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Everybody’s Danish (Memoir) by Uncle Fred
By fred | August 9, 2008
I am not sure how many will be interested in this, I started this book years ago, haven’t done much to it lately, maybe I should. For some reason I had the time a few years ago and I wanted to put on paper for future generations what it was like back then, when my Dad came over from Denmark, my childhood in the 1930’s and 40’s - when memories of our family, the Danish colony, my youth, high school, army life, when those memories were still fresh.
The book is unfinished, like so much I write, it never seems to be over, and likely will not be until they bury me. If you are not interested, they have a wonderful device on these computers, it is called a ‘delete’ button. Just hit that if you are bored. Hopefully not. We will start at the beginning, my Dad, how he got to the states in the early 1900’s, then next week I will move on to my mother. It will be a long journey, if I send out one chapter or so a week. I do hope you find some enjoyment in my family, our pets, our friends and our true-life adventures over the years.
EVERYBODY’S DANISH
(A memoir)
TALES OF LIFE WITH FAMILY & FRIENDS, BOTH ANIMAL & HUMAN.
Frederick Andrew Nielsen
Forward: My memoir’s consist of a series of tales about family, friends, both animal and human. It is also about the people in my life, and therein is the problem! We have in my version of life, the good, the bad, and people like me. I am naming some very real people, by name.
Many considered good friends, and others I wish were good friends. Some names have been forgotten over the years. Therefore a few names are fictional. In just a few cases for those, not admired, it is with grim purpose that their names have been withheld and a substitute name inserted.
Exact dates would be impossible to remember. The events do however, take place within a general period described. While intended to be a true story, there are some tales you will be reading, that are hearsay, or second source. All of these tales are factual. A few stories may have been shaded with time. Tales told to me by my father and others could be a little ‘suspect.’
Dad, in relating his experiences, never was one to vary far from the truth. He may have had a twinkle or glint in his eye, and with his ever so slight Danish accent may have slightly extended the facts just a little to make the tale worth telling. So be it!
Take these ramblings of an aging Danish American for what they are worth, a look into the past for your entertainment. We may jump around a bit. As some Chapters take on a subject that extends from an early age to the present, a period going on almost seventy years.
This is a book about people, my people, my life. A few animals are included, only because they were part of the family, and as such also deserve their place in family history. As we ramble through various recollections both good and bad, I hope you will be will entertained.
EVENTS: Some chapter are short and some quite lengthy. My only excuse is that some events during periods of my life hold so many memories. The army is one of those chapters, in fact, that short one year period of active duty and six years of reserve had to be divided into two chapters.
I liked the army, for some reason I was good at it, very good at it. I liked the regimentation, the order, the discipline. I did not like the idea of killing or being killed, and that is the reason I applied for Adjutant General Schooling. In the army if you screw up you pay the price, you don’t screw up, you are rewarded with promotion. Seems very orderly to me.
With out a doubt, I was indeed fortunate to have gone to John H. Francis Polytechnic High School in Los Angeles, California, friendships formed there have served a lifetime. Poly High also gave me Sally, a treasure I am forever thankful for. The Army was an entirely different experience, the rough give and take of army life was a harsher taste of life. The learning to give commands, to get respect, to have a sense of pride in yourself, your worth, that period of life was deeply burned into my young memory.
Other periods also get more attention for the same reason. Events that jolted you, made you wake up from the normal flow of life. These could be either happy or sad events, but at the time they had to have impressed my memory greatly. Events like this are exploited more than other happenings because they are so well remembered.
I have been told that I have an amazing memory of the past, I don’t really think so. I have a great memory of some things. Other events, some of my failures in life, I have tried to relate, but my memory of many such events is dim. I wonder why?
CHAPTER (Name at birth: LAURITZ ANDREAS NIELSEN, Dad) (Name as a naturalized U. S. citizen: Andrew (no middle name) Nielsen
My father, how do you start a tale about someone you loved so much. Never once did he lay a hand on me in anger. I wanted his respect so much. Mom could put me in tears by just the threat of telling Dad about one little, stupid, childhood transgression. I guess you have to call it respect. My father earned the respect of not only his son, and our vibrant family of aunts, uncles, and cousins, but of the entire Danish Colony.
Dad never asked for that respect. Never held him self up as any roll model. He worked hard, played hard and cherished his family, and his friends. He gave life long support to the Danish community, and truly enjoyed life.
Let us go to the beginning, long before I was even a gleam in my father’s eye.
Father was christened Lauritz Andreas Nielsen. When he received his citizenship the judge changed his name to Andrew Nielsen, “Andy” to all of his friends. Born March 24th, 1895 in the town of Frederikshavn a small city near the northern tip of Denmark. His mother was Marie Katherine Jorgensen, his father Ole Nielsen was a fisherman. He had a small fishing boat and made his living fishing the surrounding North Sea, and selling the fish to housewives in Frederikshavn.
As a youth Lauritz Andreas Nielsen was slightly under six feet with a stocky build and with exceptionally strong, heavy forearms. In the States they called them “Popeye” arms. This young, blue eyed Viking, with light sandy hair and a stocky build, always had a friendly smile, and a decidedly unusual slant on life. To Dad everyone was either part Danish, related to, or could be, should be, or was Danish. You could be black (Danish West Indies), brown, white, yellow, of skin, it did not matter, as far as Andy was concerned you were Danish.
This decidedly odd slant on people and the world in general, stayed with him through out his life. The best I could understand of his odd theory, was that Dad figured his ancestors, the Vikings of hundreds of years ago, had just wandered around the globe, especially around Europe, and had children, and therefore everyone just ‘had’ to be ‘related’ in some manner or other.
There might be some truth in his mixed up theory of the human race. He did seem to forget that his Danish Viking ancestors were probably the one of the worst scourges the world has known. Cruel, killers, that certainly raped, stole, and plundered all over their known world. That by their raping they left some Danish bred children in all the countries of Europe there can be little doubt. It is just that my mild mannered father’s theory seems to cast them as some sort of good will ambassadors just spreading a little ‘love’ around the world.
It may sound funny but this weird attitude of his was a huge asset in his dealing with people. He had friends, real friends, by the carload. This very sincere feeling that we are all related somehow made him a man everyone wanted as a friend. He could raise hell with some people with very large egos, for something they did or did not do, and get away with it, they were still his friends.
I remember movie stars like Lawrence Melchior the great Wagnerian singer, movie star friends like Sonja Henie, Victor Borge and top businessmen like Ken Hansen & Tom Knudsen, that he phoned or ‘talked’ to them about stuff in no uncertain terms - I don’t know of anyone that was not still his friend afterwards. Lawrence particularly had a big ego, Dad did not mine sticking a pin in that once in a while.
He would never refuse anyone, anything. He would get jobs for family members that needed the work, help families get to the United States, all you had to do was ask. If the Danish colony had had a president he could have run, and won, hands down!
Andy had not one ounce of discrimination in him, did not matter who you were, race, color of your skin, religion, never mattered to Dad. I can truly say he never prejudged any living person. If you as a person, turned out to be a no good son of a bitch, that was just the way some people were. Never would he think to hate a group of people, or nation of people, because of the actions of any one individual. Of course, when the Germans marched into Denmark in the second world war, he immediately went to the L. A. recruiting office to join up – he was extremely upset when they told him he was far to old to join the army. Then – he was upset, pissed at the Germans is more like it. Our home, for the duration of the war became a second home for any soldier, sailor or military person needing a place to stay for a weekend, a week did not matter, they were our guests.
The small city of Frederikshavn in Denmark was a fishing village in those days, where much of the lively hood of the village was fishing the North Sea. He was not the first born, so the small fishing boat that was the only lively hood of the family would not go to him.
In the Denmark of those days if you were not the first born son, your prospects were decidedly limited as most younger brothers could only look forward to working for someone else as clerks, deck hands, or any other hired job.
At twelve he was apprenticed to a local grocery store. A grocery store in those days was more like a general-merchandise, hardware and market all rolled up in one. If you needed a piece of glass, they cut it to size and sold it to you. Flour, rice, beans, were all in bulk barrels or huge sacks.
Each order had to be individually weighted, and bagged. There were no computers, no adding machines, the scales had those little medal weights on them. Everything was done by hand, the books, the customers order had to be figured and added up on a piece of paper. And the storeowner brooked no mistakes. Andy’s sleeping quarters were in the loft over the store. The young apprentice in those days often learned with a thump on the head, or a kick in the seat, to make sure the owner’s orders were understood.
The days were long, no time to play. In Denmark being in the far north, the summers would be light often past midnight and into the early morning hours. Many times he and other young apprentices would be playing Soccer (football) at midnight, because that was the only time they had off.
Andy never heard of Algebra or Calculus, but his basic math was unbelievable. Take a column of figures thirty items long and he could add it up and give you the correct figure every time, and in just seconds. Some years later when we had a store he added up large orders for his customers this way. I said “Dad why don’t you use the adding machine?” “It’s too slow,” Dad said. Later after the customer left, we made a bet to see who was right.
Two, thirty item identical columns where written out. The battle was on! Dad’s finger slowly gliding down the column, his lips silently moving with his smart ass son banging away at the adding machine, who was going to be done first? The adding machine we had in those days was the one with the handle on it. The younger generation may not remember them, but they were the most modern things they had in those days. First, you would enter the number, then crank the handle to get the number on the tape, then enter another number and again crank the handle and so forth down the column of figures.
While I am half way through the column of figures, cranking away at the adding machine Andy says, “It’s $472.86.”
Several minutes later, I look at my figure and said “You got it wrong Pop, it’s $462.86.”
Dad moves his finger down the long column of figures rechecking. A few seconds later with a big grin he says, “Check your tape.” Sure as heck I hit a wrong key. I soon learned never to doubt Dad’s math.
Once in a while Andy, as a young apprentice could go home for a few days. When his father came in with the catch, the fish were fresh, but certainly not alive. So he and his father, still in rain slicks and boots, and their cart loaded with fish would go house to house trying to convince the Danish housewives that their fish was the ‘freshest’ of all.
Andy said the trick was to pick a fish up in your hand, hold it up to the lady, with your finger under the fish. A few quick, undetected, movements of the finger and the lady would say, “It’s still alive!” Andy and his father with their quick fingers always sold their cart of ‘fresh’ fish first. The reputation for the freshest fish in town went to the Nielsens.
At the age of fifteen his father knew that Andy must go. The opportunities for his son were just not there in Denmark. He would have to leave the boat to the oldest son, and that was not this bright young son that helped him sell fish and that he loved so much. That was just the way things were. Where would his boy have a chance to be his own boss? Where would he have a chance to make something of himself, besides just working at some clerk job for his whole life?
At that time in the early 1900’s rumors of gold bricks laying on the streets of San Francisco just waiting to be picked up were all over Denmark. He found his son a job as a lowly cook’s helper on a Danish sailing freighter that was bound for California. This was a huge decision for any parent in Denmark, or any part of Europe, to send their children to the United States, especially the West Coast of the United States. The sailing vessels traveled around the southern horn of South America, an extremely dangerous journey, months and months of travel, not always the safest. Would they ever see their children again? Many did not. Life was hard, but the desire for their children to have a better life somewhere else than that offered at home, overcame the fear.
One of his jobs as a cook’s helper was bring the meals to the captain. If the cook had not prepared the captains meal properly, if the weather was bad, or this lord and master was just in a foul mood, the number one target was often the lowly cook’s helper. He dodged plates, kicks to the shins, and was taught many “new words” that could not be found in the Danish or English dictionary, either then or now.
In those days of no airplanes, and no Panama Canal, the trip from Denmark to California would take months, not days, or in this day and age, only hours. Sometimes it is difficult to imagine what the feelings of these young people were. Leaving home, for a voyage that would take almost a half year, with the realization that you may never return, never see your family again - to a land where Danish was not spoken or if spoken by only a small number of its citizens. Remember Andy had no idea about how to speak the English language – not even one word.
How many of us would have the guts to leave home for a foreign land like that? Remember there was no family, friends of family, or anyone in that early California to help him - certainly no money to go to school to learn to communicate in English. The strange customs of the new land would take some bitter lessons to learn. A letter home, if it got there, could take up to six months to a year to receive a reply.
So the great adventure started! It was off to San Francisco. Dad was sixteen years old when he arrived in San Francisco. Years later this young man wrote a letter to his father back to Denmark and included several gold twenty-dollar pieces. He wrote his father, “There’s gold here but you have to work like hell for it!”
The trip to California took months. Across the Atlantic ocean, down the coast of South America, around the stormy tip of South American, the long trip again up the Pacific side of the continent, past Mexico and finally to California.
Dad often related to that trip, the stormy trip around the tip of South America, then the calm seas coming up the Pacific side, sea turtles that were bigger than a man, dolphins, flying fish, sharks following the sailing vessel. The strange lands, and particularly the decidedly strange climate, so different from the cooler weather of his native land.
When they got to California, did they worry about immigration? Not then, the only worry for the men and women that wanted to start a new life in California was how to get there. If you had the money, no problem, if not how can I work my way to get there!
In this day and age it is not so easy to enter or stay in the United States. Years later in the 1930’s when Dad and Mom were established and had a business, the rules had tightened up somewhat. You had to have a sponsor, some one that would guarantee the United States government that they would not have to support these new citizens, for at least two years after they arrived. Most of the European families that had secured even a limited, so called, middle class, form of wealth in this new land would “guarantee” for the rest of their families, or friends.
In his lifetime Andy and my mother guaranteed for eighteen families that I know of, mostly Danes with a couple of Norwegians, a Swedish, Holland, and German family, two Englishmen, a Scotch family, a Jewish family and a few others that I probably never heard about. Most were friends of friends, families and friends of Dad and Mom’s that did not have enough assets to guarantee for others in their family ask if Andy could help out.
One family stayed with us two weeks before finding work, and moving to their own place to live. Only about six of these guaranties were for Dad’s blood relations the rest were families of various friends. They knew Dad and Mom had enough assets to qualify to fill out the government form.
Our accountant, Wendell Wilke, had become an expert on filling out U. S. Government forms for these guaranties. He said “Andy, if all these families ever lose their jobs at one time, you have to feed them and keep a roof over their heads, I hope you know that!” “It says here you have to do that for two years!” Dad just shook his head. He was right it never happened.
America the land of plenty – Dad couldn’t believe the food there was - California seem to be flooded with it. The young man that had just arrived couldn’t believe it! He soon found out that there were no gold bricks in the streets of San Francisco, mostly of dirt, mud or maybe wood-plank sidewalks. But what amazed him, what he could hardly believe was the food. Nobody was hungry! Meat of every description and cheap - beef, pork or chicken every day - food, everywhere and cheap. If you had the price of a nickel beer at the bars of San Francisco in those days, you simply walked to the end of the bar and picked up some bread, slices of ham or roast beef, and filled up. The food was free the price of admission was the nickel glass of beer.
Andy found work fast, what did not come fast was learning the English language and customs. He remembers going to a small family restaurant for breakfast down the street from the boarding house where he had a tiny room. An old sailor sitting near him said “Ham and eggs”. That sure looked good. Fried eggs with grilled ham and a big batch of fried potatoes, fresh biscuits with butter, his mouth watered. So the young greenhorn carefully repeated the sailor’s words under his breath, and then finally got the courage to say out loud “Ham and eggs”.
Andy ate ham and eggs for breakfast every day for weeks until he could learn to order something else. As good as the ham and eggs were, he said he was ready for something else by then!
Another time, a year or so later, he got a job punching cattle in northern Nevada, near Reno, he was now a Danish cowboy. Dad said his first job was shoveling s–t! Cleaning out the barns. The ranch owner was an old American Dane, so that gave him a little edge in getting the job, which turned out to be one of the longest jobs he held in those early days.
During the cold winter nights in the bunkhouse the ranch hands taught him the wonderful game of poker, the ranch hands were always broke, they played for matches. Andy loved to play poker. One day when the weather was good, the owner, the foreman, and all of the hands went to town. The boss went to a classy saloon up the street and the foreman and the ranch hands did their drinking at a cheaper saloon a little lower down the block.
Andy noticed a few very distinguished very well dressed fellows playing his favorite game in the corner of the saloon. The foreman and hands were drinking, and having a great time at the bar. Since it was still hard for Dad to hold a prolonged conversation in English, and no one was paying any attention to him, he wandered over to the poker table and asked in this broken English, if he could play too. “Sure”, said the slick well dressed men at the table, as they shoved over a stack of chips. Andy was now going to learn the ‘real’ game called poker.
Dad thought how nice it was to play poker with nice round chips instead of match-sticks. In a short while they had all his chips, it had been fun, but he figured he had better get back to his fellow ranch hands, so he got up to leave. “Hold on, greenhorn, you haven’t paid up yet!” A pistol was slammed on the table. Andy said that was the biggest looking pistol he has ever seen, and the meaner the guy got, the bigger it looked.
The foreman, hearing the loud voices rushed over to the table and told the gamblers that Andy was one of his men. “What’s going on?” he asked. When he found out, he said, “I don’t have that kind money but my boss is down the block let me go get him.”
To make a long story short, his Danish boss paid the gamblers off, Dad had lost almost a years pay. Between the foreman and the ranch owner he learned some new words that day! Not limited to stupid, dumb ass Dane, asshole greenhorn, and those were the nicest things they called him!
He never left the ranch to go to town for ten solid months. A hard lesson for a Danish greenhorn, but one he never forgot! His poker buddies in later life used to call him “Lucky Andy.” He had certainly learned in a hard school! When you played cards with Andy there was no bluffing, you better have em, or fold. In the reverse Andy was one heck of a bluffer, you sure could not tell if he had em or not, a very cool poker player.
Andy was still on the ranch when a letter arrived, his brother-in-law to be, Soren ‘Chris’ Christiansen was on his way to California, a buddy of his in Denmark. Chris was getting a working berth on another Danish sailing freighter. Dad had told him, in a letter, that if he did decide to come that they could meet at a well known Danish boarding house in San Francisco, run by a Danish lady. Since the unknown factor was the exact time Chris would be coming to San Francisco, Dad had to get a move on. He had to leave Nevada and get to San Francisco quick. Chris could be there in a month, or six months, who could tell. He did know that he wanted to be there to give him a helping hand as soon as he got ashore.
Andy told the foreman he had to go, and since the ‘poker debt’ to the boss was now paid, he drew the rest of his pay and was off to the bay. This off to the bay stuff in those days was some trip, not the couple of hours by car that it would be in these days. Some of the way was horse and buggy.
They had a room at the boarding house, and he soon found work. Andy said he could always find a job, some were not the cleanest, or the most desired. If you would clean fish, barns, saloons, chop wood, shovel coal, there was always food and a roof over your head. Jobs most Americans didn’t want.
The wait was on -Chris could be coming anytime in the next couple of months. Heavy seas, the weather, a profitable stop for the sailing freighter at a South American port, contrary winds, anything could delay the ship’s arrival, and when it did arrive Andy wouldn’t know.
The San Francisco Bay was packed with sailing freighters, by the hundreds - many could not leave, because they lacked a crew. Andy’s father was not the only one that had heard the tales of this golden land of sunshine, where “gold bricks” are in the streets.
The men and women of countries all over the world used any means possible to get to the ‘land of milk and honey.’ Sailing freighters could pick their crews in Europe, South American or the Orient, as everyone wanted to be on the crew of a ship leaving for California. The captains were exacting promises from their crews before hiring. “It’s for the round trip!” the captain would say. “Yes sir!” the young prospective sailors would say. (With their fingers crossed behind their backs.)
The ships would get to San Francisco, and no matter what, the crew would sneak off, sometimes in mass. I understand that many of the ships captains said “to hell with it and took off for the gold fields along with their former crews!” They sure as hell could not sail the vessels by themselves. The lure of gold was a great attraction.
The harbor of San Francisco was a mass of aging derelict sailing freighters, as far as the eye could see, most with no crew, skipper, or caretaker.
This was the situation when Chris arrived on his sailing-freighter in the San Francisco bay. The captain of Chris’s ship decided he was going to keep his crew. He decided not to unload at a dock, but to off-load his freight while anchored fifty yards from shore. He figured, and rightly so, that most of his crew couldn’t swim. They could look at the shore, but as far as the Captain was concerned, that was it. They were not leaving the ship! His ship was not going to be stuck in San Francisco until it would rot. No way, his crew would stay on board.
My Uncle to be, not a big man, slight, but hard as a rock, could swim, even if the ship was anchored a hundred yards out he said he would have tried. He was going to make the attempt to get to shore or drown. He was not staying aboard ship! The swift currents in San Francisco Bay were something he had not counted on.
He would take a lot of killing. Chris was one very tough young man. He was also a very determined young man. He knew Andy was ashore and that is where he was going, come hell or high water, he was going.
Dad told many stories about Uncle Chris in those younger days. After being leveled in a Saloon fight over some disagreement, many, so called, tough guys, soon found out that this young greenhorn, with broken English was to be left in peace. You didn’t mess with Chris, especially if he had a few drinks to loosen him up. With or without a few drinks this slightly built, hard as steel, Danish tiger was always ready to go a round or two with some smart mouth that had to taught some manners.
So–with as many of his possessions as he could handle and swim with, tied around his waist and his shoes tied around his neck, he jumped in!
Chris hardly made it! The distance was short, but the current was very strong. Finally, exhausted he got to shore, and put his soaking shoes on. Here he was dripping wet, cold, exhausted, wandering on the streets of San Francisco asking every one that would stop and listen to this strange, wet young man “ca du talla Dansk?” (Can you speak Danish?)
Finally a well-dressed elderly gentlemen said, in Danish “Yes, can I help you?” Cold, soaking wet, my Uncle to be, said the man sounded like a Saint. Chris told him the name of the Danish boarding house, and the man said that he knew where it was, and gave him directions. It was a long walk.
Andy said that they were just sitting down to dinner at the boarding house, when a knock on the door announced the arrival of Chris, still wet! The expression “wet back”, has been used to describe Mexican families trying to cross the Rio Grande River from Mexico to the United States in hopes of providing a better life for themselves. They would arrive in the States soaking wet! Dad said Chris was the one and only ‘Danish wet back’ he ever heard of! All his life, the story was told about how the ‘Danish wet back’ arrived.
Leaving home at an early age was not anything particularly Danish, I understand this story could be true of most of the working European or Oriental families in those days. In his lifetime my Dad was a sailor, steel mill worker, railroad worker, a ranch hand, US soldier, dairy owner, landlord, street car operator, ice man (no electric home refrigerators back then), bar tender, importer, wholesaler, merchant, corporate president and majority sharehold of his businesses. He could probably tell me about another dozen different jobs if I had paid attention.
When the 1st World War broke out and the United States joined in, Andy and my Uncle to be, Chris Christensen were the first to volunteer. Andy was in the Army for about six months and then given an honorable discharge. He had some bad teeth that needed repair. In those days the Army would not pay for the repair of your teeth, and since Andy did not have enough money to have them fixed, they forced him to take an honorable discharge. Andy said how disappointed he was, he really wanted to join up. He just did not have the money to fix his teeth.
In later years, Uncle Chris called him, ‘Lucky Andy’ for a far different reason than being lucky in cards. The First World War, some call it the Great War was one adventure Chris said Andy was lucky to have missed.
My Uncle Chris, was another matter, his teeth and health was perfect. Uncle Chris fought the entire war in the trenches of France. All his life he had no hair on his legs from the knees down. In the cold muddy trenches of that awful war, his legs were wrapped with leggings that did not come off for weeks on end. He never talked much about the war, it was just something he tried to forget. He was very lucky to return, thousands like him - that had felt it was something they owed their adopted country - did not.
As with all the hard working men and women that migrated to America, the creed was: “You need a worker, whatever the job, I’ll do it, just pay me for it, and let me have a better life.”
Guts, the desire for something better, to be their own person, to have more than just a bare existence, drove the cream of humanity in the world of those years to the United States. The meek stayed home, the bold, the intelligent, the builders, those men and women came and stayed and built this country to the envy of the whole world. Who would have believed that this mixture of every race and language under the sun could evolve into the greatest county on earth!
(continued next week - Uncle Fred)
Topics: THIS & THAT from Uncle Fred |