrm8yA0Bl9Q4wCEw/s320/Jake2016.JPG" width="235" /></a><br />
These are the looks<br />
I get when Jake<br />
and Lucy want<br />
my attention.<br />
<br />
This happens usually around dinnertime or bedtime.<br />
<br />
I'll let you guess who wants what.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-81815959681177902532015-09-24T21:13:00.001-04:002015-09-24T21:13:22.370-04:00Yogi Berra: The future ain't what it used to be<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-50aWTmkNi3s/VgSXljA3Y1I/AAAAAAAABM0/rzuN7UuoAe0/s1600/1024px-1953_Bowman_Yogi_Berra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-50aWTmkNi3s/VgSXljA3Y1I/AAAAAAAABM0/rzuN7UuoAe0/s400/1024px-1953_Bowman_Yogi_Berra.jpg" width="265" /></a> </div>
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I was saddened to hear </div>
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about the death of Yogi Berra.</div>
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He was a NY baseball icon</div>
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from another era.</div>
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Though I couldn't shake off,</div>
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my ever-increasing smile. </div>
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Memories of teasing brothers,</div>
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when we lived on Miles. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I can't remember if Yogi, </div>
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was coaching or playing,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
at the time my brothers teased me</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
by repeatedly saying:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"If I married Yogi Berra, </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
my name would be Sarah Berra."</div>
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<br /></div>
- RIP to the MVP</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-17347699130872767412015-08-24T13:13:00.000-04:002015-08-24T13:13:05.563-04:00My Recent Fascination with the Amish<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ecS6xdAbZLY/VdtGm2AXvJI/AAAAAAAABMU/EQpMVy7Uz8Y/s1600/c2015.closeupamish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="636" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ecS6xdAbZLY/VdtGm2AXvJI/AAAAAAAABMU/EQpMVy7Uz8Y/s640/c2015.closeupamish.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I recently made a trip to Chicago for business purposes. Since one quarter of my family tree stems from Chicago, I decided to take a little vacation before and after the work part of the trip to focus on genealogy research. Stay tuned for more postings on this blog, with some of my newest discoveries. It's very exciting!</div>
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This particular photo, however, has no relation to my family. </div>
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I was driving in Indiana and I came across an Amish settlement and was captivated. I'd only read about the Amish, or seen them in movies or, at worst, referred to in several reality television shows. But after driving around for several miles swerving in and out of dozens of buggies, all I wanted to do was read/know about them more. I devoured the PBS series on my iPad in the evenings on my trip, along with other documentaries, blogs, and Lifetime movies – till I was fully satiated. </div>
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Though it's a complicated religion, I do admire their intent to simplify. One of the themes of my business trip was essentialism, and in retrospect, my extra-curricular study of the Amish fit in most appropriately. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-13414793443910298032015-07-21T13:17:00.003-04:002015-07-21T13:17:40.330-04:00Edwin R. Ambrose Whaling Research Papers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tGJSFeeHjYc/Va5-Payt7iI/AAAAAAAABLw/KYRvTUlMIaQ/s1600/WhalingResearch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tGJSFeeHjYc/Va5-Payt7iI/AAAAAAAABLw/KYRvTUlMIaQ/s640/WhalingResearch.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
My dad would be tickled that you can google his name and up comes a <a href="http://www.mvmuseum.org/collections/EAD_FindingAids/findingaid_get.php?record-unit=RU517" target="_blank">link</a> to his unpublished research on whaling. Here he leaves the legacy of his passion, even if his work was unfinished.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-91040037874306439732015-07-16T13:06:00.000-04:002015-07-16T13:06:14.134-04:00All Time 10 Best Songs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Random clipping from my parent's files. Most is in my mother's handwriting, but I see dad's there too.</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-57464861109424165932015-06-15T16:19:00.002-04:002015-06-15T16:19:57.736-04:00Photo of the Day: Old MacDonald's Farm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yDSUldnMnj8/VX8rrRz6DdI/AAAAAAAABKg/9IgVDPiuYAk/s1600/oldmacdonaldsfarm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yDSUldnMnj8/VX8rrRz6DdI/AAAAAAAABKg/9IgVDPiuYAk/s640/oldmacdonaldsfarm.jpg" width="578" /></a></div>
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For many summers, my family visited Old MacDonald's Farm on the Darien/Norwalk border. This "farm" began operating in 1955, and closed in 1979. The farm consisted of a restaurant, general store, bakery, a large petting zoo, and an amusement park. I remember they made the most awesome cinnamon donut holes! Here I am standing up in my stroller trying to get a closer look at the ducks, next to my two brothers and my mom. I really loved this place and even worked there one summer in high school, managing the general store. </div>
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<br /></div>
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You can find more information/photos on Old MacDonald's Farm here: <a href="https://othemts.wordpress.com/2009/07/17/old-macdonalds-farm/">https://othemts.wordpress.com/2009/07/17/old-macdonalds-farm/</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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and here: <a href="http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-622518">http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-622518</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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or here: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/33393587@N07/sets/72157622488841493/detail/">https://www.flickr.com/photos/33393587@N07/sets/72157622488841493/detail/</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-31086311415065261672014-05-20T19:18:00.000-04:002014-05-20T19:29:09.013-04:00Oh No, It's Almost Summer!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--s7Vp1FJhhw/U3vlBcm64wI/AAAAAAAABJU/J1bMmZu_Zyk/s1600/sarah.google+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--s7Vp1FJhhw/U3vlBcm64wI/AAAAAAAABJU/J1bMmZu_Zyk/s1600/sarah.google+copy.jpg" height="391" width="400" /></a></div>
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And I haven't done the change of my wardrobe!</div>
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I promise after that is done next week, I will begin posting regularly again. It's been a crazy, hectic, and unsettling year, and I miss posting regularly to this blog. I have many more family stories to post and photos to share. I hope you come back. I am committed to posting at least once a week.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-3603006024672421772013-04-03T10:46:00.000-04:002013-04-03T10:46:07.141-04:00Photo of the Day: Luna Park, Pittsburgh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DZgS1qL3ce8/UACdMtzRHqI/AAAAAAAAAYw/GiT7p5QbkOg/s1600/4a18559v.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="506" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DZgS1qL3ce8/UACdMtzRHqI/AAAAAAAAAYw/GiT7p5QbkOg/s640/4a18559v.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">General market in downtown Pittsburgh, circa 1900-1910. © Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Detroit Publishing Company Collection.</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-608876986274662802012-11-27T12:37:00.002-05:002012-11-27T12:37:34.583-05:00Photo of the Day: Frances Steiner<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T_teWG_GnIg/ULT4H8zhaLI/AAAAAAAABEY/Ixte4pb_6QQ/s1600/Frances+Steiner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T_teWG_GnIg/ULT4H8zhaLI/AAAAAAAABEY/Ixte4pb_6QQ/s640/Frances+Steiner.jpg" width="422" /></a></div>
<br />
Thanks to a distant relative that I met through Ancestry.com, Bonnie Chaffee, I have this wonderful photo of my great, great, great grandmother, Frances (Frannie) Koomer Steiner (Bonnie and I both share Frannie as our 3x great grandmother). Frannie was born on April 26, 1818, in Switzerland and married Johan Jacob Steiner when she was only 17. They had a few children, moved to Pennsylvania, and had a few more – ten children in all. She died when she was 71, on April 11, 1889, seven years before Johan. Thanks, Bonnie, for sharing such a wonderful photo with Louisa's ancestors!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-64432966769335049192012-11-11T18:28:00.001-05:002012-11-12T12:16:07.577-05:00Happy Veteran's Day, Cousin Jack Veckly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kwtUcYSyFsM/UKAwMKJ8QFI/AAAAAAAABCc/VtpEpsFdlJo/s1600/john.jack.sally.nancy.cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="560" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kwtUcYSyFsM/UKAwMKJ8QFI/AAAAAAAABCc/VtpEpsFdlJo/s640/john.jack.sally.nancy.cropped.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
My first cousin once removed is the little boy on the left, Jack Veckly, with his father John. My mother Nancy is on the right, with her mother Sally. Jack and Nancy were very close throughout their childhood, having been born only four months apart. Both families lived in the same house together in Cleveland when they were born. Jack died when he was only 19 years old, on November 1, 1951, in the Korean War. Jack was in Company 2, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Division. He died in the battle referred to as the <a href="http://digital.library.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metadc3938/" target="_blank">"Battle for the Punchbowl"</a>, the hardest fought battle of the Korean War. This post is dedicated to him, and to all other veterans who lost their lives in the Korean War.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-7994429638654782522012-10-04T19:27:00.003-04:002012-10-04T19:27:52.738-04:00My Norwegian Family: The Stangelands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t28ZiIpurNE/UFtTEicyRNI/AAAAAAAAA9M/JM5E2VYf4ys/s1600/stangeland.family+copy2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="464" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t28ZiIpurNE/UFtTEicyRNI/AAAAAAAAA9M/JM5E2VYf4ys/s640/stangeland.family+copy2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
This post is my father's unedited, genealogical research of the Stangelands, my paternal grandmother's family, which dates back to the early 1400's. He sent this document to every known descendant of this family back in the late 1990's. This document was one of the reasons I became interested in genealogy and carrying on his research, both on my father's Norwegian side of the family and the German/Italian side of my mother. This document was a huge help, and on Ancestry.com, I was able to confirm that his information was correct. <br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Adobe Garamond"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 120%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Garamond";"> </span> <i><br />Notes: Genealogical practice in developing family trees is to follow the line of eldest son to eldest son to eldest son, and so on. In the Stangeland Family there is a direct line of eldest sons from Øystein Askildson to Andreas Kristiansen. From Andreas the direct line would be through Lars Stangeland, who had both a son and grandson. So that the rest of us can continue our family histories, I am showing other of Andreas’ children as being directly in line. <br /><br />Note that the surname of each child is his father’s first name, plus sen or son (son of), or datter (daughter of) Sometimes the farm location is added (Hompland, Maudal). This practice continued until the 19th century, when surnames were fixed. In this family tree you will see that father’s first name plus sen or son continues through to Andreas Kristiansen, my great-grandfather. His children all took Stangeland, the location of the family farm, as their surname. The practice of father’s first name plus sen continues in Iceland to this day. </i> <i><br /><br />Pre-Family: The first recorded history in Norway was in the late 700's. Vikings were active from 793 to about 1200. The country was unified by Harald Hårfagre about 900 in a battle outside of Stavanger, making him the first King of Norway. In 995, Olaf I brought Christianity to Norway and Olaf II (St. Olaf) strengthened its foundation in 1016. </i> <i><br /><br />Dynastic wars weakened the country by 1270, with Germans establishing important trading operations in Bergen and other cities. From 1320 to 1513 Norway was ruled by Kings of Denmark and Sweden, and from 1513 to 1814, by Denmark alone, and then to 1905 by Sweden. On May 17, 1905, Norway declared its independence. </i> <i><br /><br />The Black Death was carried on a ship arriving in Bergen in 1349. The effect on isolated farming communities was devastating; estates could not be maintained when workers were dying everywhere. Norway’s population declined one-half, to 180,000. </i> <i><br /><br />Denmark levied heavy taxes on the population, and collectors rode to farms for produce in lieu of cash. The Roman Catholic Church was consolidated with the Government, and owned and controlled much of the country. </i><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FkFyUq85KUM/UG4aEIu9H0I/AAAAAAAABBQ/7t8NswytyUw/s1600/stangeland.family.older.group.names.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="398" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FkFyUq85KUM/UG4aEIu9H0I/AAAAAAAABBQ/7t8NswytyUw/s640/stangeland.family.older.group.names.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><i>The Stangeland Family – 1430</i></b></div>
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<i>In each of us there is a drop of blood and some genes from Øystein Askildson and Maurits Fintland. </i><br />
<i><br />Øystein Askildson owned the farm in Hompland, in Fintland, in Sirdal commune (county), just across the border from Rogaland commune, where are located Stavanger, Kleppe and Maudal. In 1469, because of misconduct toward his local priest and for living in an immoral way, according to Diplomatarium Norvegicum (a large collection of Middle Age letters), Askildson had to mortgage his property to the church (Catholic). The mortgage was paid in full by Maurits Fintland’s grandsons. <br /><br />It is difficult to get earlier information because many records were lost or destroyed when Lutheranism replaced Catholicism in 1563. Øystein Askildson’s connection to Maurits Fintland in unknown, but as rights to the farm descended to Maurits and his descendents, it can be acknowledged that Askildson was the first known man in our family. <br /><br />Maurits Fintland is mentioned in the 1519 and 1521 censuses as the only person listed in the part of the Sirdal valley which lay within Stavanger county. In addition to the Hompland farm, he owned the farms in Maudal and property in Bjerkreim. In addition to the two sons listed below, quite possibly the families living in on Fintland, Finsnes, Lindland and Osen are also descendants of Maurits. <br /><br />A county court judgement in 1574 recognized that Maurits’s sons Kjetil and Tollak were valid heirs to Maurits’s property. The 1563 census shows Tollak living on Hompland: In later years he was called Tollak Lindland. Kjetil is listed in the 1575 census, on Hompland. <br /><br />Maurits Tollefson Maudal was born on Osen in Sirdal in Fintland, and moved to Øvre Maudal in 1603. He was the owner of Øvre Maudal, Austrumdal, one quarter of Nedre Maudal, and had shares of Hovland, Espeland and Nevland. In 1603 and 1612 he paid taxes of one dollar and, in 1624, five marks (all in coin). He also paid, in 1624, measures of butter in Maudal, Øverbo and Austrumdal, and corn in Espeland and Hovland. He was listed in the census of 1617. </i><br />
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<i>Anna’s paternal family all lived in Øvre Maudal: Her maternal line lived in Ims, Mele, Ims in Høle, Froyland in Riska, Mele in Forsand, and Øvre Bjørheim. In 1660 her grandparents were married in the church in Høle. Movement like this is surprising, until it is realized that in large families children had to leave home to find work. </i><br />
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<i>Marita’s parents were married in 1686 in the church in Høle. Her paternal family came from Nedre Espedal, Frafjord, N. Rossavik, Kristi Frafjord, Rossavik and Kjosavik. </i><br />
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<i>I visited the Stangeland farm in August, 1996. The farm is now owned by Martin Stangeland (no relation) who has 20 dairy cattle, sheep, chickens, and grows corn and wheat. Martin pointed out some low buildings on the slope below his house and barn and said that was where our Stangeland family lived and worked for four generations. He said that other families also lived in the buildings and that everyone lived communally. </i><br />
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<i>This new information about Johanna being Andreas’ mother came from KLEPP GARDS- OG ÆTTESOGA, which states that Johanna was a 23-year old “gjente”, which translates to housemaid. Family consensus now is that after ten years of marriage to Berta without child (the first marriage was to Ingeborg, who died after one year) Kristian was 40 years old, and very much wanted a child. So, he and Berta apparently made a contract with Johanna for her to bear Kristian’s child. She did so, giving birth to Andreas, and after completing nursing him, gave him to Berta, who raised him as her own. When Andreas was 13, Berta died, and Kristian married Elen two years later. The contract apparently was kept secret: Peder’s daughters believed Berta was their great-grandfather and Gerhard (George) told his granddaughter that his grandmother was Elen. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PMBzb3385f4/UG2n2C0ltwI/AAAAAAAAA-E/-UHkjWs2Q2Q/s1600/andrias.stangeland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PMBzb3385f4/UG2n2C0ltwI/AAAAAAAAA-E/-UHkjWs2Q2Q/s320/andrias.stangeland.jpg" width="198" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andreas Kristiansen</td></tr>
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<i>A family comment about this news - Johanna had good genes, implying “Look at us all now!”. After giving up the infant, Johanna left the household and married soon after. She had a number of children, all of whom emigrated to America. She lived in Kleppe her entire life, and apparently had good relations with Kristian and Berta. </i><br />
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<i>When Kristian died, one-half of the farm was given to Andreas and one-quarter each to his step-brothers. Since to farm one-quarter of the rocky farm was not viable, each sold his portion to Andreas. Lars emigrated to Iowa, worked on a homesteader’s farm, married the daughter, and inherited an enormous, rich farm when the father died. Johannes emigrated to Oregon. </i><br />
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<i>When Andreas Kristiansen left the farm and moved to Stavanger the communal arrangement that had existed was broken up and everyone separated. The reason Andreas moved to Stavanger was that he had been raising beef cattle and sheep, and would slaughter them and take then to the market in Stavanger. He saw an opportunity to be a full-time butcher, and so decided to move his family to Stavanger for that purpose.</i><br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--by5sltGpBI/UG2xkofr2GI/AAAAAAAABAI/S_GCQ1vhVz8/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-10-04+at+11.49.07+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="96" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--by5sltGpBI/UG2xkofr2GI/AAAAAAAABAI/S_GCQ1vhVz8/s640/Screen+shot+2012-10-04+at+11.49.07+AM.png" width="640" /></a><i><br />From 1825 to 1925, 800,000 persons left Norway, mostly for North America. Included were the three sons and three daughters of Andreas Kristiansen indicated above with an asterisk. As a result of this mass migration there are more people of Norwegian ancestry living outside of Norway (5 million) than there are today in Norway (4.3 million). The impact of the migration of mostly younger persons resulted in labor shortages today, compelling the Government to encourage immigration of foreign refugees to Norway. Immigrants from over 100 countries now live and work in Norway. </i><br />
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<i><br />Note the birth and death dates of Gina. All birth dates were copied from Andreas’ family bible by Anne Mae Gunstrom Alter, the granddaughter of Maren. The bible is in the hands of Anne Marie Drange in Stavanger. I have the letter that the Laguna Honda Hospital in San Francisco sent to my aunt, Clara Stangeland Endresen. The letter states that Gina died December 21, 1991. Gina died exactly one month short of 110 years of age. I visited Gina in the hospital, with my wife and son, in September, 1989, when she was 107. She remembered me and my mother, and asked how was Mrs. Ambrose. </i><br />
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<i>Alfrida emigrated from Norway when she was 17. Her mother had died,
her father was planning to re-marry, and she did not like her
prospective step-mother. Her grandfather Andreas, to the chagrin of her
father, suggested that she go to Syracuse, New York where she had two
aunts and two uncles. Andreas said if she remained in Norway she would
become the surrogate mother to her two younger sisters. Alfrida did so,
sailing to Montreal enroute to Syracuse. </i><br />
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<i>Alfrida met Edwin Ambrose, born in Horten, Norway, at a Norwegian Lodge in Syracuse. Edwin had served one compulsory year in the Norwegian Navy, then completed a two-tear program at Horten Technical Institute, where he learned to be a draftsman. Since there were no employment opportunities in Norway, he sailed to Montreal and to Massena, N.Y., where he heard there was work in Syracuse. He found a job, and was employed all during the depression. Edwin was born as Øivind Ambrosiusen, son of Martinus Ambrosiusen and Hilda Hansen. He anglicized his name to simplify his life. He worked 35 years for the Solvay Process Company, a division of Allied Chemical Corporation. </i><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-31320645029951129942012-09-25T18:20:00.001-04:002012-09-26T14:02:33.295-04:00Photos of the Day: Goodyear Vigilant, circa 1930<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-45223941080839251012012-09-21T08:11:00.002-04:002012-09-21T08:11:50.117-04:00Kaptein Peder Stangeland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today, September 21, I celebrate my great grandfather Peder Stangeland on his birthday. He was born in 1873 and lived to be 95 years old.<br />
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Below is my very lame attempt to translate a 1933 Norwegian article
about Peder Stangeland's 60th birthday. Many of the
clippings in my grandparent's scrapbook were Norwegian, of course, and
though I should enlist the help of my many relatives in Norway, I used
Google Translation, with limited success as you can see (corrections or
proper translation is always welcome!).<br />
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<i>Captain Peder Stangeland, who will be well known to the traveler audience on our side, turns 60 years on 21 the latter. He is Klepps by birth, but in 8-year-age he moved with his parents to Stavanger, where he was confirmed, and 5 days after graduation he went to sea for long voyages, only 14 years old. Stangeland stayed until 1895, when he came home and took navigation school, after which he went out with Professor Nordenskjold on long voyages. </i><br />
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<i>In 1897, Stangeland was married, and thus was the end of the road in distant waters. He was appointed as Officer on Eira and was there for 4 years. Later he was 2 Officer on dpsk. Sandnæs (now Gann), where he served for 7 years to 1910. This year bought Farmann, something Stangeland led the route Bergen - Hardanger and Stavanger, and then sold the boat to Sandnes, followed by Stangeland. Later he became agent for the Oscar and Eira here in town and served as such until 1923. In some moments between he led among others on Eira. </i><br />
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<i>But Stangeland went again in some distance and led among others, the steamer Majoren, something sank en route from Iceland with a purse of herring, etc. The crew was made up of an Ålesunds-fishing boat and were landed there. In 1928, led Stangeland Hanseat, which was in foreign trade and coasting, but this boat was sold after a years time. The last boat Stangeland led was Hundvaåg, associated shipowner Pedersen. Last year he had to end the sea because of a foot injury and now runs his farm on Våland.</i><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-35221282533108799182012-09-17T21:46:00.001-04:002012-09-17T21:46:06.989-04:00Marching from Liverpool to LeHavre<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Another oral story and a week of journal entries from my grandfather, Carl O. Ericke, from WWI.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RpCn2PJo38c/UFfB0Mg74GI/AAAAAAAAA6U/jU7Lnngap2c/s1600/800px-Canon_de_75_front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RpCn2PJo38c/UFfB0Mg74GI/AAAAAAAAA6U/jU7Lnngap2c/s400/800px-Canon_de_75_front.jpg" width="400" /></a><i>Well anyway, we crossed the Channel, went to Le Havre, and from there on the joy riding was over. We were no longer in the cavalry, as I said, and after hours of taking the American three-inch guns apart, we were now being trained on the French 75, which was a new job altogether, and we had to learn all over again. They put us through some rather hectic days learning about the French 75. </i><a href="http://www.firstworldwar.com/video/french75.htm" target="_blank">See it in action, here: FirstWorldWar.com.</a><i><br /><br /> And the only thing we had to do with horses from then on were with the horses that carried the caissons. We had to take care of them even though we didn’t ride them. And when I say take care of them – I mean it. We had to wash their privates with soap and water. It's a nasty thing even to talk about it, but they didn’t make it easy for you. We had to take care of them because we depended on them to pull the caissons, so that's about all there is to say at this time.</i><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Saturday, June 8, 1918</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Piled off the boat in Liverpool. Oh what a great feeling to stand on real ground after 14 days of water. They left half of our battery to do the work at the dock, Eck too. What a glorious feeling, as we hiked along. Our eyes bulged. Buildings are not very tall. Passed a factory. Lot of girls working in overalls watched us go by. Glorious feeling with the band playing <i>Illinois</i>, girl motormen, double-deck cars with big windows. Few young men but bunches of children and women and old men. Very hilly and we soon showed signs of fatigue. Marched 8 miles to a rest camp called Knotty Ash: big orphan home. Band made up of little kids in sailor suits escorted us for a half mile or so. Mostly uphill – after being on boat so long was pretty hard. Few dropped out. Letters home ought to get out. </span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Camp consists of about two dozen big tents, 20 men in a tent. Little straw ticks. Coffee nice and bread is all we got. Band played a concert. Couldn’t even go to the fence. Seems as if a regiment before us had bought wine and booze from women and as a result the colonel killed two of the men. He is being held for trial. We’re always out of luck. Some camp followers stood at rear fence and talked a lot of rot. Lots of women flirted with us but that’s all. Guess we’ll be here tomorrow too. They call it a rest camp. Believe me we needed it after that hike.</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sunday, June 9, 1918</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Left at about 10am for the train, right near camp. Got more rations of corn willy and hard tack. Funny little cars where you get in on the side, like you see in the movies, eight to a compartment.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Got into Winchester at about 9:30pm. Then a 2-mile hike to barracks at Dinam Hill. Seems everything is hills and we always go up them. Pretty tired and hungry but no eats. It was 4pm in Chicago when we went to bed. Mighty tired carrying those packs. </span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Monday, June 10, 1918</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Slept till 8am. Breakfast of bread (2 pieces) and jelly and coffee. Not much for hungry tummies. Don’t like English camps much.</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Went to the English canteen and American YMCA. Wrote some letters. Can’t get any cake or cookies. Very little candy – and expensive. Everything costs a bob (shilling) or more. Five-count bag of Bull a shilling and a two pence. Fierce. Have wet canteen – too bad as usual we are not allowed in.</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Tuesday, June 11, 1918</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Lieutenant Jones took us for a hike thru Winchester. It is England’s first capital. Last Parliament met there in 945. Saw the Winchester Cathedral. One part of it was built in year of 500. Saw palace of King William the Conqueror, some palace – old dump. Also Parliament Building, King Arthur’s original Round Table, Carving of Queen Victoria, King Lear, etc. Also old relics and souvenirs. Great stuff, all that ancient stuff of which England is proud.</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Wednesday, June 12, 1918</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Left Winchester and mighty glad of it. English rations two meals a day be damned. A lot of them drilling in howitzers. Took a look at them. We could handle one better than they in a week. The American 3” is the hardest ever. Forgot to mention that on the boat we got all the news, baseball scores and all via wireless from New York. Then about the seventh day out we got war dope from the Eiffel Tower. Oh yes, when we hit Winchester we heard about the subs, getting some boats in NY harbor. Bet it gave the folks a scare. More corn willy and train to Southampton. As we marched to the dock we passed a big hospital. Some cheerful sight just before going over the channel. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Laid around watching arriving planes and talking to Australian soldiers. They say the English Tommy isn’t worth a rot. They’re yellow. The French and Americans do the fighting. Also give Germans credit for being wonders in the air. Told us to kill but not take Boche</span></b></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> prisoners. Also to be careful about picking souvenirs. Handed us a lot of bull about first night in the trenches and a lot of stories how they were wounded etc. Some fellows from Alabama stole a 50 lb. key from Winchester and tried to pull down a statue, etc. As punishment they were put in front line trenches. However, they were full of pep and went over the top more often in one month than the English have since the war started. Captured a German on No Mans Land. Stripped him, gave him a kick and told him they would get him later when they finished playing cards. Can you imagine Fritz. </span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, we got in the side-wheeler La Marguerite at about 6pm. We and Australians (that is our battalion – the other stayed at Winchester) on boat and terribly crowded. If we got hit we wouldn’t have a chance. Wore life preservers again. Passed a lot of half sunk boats about six on way out of bay. Out past Portsmouth and fleet of chasers joined us. About five transports. Made lots of speed. Guess about 24 knots an hour. Soon got dark. Big dirigible</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> passed in moonlight. Corn willy and hardtack. Got awfully damp. No chance to go below, far too crowded. After all I heard about rough water, the channel was smooth as glass.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: small;"><b><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Thursday, June 13, 1918</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After no sleep, at about 4:30 am we stayed on boat till about 8:30am. Even from the water, the land of France took in a different aspect. Marched thru LeHavre to American Rest Camp called Point 1. All the kids held our hands and coats. People at all the windows, American flags and women throwing kisses, and wounded English soldiers (they wear blue denim uniforms). Mostly old men, women, and loads of children. Some classy dolls in nightgowns gave us a cheer. Mu-la-la. Latrines right on corner. Can see your feet under then, your head also. Those for women are the same. And some dolls on the street. Children all wear black jumpers and artist hats – chapeaus. German prisoner camp here too. Saw bunches of them. Big saw-boned fellows, big round patch in back of coats and legs. Could hear them talk – some were building a shed. Seemed funny to understand German. Have canteen where you can buy beer for 25 centimes. Bull stuff though! Quite a novelty though.</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Slept in tents, 12 to a tent. Corn willy warmed us. First warm stuff in long time. Right in channel. See lots of aeroplanes. Were given instructions what to do if there was an air attack. And we haven’t gotten pistols yet! Wrote a letter home.</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Friday, June 14, 1918</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the afternoon, marched through town again to the trains. Got three days rations, same stuff. Left about 8pm. Ate and tried to get comfortable. Slept sitting up. Can sleep on our heads now.</span></b></span><br />
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<!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-61503446012701281482012-09-06T19:09:00.002-04:002012-09-06T20:59:52.467-04:00Photos of the Day: Mug Shots<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-89255545014499884382012-09-01T13:21:00.001-04:002012-09-02T22:06:04.992-04:00Going Overseas in WWI<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-no5vdG-lHhM/UEIbtBhZqrI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/VQ-u0uFTYZ8/s1600/Kashmir-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="406" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-no5vdG-lHhM/UEIbtBhZqrI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/VQ-u0uFTYZ8/s640/Kashmir-01.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Kashmir (1914-32) was
one of a series of 9000 ton steamers built in 1913-1914 which survived the war,
but were scrapped in Japan in 1931-1932. On Oct. 6,
1918, the Kashmir collided with the Ontranto, an armed mercantile cruiser, off
the coast of Scotland. The Ontranto was sunk, and with a loss of 431 lives, 372
of whom were American soldiers on their way to France, it became the biggest
convoy disaster during WWI. For more reading on Islay Shipwrecks, check out
<a href="http://www.islayinfo.com/islay-shipwrecks.html">http://www.islayinfo.com/islay-shipwrecks.html</a>.<br />
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Another oral story on World War I from my grandfather, Carl Oscar Ericke, accompanied this time with his personal diary and scrapbook entries. If you're interested in the ships that carried Americans to Europe, follow this link: <a href="http://freepages.military.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~cacunithistories/ships_histories.html" target="_blank">WWI Ships Histories</a>. Though I found this photo of the Kashmir (above) I'm not exactly sure it's the same ship, based on my grandfather's comments about it's small size. But could there be two boats named Kashmir in WWI? Grandpa writes in his scrapbook that it is an old Cunard freighter that was currently servicing Eastern India at the time. According to the <a href="http://www.poheritage.com/Content/.../93497KASHMIR-1915pdf.pdf" target="_blank">P&O Heritage Ship Fact Sheet</a> this Kashmir (above) was transferred to the North Atlantic in 1918 to transport troops. It <i>must</i> be the same ship!<br />
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<i>The politicians from Chicago came to New York to see us off before we left for overseas. They were a terrible bore, spending most of their time telling how good they were. Well we listened through that and finally that was over and we went back to camp. The next day I believe it was we went to get on the boat and, it wasn’t much of a boat. I don’t know what you’d call it a fishing boat, or what, but it certainly wasn’t one of their better boats, as we found out when we returned home in first class. </i><br />
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<i>Anyway, we stood it, and it was a rather an unsatisfactory trip because we had to sleep below deck in hammocks. These hammocks were all right except that the upper one used to sway quite a bit, and those fellows would become ill, and do their business and the fellow below would get the worst of it. Finally wound up with all of us sleeping on the deck. There were thirteen days I believe on the water and somehow or other managed to get to the other side and end our boat trip. Only things that were worth mentioning was that there was a lot of play from fellows that wanted to make fellas sick who hadn't become ill, they'd get a bucket and come by those fellas and try to get them to toss their cookies. </i><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Sunday, May 26, 1918 </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />We left Camp Merritt. Took the train to Jersey City. The whole regiment loaded on one ferry and we were taken to Brooklyn dock. We get off and relieved ourselves of our packs and sat down for a sandwich. The boat is big, much more so than any lake boat, but I heard so much of ocean liners that I was somewhat disappointed. About 10 a.m. we registered, went up the long gangplank into the good ship Kashmir. We were crowded 16 to a table one floor below deck. Just got comfortable when they decided to put us at the well deck. So we had to move again. Got our hammocks in place and soon we were all set. The crew was composed of Hindus. The boat was an old banana boat painted war gray. One funnel. The officers have great quarters. Went to sleep like regular Jackie’s. </b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><br />Monday, May 27, 1918 </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br style="color: #073763; font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" />Woke at call of English Tar yelling "Out of the Hammocks" at us. Were still in dock. Our meals were fair. We will get 2 a day. Lots of rumors. Got out of dock at about 9 a.m. Passed out of the harbor and joined the rest of our fleet at 10 a.m. We were off! A few songs and a last look at the Statue of Liberty. That was the God of the moment. Most every body on deck watching land disappears. Brooklyn Bridge, the Woolworth Building, all faded away. There are <u>13</u> boats in the fleet and one battle ship of cruiser type. About 10 sub chasers escorted us out. Kashmir has <u>3</u> sister ships, all of which are sunk. <u>13</u>th trip is a transport of troops. <u>13</u> days since we left Logan on May <u>13</u>th. Were issued life preservers. Orders to wear them at all times. The water is fairly smooth. No one sick yet. Glad they have a canteen aboard. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Tuesday, May 28, 1918 </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />The old K.C. insists we wear blues. Oh how I hate ‘em. Slept pretty good. Boat rocked quite a bit today. Slept fine last night. Funny feeling when boat rocks or pitches, you feel like in an elevator. Could eat a lot more than we get. About 1/5 cup of coffee. Some of the fellows are sick. Eck has been all in since he got on the boat. I feel fine. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Wednesday, May 29, 1918 </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />Have calisthenics on the boat now, can you imagine it? Still hungry. The old boat is doing her share of rocking now. It is also raining.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Thursday, May 30, 1918</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Gee, last night was fierce. Regular storm came up. Thought
they would make us stay below. Water all over deck. First you see water, then
sky, just like Dad said it was. Stayed up most of the night. No smoking is
allowed after 8 p.m. It is rocking all day too. Came mighty near getting sick.
God it’s awful. Some sights and smells below deck. Will sleep on deck tonight.
They let us in the starboard hurricane deck now as we were too crowded. Slept
on deck with Johnny.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Friday, May 31, 1918</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>There sure is a lot of water in this world. It’s pretty cold
and rainy today. Boat has been pitching quite hard though water is getting
calmer. Will sleep below tonight. Read a book of Mark Twain.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Funny experience last night. A little after midnight the
boat reversed its engines and blew it’s horn three times. As we had been having
boat drill since the first day out and the signal was six blasts of the foghorn
we were somewhat excited. We were nearly thrown from our hammocks. Found out
this morning from the gunner on our boat that a submarine had shot a torpedo at
the nurse boat that was alongside ours and in breaking their course our two
boats nearly collided. Very little was said about it though we thought a lot.
Fell in for muster today too.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Sunday, June 2, 1918</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Forgot to say that yesterday the fleet lined up in battle order,
which is V-shaped. The cruiser went ahead and dropped floats that looked like a
periscope. The gunners on the various boats then shot at them as they came in
sight. We have the best gunners on our boat. In the afternoon we saw smoke in
the distance, then a funnel, and finally a boat. Our cruiser started out after
it crossed its path and later joined us again. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Monday, June 3, 1918</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>We put on a submarine guard today as we are now in the war
zone. Every so many feet stood a guard with a rifle to watch for submarines.
Slept on deck. The card games, craps, and songs go on just the same. Had to
take baths in the open.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Tuesday, June 4, 1918</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Went on guard today. Got a good look at the brig. Some hole.
Smell is fierce due to the Hindu kitchen above. Was pretty cold and foggy.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Wednesday, June 5, 1918</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>One of the Hindus died of pneumonia. He was buried off the
back of the boat in a white canvas. Much ceremony with it. They say the night
of the storm one of them got knocked off too when a crane broke loose. Slept on
deck. Our cruiser turned back.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Thursday, June 6, 1918</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Picked up our convoy. Woke up to find ourselves surrounded
with little submarine chasers. At 10pm we sighted land in the form of a
lighthouse on our left. It is the coast of Scotland. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Friday, June 7, 1918 </span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" />
<br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Land!
Oh, what a glorious sight. And on both sides. Ireland on one side,
Scotland and England on the other. More of the mosquito fleets a couple
of airplanes and two big dirigibles. One came real close. Through the
North Channel and the Irish Sea, saw the Isle of Mann. Liverpool is
where we hit. Some harbor! Houses all red tile tops. Can see funny
little 2-story street cars. Went into dock. Funny English policeman in
sight. Had to stay on boat for the night. Thank goodness we may get some
real food. </span> <br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /> </b></span><br />
<br />
<i>Well anyway, be that as we may, we finally got there. Nothing but water, water, water. No sights that I can recall that are worth mentioning. The matter of a diary, I did make a diary and started it when the trip started. So a lot of this stuff is probably recorded in that. </i><br />
<br />
<i>While on the subject of a diary, I must say that Nancy has been after me to give it to her and since we've been very close the last couple years I do want her to have it. The reason for all that isn't that I think any less of Bill, but I have depended almost entirely on Nancy. Every time she and her husband moved, I moved too to get an apartment someplace nearby where they were living. It gave me a little feeling of safety to be close to her. Since then, I've seen her very often and they have had me at their home many times and I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't had her, especially for those moments when I get a little lonesome. I feel a little foolish saying all this because I don't even know if it's recording properly. But I'm hoping it will. The matter of the book isn't very vital but since I did tell her she could have it, I wanted to carry out my promise. </i><br />
<br />
<b style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></b> <i>It was interesting when we got over there because we passed Ireland, and Wales, and finally landed at Liverpool. I don't know if I mentioned it or not but when we got there, we were again welcomed by the same politicians that said goodbye to us! I wonder how they got over there. First class no doubt. </i><br />
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</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-85014165982213059672012-08-26T17:34:00.001-04:002012-08-26T17:34:07.679-04:00Happy Birthday, Grampa Ambrose!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k-vTUU-DcDk/UDqT5vjn35I/AAAAAAAAA0Y/UeuNkblWXSk/s1600/eddie.ed.in.water+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k-vTUU-DcDk/UDqT5vjn35I/AAAAAAAAA0Y/UeuNkblWXSk/s400/eddie.ed.in.water+copy.jpg" width="367" /></a></div>
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Edwin Ambrose, was born on August 26, 1899, in Horten, Norway.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-47206676158256076572012-08-19T15:52:00.003-04:002012-08-19T15:52:56.079-04:00122nd Field Artillery Training at Camp Logan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G9LepTmlNbE/UACIG8J2XuI/AAAAAAAAAYk/IHVUxAJrcdM/s1600/n069642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="318" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G9LepTmlNbE/UACIG8J2XuI/AAAAAAAAAYk/IHVUxAJrcdM/s400/n069642.jpg" title="" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">122nd Field Artillery soldiers standing outside the Mattes Club at Camp Logan. <br />©<span style="background-color: white;">DN-0069642, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.</span></td></tr>
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The following excerpt is courtesy <span style="text-align: center;">of the States Publications Society, Illinois in the World War.<i> </i>All the photos (except for above) are from Carl O. Ericke's WWI scrapbook.</span><br />
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<i>On August 16 Battery A, under command of Captain Joseph W. Mattes, entrained for Houston to prepare a section of Camp Logan, where the regiment was to receive its training as part of the Thirty-third Division, under command of Major General George Bell, Jr. Only seven days later Captain Mattes was shot and killed in an effort to disarm negro soldier rioters in the city of Houston, where he had been sent to quell the disturbance. On September 21 the regiment was officially designated the 122nd Field Artillery and assigned to the Fifty-eight Field Artillery Brigade. </i></div>
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<i>The eagerly awaited order for overseas service came in May, 1918. The regiment then had attained a high degree of efficiency. Many of the vacancies in the ranks of the offices, created when selections were made from the regiment to complete other organizations, were filled by promotion from the ranks. When the regiment entrained for the seaboard the latter part of May, the commissioned personnel was made up entirely of men who had held commissions in the unit in its national guard days or who had risen from the rank.</i><br />
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Next stop, Europe!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7730606788312602839.post-59803847351162450472012-08-14T18:19:00.001-04:002012-08-14T18:19:13.770-04:00Reflections on Tiny Tim<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Noted in the back of the 1966 Willy Wispe log was this exchange between my father and my brother Bob, aged 11.<br />
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<i>Ed: I bet he's never had a girlfriend.</i></div>
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<i>Bob: He's his own girlfriend.</i></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0