It's Always Squirrel Season

Everyone who knows her, knows she likes to go deer hunting and started doing that a long time ago with her Dad. But your Mother/Grandmother/Sister-in-law/Cousin/Aunt/Friend didn't limit herself to the once a year deer hunting season. You can add duck and goose, and .... yes, that's right, squirrel hunting to her resume'. You could say that she "cut her teeth" - literally and figuratively speaking - on squirrel. The picture does not lie.

1960's in the kitchen at 60 Church Street, Montello

We found  this little gem in the attic today while looking for Dad Mateske's Christmas decorations. As soon as she saw it, without hesitation, she remembered, "That was my first squirrel." No details were immediately forthcoming, but I'm sure, if pressed, she would share them, and tell you a couple other squirrel tales to go with  it.

Here's one sidebar story - but no picture to back it up. On one of my first visits to Montello way back when, I remember very well sitting at the backyard picnic table with my future wife, and a few of the latest kills from earlier in the day, probably from the woods behind the house. I don't remember how many exactly, and I don't remember being there for  the hunt itself. But, boy, she sure knew how to impress a guy - I guess.

With skillful ease she proceeded to "clean" the little critters, and prepare them. Pray tell, prepare them for what, you ask? Well, for supper, of course. Before the day was over, I ate my first squirrel. Don't remember what the sides were - I mean, what goes well with squirrel? A salad? Fries or baked potato? Nuts? What I do remember while sitting at the dinner  table is thinking that this was an awful lot of work for so little meat.

How did it taste? Well, you know ... like chicken, of course.

Thanksgiving(s)

Thanksgiving 2016 may be one we always remember, mainly because of what it was not. Unlike the Thanksgiving Days we have grown accustomed to and enjoyed over the years, we stayed home. That was not the plan, of course, but life happens. Dad Mateske is laid up, and had Jeff, Andrea and the boys not stopped by for a quick visit, it would have been just us. We didn’t even have a turkey in the freezer, so it’s the Thanksgiving chicken this year! A nice, fresh, warm apple crisp took the place of the lime dessert which the Pilgrims introduced to this country ... oh wait, that's right, they didn't have Milnot back then, so we will give credit to my Mom.

Of course, being me, I got to thinking and conjured up the Ghost of Thanksgiving Past. Funny thing is that I don’t have many Thanksgiving Day pictures, and the ones I have aren’t of very good quality. There’s this one – which is all I could find today.

Gramma Dolan, David, Aunt Estella, Grampa Dolan, Uncle Ernie, ?, ? or Daddy, Mary, Mom, Me, Cousin Kathy

 

If you were to ask me about my earliest memories of Thanksgiving, this would be it. Getting together at the home of my Uncle Ernie and Aunt Estella on Eschol Avenue in Zion. They weren’t big gatherings, just the Harry Dolans, the Ernie Dolans, and Grampa/Gramma Dolan. Except in this picture, there is someone else at the far end of the table. The quality of the photo is so bad, that I can’t tell who it was. And I don’t recall.

What you can see is that my Aunt Estella was a classy lady who set a lovely table – even a table with kids who likely didn’t notice or appreciate it much (aka me). I remember very well the turkey in the oven in the small kitchen from where this photo was taken. My memory says that it was always a huge bird. It probably wasn’t, but that’s what I remember. But the best part was after the meal. We got to go into the basement to play, and in the basement there was a ping pong table. I thought that was the cat’s meow!

Yeah, I know, it doesn’t sound like much, and it was a pretty basic Thanksgiving. But it was good, and I’m glad to have the memory.

It’s a funny thing though. I don’t remember how many times we actually did this. I don’t remember thanksgivings at home at 1904 Elim. I don’t remember thanksgivings in Kenosha with Mom’s side of the family. It’s only the Ernie/Estella thanksgiving that I remember in Zion. The reality is that is was probably only a few occasions, but I guess it doesn’t matter. In my mind, that was thanksgiving growing up. (There was the one year we out to to eat at a restaurant. Don’t know why, but that was a big dud!! It was in Kenosha, just past the Keno Drive-in, on the west side of Sheridan Road.) Never did that again.

We’ve had any number of good turkey days in a variety of places over the years. Like the one pictured below in Palos Heights in 1978. It’s not a good photo either, but it was handy and it’s all I could find today. Yeah, I know, everyone looks so glum, and Carol looks pretty uncomfortable with Amy under her maternity top, but I love little Sarah smooching up cousin Paul.  That was a good day too. And there were other good days – all with a story or two to go along with it. What stories do you remember?? (This is where you are suppose to respond and tell me!!!)

I am sure I have forgotten some but whether in Zion, Wilmot, Palos, Fond du Lac, Watertown, add Montello last year, and now Crivitz, although someone else will have to tell that story (unless what happens in Crivitz stays in Crivitz), but "we done good", huh!? 

God has been good, and his mercy does endure forever!

SCHMERSENREICH

Not every picture found portrays someone from our immediate family. There are quite a few that show some distant kin that most of us never knew, and about which only a few know anything at all. What follows is one of those. In fact, the story didn’t start with a picture. It started with a name – a middle name. Even if you don’t know him – and even if this story is not about someone from your branch of the tree - I encourage you to read on. I thought it was interesting. It was fun to discover. And without a doubt, it is (in my humble opinion) the most descriptive name in the family tome.

His name was John Manthey. He is the Great Great Uncle of my wife, Carol (“Tootie” around these parts. There’s gotta be a story in that name too!)  John Manthey’s middle initial in all the records I have found is simply S.  BUT … and here’s the story – what did that S stand for? In the hand-written family tree written by Granny Schultz and Mom (Schultz) Mateske, I found my answer.

His complete name was:

JOHN SCHMERSENREICH MANTHEY

How’s that for a handle! Here’s a picture, and then I’ll tell you the story behind the unusual name.

The John/Minnie Manthey Children

(sitting) Charles and Emilie (our Great Gramma who married a Schultz)

(Standing at each end) Emma and Gustav

Standing center is JOHN SCHMERSENREICH

Obviously, schmersenreich is a German word – actually two words. Schmersen means “grief, sadness, heartache” and “reich” (with a small “s”) means something like “extreme, great, deep” - so, “extreme grief or deep heartache.”  

Wow, I thought. Who would name their child “Deep Heartache” – and what does that mean? I had to find out who this guy was, and why he caused so much grief (and had to carry it around his whole life – not to mention write it down whenever a middle name was required.)

Dates tell the story. John Schmersenreich Manthey was BORN on May 3, 1872. Okay. Then I noticed that his father, also named John Manthey DIED on May 1, 1872. So Mrs. Manthey (Wilhelmine or “Minnie”) gave birth to her son while at the same time burying her husband. So it wasn’t John Jr. who caused the grief, but his Dad, John Sr.! But his name was going to ever remind everyone of what must have been an unbelievably difficult time – a time of schmersenreich  = “extreme grief and sorrow” and “deep heartache.”

Interesting, isn’t it?? (I love this stuff!)

BONUS PICTURE

 (one of my favorites and worthy of a story all by itself)

This picture is LOADED, but that’s John SCHMERSENREICH Manthey,

the man standing farthest right.

BTW, this silo can still be seen from Hwy 23 as you drive by just west of the road that leads to the Mecan church.

The Many Faces of Delores

As you have been told, I found a boxed filled with a cornucopia (nice seasonal word!) of pictures from several branches of the Mateske family. There were some very old ones, including three “tin type” photos. Those are old! There were a few recent ones too. But then I found this wonderful collage. I’ll call it “The Many Faces of Delores.”

This collection was interesting in a couple of ways. The frame was nothing special, and it was pretty beat up and held together by a couple of small, poorly placed nails that were too big for the job. The photos were from a variety of years and were in various stages of wear and tear. Some were carefully trimmed and placed in the frame, a couple of others not as much. They were glued on the back-board of an old calendar which had been roughly trimmed to fit into the frame. In a way, I am surprised that this little collection, put together as it was, survived this long.

But it doesn’t take much effort and imagination to see that there was meaning and purpose, and love and pride behind this project. Maybe Granny Schultz put this arrangement together; maybe it was Delores herself. Don’t know that. But what a simple and fairly complete story it tells of the early life of Delores Schultz Mateske!

Mom Mateske has been gone six years now. That’s hard to believe – at least for some of us. That’s probably because her presence is still sorely missed around here by many – and especially for those who live in the house where she grew up (286 E. Montello), and the house she made a home for three score years (60 Church).

The closet where I keep my clothes is the closet that was hers growing up (I think). I think about that occasionally. I even found a little wooden door plaque in there that I keep around as a reminder. There’s not much heat in the closet, and in the wintertime, putting on cold clothes is … well, I’ll say invigorating, to say the least. I wonder if she experienced that too. You can think of her in other places in the house and the yard as well. If you look at the background of some of the pictures you can see it as it was.

Last week I was in charge of getting supper started for the deer hunters. As I rummaged around her kitchen at 60 Church Street, I thought of her and could hear her voice in that hallowed place where she spent a lot of time and made many a meal. Really, I could hear her saying, “Whadya need, John?” which probably was a nice way of saying, “Whadya doing in my kitchen!”

Anyway, I’m happy I found this collage in that box, and I think I will leave it as it is – old frame and all. I enjoyed it. I hope you do too.

(How about some audience participation! :) Let's make this an interactive blog post this time. Here's the question: Which is  your favorite of the many pictures above? And why?) 

Bob(by) Mateske - Sr - That Is

Faithful Followers of JD's Jottings,

Here's one for the Mateske side of  things.

Most of you know Dad/Grampa Mateske, or at least have heard of him anyway. He has been featured in a couple of previous posts in the Jottings. There are a couple of Mateske family shots that I enjoyed and shared with you like What's In a Picture on 08-16-2016 and A Rare Mateske Find on 02-10-2015. And how could you forget him in They Don' Make Uniforms Like They Used To (Thank Goodness) on 12-11-2014. Add this one to the mix.

If you had asked me before to show you a picture of Bob Mateske Sr as a little boy, I would have been hard pressed to find one. Until now! A recent excursion into the hitherto unexplored recesses of the master bedroom at 60 Church Street, Montello, has unearthed a genealogical treasure trove of goodies. Underneath the really neat antique wooden desk in the corner I found a box filled with old photos. (Yeah, I know. I hear ya! I need a couple hundred more family photos like I need a hole in the head.) Of course this discovery pretty well shot the rest of the day, and it was worth it. 

Among the dozens of photos covering almost 150 years, I found this little gem, circa 1930. Skinned up knee and all, little Bobby Mateske, posed nicely for the  camera. The shorts with knee-high socks set off by a pair of shiny shoes was a classic little boy outfit. Nice chair too. And I think I've seen a planter like the one in the  background somewhere in the 60 Church Street basement.

Enjoy.

LBJ/HHH vs. AUH20 and Me

It wasn’t the first national, presidential election that got my attention. The Kennedy/Nixon 1960 race would probably have been that. Being 12 years old, I didn’t even have a vote, but the 1964 election certainly was an unforgettable one for me. One day in the fall of that year, it was sealed in my memory.

It didn’t have anything to do with ideology, political persuasions, or party platforms. I would have known precious little about any of that. Still reeling from the JFK assassination, this election pitted the formidable ticket of Lyndon Baines Johnson (LBJ) and Hubert Horatio Humphrey (HHH) for the Democrats versus the Conservative from Arizona, Barry Goldwater (AUH2O) and an unknown, William Miller on the Republican side.  The bumper stickers were everywhere, including in my desk at school (hey, they were free!) – the dark green “LBJ/HHH” and the red, white and blue “AUH20”.

For me though, it was just a matter of a 12 year old boy who got the chance to get out of school for a few hours to become part of the election campaign hoopla that had come to my little city of Zion. In the end, I got to shake hands with the governor of the State of Illinois! His name was Otto J. Kerner. He was somewhat famous back in those days, and he became rather infamous before his political career came to an end.

The Zion-Benton News reported the events of the day, as you would expect, and the story in the paper included the picture you see below. No, I was not in the picture, but I was there, believe me. I will never forget it.

I wasn’t in the picture, but you might recognize one man who was. That’s right, that my Uncle Ernie Dolan “smack dab” in the middle of the picture. It doesn’t surprise me to see him there. It was like him to be in the thick of such a major local event. That’s Governor Kerner, front right shaking hands with Zion’s Mayor Bruce Dunbar (who also ran the local Ben Franklin store on the corner of 27^th and Sheridan Road.) The woman peeking out between the two was Mrs. Berg, also a member of our church, a sweet lady. That’s her husband you can see over the governor’s shoulder, wearing the hat. I also remember the big, bald-headed man in the back left. I just can’t remember his name. (David? Kathy?) Uncle Ernie knew him, in fact, he was one of the guys that went to a Cubs game with us on one of those occasions when my uncle took me to Wrigley Field. This picture was taken at the Democratic headquarters set up in Zion for the election. It was located in one of the buildings on the east side of Sheridan Road just north of 27^th Street.

But none of that explains what I was doing there. So, here’s the scoop. One of my buddies from school and church was Donny Rawhoof. His Dad was Gene Rawhoof, who was one of the “big-wigs” of the local Democratic Party. If that name sounds at all familiar, that’s because the Rawhoofs owned and lived downstairs in the big house on Edina Blvd, where Mom and Dad lived upstairs years later. Anyway, Mr. Rawhoof arranged to have his son, Don, get off school and be there to meet the governor. Donnie asked me to go along. So naturally, I went. Believe me when I tell you that this was a BIG deal.

What I remember is this. There was a lot of standing around and waiting for the governor to arrive. I saw Uncle Ernie and lots of other folks there. I even think Daddy showed up too, but I’m not sure of that detail. But finally the small motorcade arrived, the governor came into the little office and all the political hand-shaking began. At some point in those few brief moments Mr. Rawhoof (bless his heart) made sure that Donny and I got up to the front. My moment had arrived. We were introduced by name, shook hands with the Governor, who looked me right in the eye and smiled. He said something, but I don’t remember what, and then just like that it was over.

A couple of things stand out in my memory of that brief  moment of glory. First, Mr. Kerner looked and acted just like a 12 year old boy would expect him to look and act. I remember his suit – one that would not have been purchased at Bruce Dunbar’s Ben Franklin store. His hand-shake was firm. He had bright, piercing eyes, and his look into mine seemed genuine, not just the mandatory, political glad-handing it was. He was shorter than I expected, but he still exuded a stature and aura befitting a state and national political figure. And he smelled good – and powerful! (Yes, I remember that.)

The other thing I remember is this. Accompanying the governor was the long-time Waukegan mayor, Robert Sabonjian, the charismatic, outspoken, controversial, and somewhat popular Democratic Party leader in Lake County. He was sometimes known as “the Mayor Daley of Waukegan” after the powerful and famous major of Chicago. He was a short, stocky man with dark, heavy eyebrows. He was a Waukegan boy about the same vintage of Dad and Uncle Ernie. In fact, they would have been acquainted, I’m sure. When we were introduced, and Mr. Rawhoof said, “this is John Dolan,” I’m sure I heard him say, somewhat as an aside, “he looks like a Dolan.”

In 1973 Otto Kerner, then a federal judge, was tried and convicted of mail fraud, conspiracy, perjury, and other charges. The prosecutor was an up-and-coming Republican who himself later became governor of Illinois, James Thompson. Kerner resigned his position on the bench, and was sentenced to three years in prison. Granted early release when it was revealed that he was suffering from cancer, he died in 1976. It is believed that the conviction was unfair, and had he lived, it likely would have been overturned.

No matter. Back in 1964 he shook my hand. As small and insignificant as it was, it was still a huge, memorable day for me.

drunknad af vada

We have only one picture of him.
His "personal" page in my Family Tree Maker software has only three lines, listing three life events - he was born, he got married, and he died.
But the circumstances of his death not only make him one of the most interesting people on the family tree, but one of the most significant. I don't think I'm exaggerating too much if I say that the events of a single weekend 125 years ago changed everything.

He's Axel Lungberg (pronounced like "Young-berry," I think.) He is my Great Grandfather.

 

The above little newspaper blurb doesn't give details, but does sum it up in a nutshell. It is a good starting point for telling the rest of the story. A rough translation goes like this:

My dearly loved husband, bookkeeper, Axel Ljungberg, born on May 10, 1854, died by accident on October 9, 1892, will be deeply missed by me, 5 children, relatives and many friends. I tell you my sorry plight...at Levanten, November 2, 1892. 

So what happened? What are the details of this "accident?" What is the rest of the story? Over the years I have been told a number of things by my Gramma Dolan and my Dad, things like a carriage accident-found face down in a creek-foul play and suspicion of murder-alcohol related. No one seemed to know for sure what happened, and the little blurb has been the only piece of actual documentation in the family archives. Until now..

As it turns out, there is a little bit of truth in all of the stories that have been told in the past. There was an accident, although there is no mention of a carriage being involved. Drowning in a creek was likely the cause of death, but exactly how the body was found isn't mentioned. There was no foul play or murder, but there was suspicion and an investigation was made. Was it alcohol related? Yes. That is one thing that is clear.

So what are the facts as we know them? There is a death record that says the "bookkeeper (or inspector), Axel Ljungberg died in Liventen, Orgryte Parish. Cause of death: drunknad af vada, which means, drowned by accident. He was 38 years, 4 months, and 19 days old. Wow!

But the death notice also says, Attest fran Kronal,  which means that papers had been sent from the Kronolansman (an old word for police.) In other words, there was a police investigation of what appeared to be a suspicious death. 

Here what that investigation revealed in a rough translation (not mine, but a Swedish researcher) of the Official Report of the County Sheriff, November 7, 1892, along with a few brief comments by me:

To His majesty the King's Commander in Goteberg.
Returned to the county sheriff in Safvedals County with notification that there are no objections for the dead body to be buried.
Goteberg city council, November 5, 1892 

It does go on simply and to the point:

The book-keeper in Livanten in Orgryte, Johan (??) Ljungberg left his homestead Sunday the 9th last October and has after that not been heard from. Today before noon, after searches in the water, his body has been recovered in Molndals Creek near Bohusvik. In police investigations, kept October 11-12, has come forward, that Ljungberg, who on the 9th of October in the morning had come home from a wedding; had not been sober.

So we know how the weekend started - a wedding. Whose? That we don't know. 

He had, accompanied by the factory worker August Andersson from Wilhelmsdal, in the afternoon that same day, gone off to the city (of Goteberg) and visited five drinkinghouses where they both had malts and liqueur.  Ljungberg, who didn't carry any money, had been allowed to borrow 5 Kronor.  Around 11 at night, they separated near Lorensberg and Ljungberg who had been very intoxicated had headed homewards.  Andersson, who during the evening had become very drunk, had lost his memory and did not know how he got home.  Ljungberg had been seen at the Karlslunds road ( a road which leads from the old road in Galgkrogarna to Molndals creek and Bohus factory) around 11:30 at night. (One of these days I need to get a geography lesson on the places and parishes around Goteberg. I think it would add something to a proper understanding of the story.)

So the weekend continued. We can ask and wonder all we want, but we'll never know. Why didn't he just stay home Sunday - I mean, he did have a wife and 5 children to think about? Who was August? A friend from work? Why the "pub crawl?" No money? So much doesn't seem to make sense, but one thing is pretty certain, we know how he spent his last hours.

Here's a little detail of the report that struck me: In the deceased's pocket was found a pocket watch, which had stopped at 11:30. I wonder what happened to that watch!

But in the end, With notification hereby, I humbly state that Ljungberg most likely by accident fell into the creek and drowned.  There are no reason to believe that he died by other man's hand.  The dead body may without further investigation and obduction (which I think means keeping or withholding from the family) be buried."  Safvedals County sheriff's office. November 2, 1892.

So there you have it. Not exactly the kind of stuff you hope to find in your family history. But as the overworked saying goes, it is what it is. The story answers some questions, but brings up more, at least for me. What kind of man was my great grandfather? Was this just one regretful weekend  of bad decisions, or were there bigger issues? Don't know. Can't know. Anyone who might know is no longer alive to tell. 

Does anyone want to think about the "what if?" What if that October weekend so long ago had been different in one way  or another. What if Axel Ljungberg had lived a full life. Think about it. No marriage to William James Dolan. No Newmilns, Scotland. No Canada. No WW I war hospital and no nurse Elizabeth Yates. No Ernie and Harry. No me. No you. No Zion. At least not the way we know all of that today. It's all moot, of course. I know that. But can you see why Axel Lungberg and his story is pretty important to us and  how it really did change everything?

He Threw the Curve

• They called him L'il Abner, after a popular comic strip character.
• A blonde-haired Swede, with huge hands, he was a strapping 6' 3" and carried 180+ pounds on his lanky frame.
• He lived what is many a boy's dream - he played in the "Bigs" - a professional ball player.
• Although it was more than just "a cup of coffee" (1941-1948), his big league career was rather mediocre according to most standards. Cooperstown will not be calling anytime soon.
• BUT ... his claim to fame was that he was on the mound at venerable Forbes Field in Pittsburgh, PA on that fateful day of September 28, 1945 when the Cubs clinched the pennant, and he threw the pitch, a curve ball, that punched the Cubs ticket to the World Series.
• His name was Paul Walford Erickson.
• He came from small-town Zion, Illinois - the only Zionite ever to make it to the big time.
• AND, he's part of our family history - the brother of my Aunt Estella Erickson Dolan!

Here's the story.

Paul Erickson was born on December 14, 1915 in Zion, one of 10 children of Lewis and Bertha Paulson Erickson. They lived and grew up in the big house on the northeast corner of Elim Avenue and Shiloh Blvd. The impressive house is still there. There were 5 boys, all athletes, and six girls. One of his sisters, Estella, married my uncle, Ernie Dolan.

The right-hand pitcher who wasn't a bad hitter either was one of baseball's "war years" players of the 1940s. And he was a "fireballer" with a long stride and sweeping motion - his fastball they said "left his hand like a shell from the battleship Missouri where the Japanese had surrendered earlier in the month." One of his catchers back in the day in Zion said he had to wear sponges in his mitt because Paul threw so hard. If there was a problem, it was that he threw as many balls as strikes, which made him a feared opponent. A Chicago sportswriter commented "he rattled hitters with his wildness," and during the winter off-season "he rattled the bottles as a Chicago milkman." Paul himself remembered a game in the minor league which he won and knocked the opposing team out of the league lead by striking out 18. "I also walked 12 or 13" he laughed, "so you can see it was a busy evening." It was this wild streak that may have limited Paul Erickson's potential stardom.

My boys Aaron and Jeff will appreciate this - and pay attention grandson Isaiah Schaser! Back in his boyhood days in Zion, Paul Erickson didn't exactly have big league star potential, and most would have laughed at the thought, Paul included. He hardly competed in sports at all because he was too small. His brother John commented that "he was so small the coaches wouldn't even look at him." He himself chuckled about this, "When I entered high school (Waukegan then, since Zion didn't have a high school yet) I was only about that high, as he gestured with his tremendous hand. About 5 foot. I wasn't much bigger in my senior year, when I suddenly started to shoot up in the air. By the end of that year I was close to 6', but so awkward I couldn't have played in any sport without being my own biggest handicap."

That changed. He overcame the clumsiness and adjusted to his newly acquired height and bulk. He tried catcher, played both infield and outfield, but it was his ability to throw a baseball hard that eventually took him to that hill 60 feet 6 inches from home plate.

Paul Erickson bottom row 2nd from right
My Uncle Ernie Dolan bottom center next to Paul, and cousin Axel Dolan in back row between them.

He played for various local teams in Zion like the Zion Merchants and Johnson Motors, and then made his way through the minor league circuit. It was a St. Louis Cardinal scout who spotted him first in a game in Half Day, IL, saw him pitch and wanted to sign him. But Paul asked for a tryout with the Cubs who wasted little time in signing him. Paul said, "I think it was Bill Veeck's father that signed me." That was in 1936. He played for the Cubs farm team in Ponca City, St. Joseph, MO, the Los Angeles Angels (then a Triple A team), the old Triple A Milwaukee Brewers, and Indianapolis under White Sox legend, Al Lopez. He became the strikeout king of the Western Association. It was while he was with the Cubs Tulsa team that he developed into a potential star.

According to sportswriter Eddie Gold of the Chicago Sun-Times Paul got the nickname in the minor leagues, from Al Capp's hillbilly comic strip character (look it up.)The team bus had a flat tire and there was no jack. Erickson lifted the bumper off the ground to help fix the tire. Or so the story goes.

But it was in 1945 when the star shone the brightest. It's Cub's lore, and I'm disappointed it doesn't get more attention today. It was the clincher! It was mid-way through the '45 season and the Cubs were in first place with a 71/2 game lead. By the time September rolled around it was down to a game and a half. They went into Pittsburgh on the last weekend of the season needing to win just one game to clinch. A sacrifice fly from center-fielder Andy Pafko gave the Cubs a lead in the top of the ninth, but the Pirates had last raps.

Starting pitcher Hank Borowy left the game in the bottom of the ninth with one out and and men on first and second. They brought in a left reliever, Bob Chipman, who got a ground out, but runners advanced to second and third. The stage was set for Chicago Cub and Dolan family history to be made. It's the bottom of the 9th - two ducks on the pond -  two out - the Cubs had a one run lead. Manager Charlie Grimm gambled big-time making the bullpen call for the often wild Paul Erickson. With the count 0-1 he threw a wild fastball - Pirate pinch hitter Tommy O'Brian ducked out of the way, but the ball his bat for a foul-ball strike two. Another fastball to punch him out was a sure thing, right? That's what Tommy O'Brian thought too. But as the Chicago Tribune headline reported, "Erickson Threw the Curve." O'Brian could only watch as the sweeping "Uncle Charlie," "Sir Charles," wicked curve ball dropped in for a called strike three, and the Cubs uncorked the champagne! "That pitch clinched the pennant for the Cubs, something that no thrown or batted ball has done in the (71) years since."

The Cubs lost the series in four games to Detroit. Paul pitched as a reliever in all four of the games, but a world series ring was not to be. "Pitching beat us" Paul said. "They had such hurlers as Dizzy Trout." But they still had that exciting and memorable day in Pittsburgh. In 1977 Chicago Daily News sportswriter,  George Vass wrote, "Boys have graduated from high school, attended college, gotten jobs, married, reared children, put them through school, and become fat, prosperous and middle-aged since the Cubs last won a pennant." And now in 2016 there are few Cub fans who were even born when Paul Erickson threw that pitch. But "that golden moment and the succeeding, disappointing World Series against the Detroit Tigers, nevertheless remain fresh in the memories of those who won the Cubs last pennant. Call them the 'Men of Autumn' rather than 'the Boys of Summer', because for the most part they were an aging crew, veterans and jumped-up minor leaguers, not physically suited for the demands of uniformed service in World War II. But they were a good team, and they won the last pennant flown over Wrigley Field.

In 1948 after the Cubs traded him to the Phillies, the Chicago Sun-Times had an article about why "the fireballing Swede never attained stardom. Roy Johnson, the coach who was with Paul both in the minors and with the Cubs gave a four part answer to that question. "1) He was scared to death out there; 2) he lacked pitching smartness, 3) he was brought up to the majors too quickly, and 4) (This is interesting) he was handicapped by playing in home-town territory cluttered by relatives and friends." The article went on to explain the "being scared" comment. It "wasn't belittling his physical prowess...since "we had seen him battle two guys at once in the stands a couple of years ago and had heard other tales of his fighting prowess." Coach Johnson said, "...If I were picking anybody, I'd want him on my side. I saw him get mad down in Texas League once and he was trowing guys around like they were paper bags." He went on to say that rather, "He's always afraid that he'll throw it in the wrong place or that somebody will hit the hell out of the ball. As a result he gets himself in a hole, slows down a bit as he comes down the alley with it and blooie...I told him many a time that with the weapon he's got with that fastball of his, the hitters ought to be scarred...He doesn't know the art of pitching...he tries to be smart and makes all sorts of mistakes, throws sidearm to left-handed batters and everything else...and that would be all right too, if he'd just content himself with blowing that ball in there." It was the feeling of some that if Paul only would have had the chance to have a big year in the minors before being brought up, he would have been better. But in 1940, manager Jimmie Wilson was so impressed with the way he fired the ball in there, they kept him on the major league team. "I knew in the minors that he wasn't ready. Finally, It was said that no manager wanted a hometown boy on his team. Too many distractions. "Just moving to Philadelphia might help Paul. I hope it does. He was always a likable fellow."

But like many before and after him. Paul Erickson's arm went bad and he lost his stuff. He finished up playing for the Phillies, New York Giants and Pittsburgh. He retired to Fond du Lac, WI where he did some scouting for the Braves, and even had a one month stint as the manager of the Appleton Foxes. He lived out his life in Fond du Lac and was retired from W.J. Woodruff Roofing Company. He and his wife Margaret had three children, who until later on didn't know he was a big leaguer and had helped clinch a National League pennant. Paul Erickson died at the age of 86 on April 5, 2002. He is laid to rest at the Shrine of Rest Mausoleum in Fond du Lac.

Paul and Margaret Erickson

Like the Cubs in September of 1945, on this day in October 2016, the Northsiders find themselves one win away from the Fall Classic. Time will only tell if the 71 year Wold Series drought will come to an end this weekend. Whether they do it or don't, I think its a good time remember that day when the baseball world (and Pirate Tommy O'Brian) were shocked when "Erickson threw the curve."

1976 in Zion on Eschol Ave
John, Carol, and Sarah Dolan, Uncle Ernie Dolan, Dad Harry Dolan
and Paul Erickson

Sidebar:
One of my prized possessions is one of Paul Erickson's ball mitts. Don't know if it is the one he used in September of '45 - but it is special! Paul gave it to his brother-in-law and my Uncle Ernie Dolan. Ernie loved baseball too, and was a pretty darn good pitcher himself  (he also had a tryout and met the famous Dizzy Dean). Every once in a while, Ernie would show me the glove when I went over to their house on Eschol Ave. in Zion. And my Uncle Ernie took good care of me - took me to my first Cubs game at Wrigley and later he would take me once a summer to Milwaukee to watch the the White Sox play. After my beloved Milwaukee Braves (Ernie would say, "'dem Bums from  Milwaukee") broke my heart and moved to Altlanta, the Cubs would play a few games in Milwaukee. And finally - I don't remember when - Uncle Ernie gave the glove to me. (He knew!) I will always treasure it. I keep a baseball in it, still take it out and pound the pocket a few times, and think about how at one time long ago that glove was on the hand of a big leaguer - which is as close as I would ever get.

The Glove was Paul Erickson's
(The ball is mine - diving catch over two rows of bleachers in the '90s at old Country Stadium)

The Gangs Are All Here (Again)

Sarah's Confirmation Day - May 1990

1900 N. Erb Street-Appleton, Wisconsin

What makes these two photos memorable is the  fact that so many people were there that day - on both the Dolan and Mateske side. As time moved on, the numbers of people who could come got smaller and smaller. (Ask poor KT.)

But on this day the gangs were all there - except for one person on each side!
Can you see who it was?

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With our family, the Mateske side included Mom and Dad Mateske, Granny Schultz, Bob and Gail with an already tall Adam and Paul, both Helen (left side) and Agnes (right side) Flynn, Montello neighbors. Bonus attendees were Aunt Jenny Dehling with Ron and Stacie Dehling, and friends Martin and Althea Griepentrog.

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With our family, the Dolan side included Mom and Dad, David, Mary Lou and family; Mary and Tom and girls (this was pre-Lesia). Bonus attendees were Uncle Ernie and his second wife Vi.

**Who's missing?**
Gramma Minnie on the Mateske side
Rachel Dolan (sick) on the Dolan side

TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE!

Homecoming Royalty - Sort of ...

Went to the Luther Prep homecoming last night - and got a peek at the pep rally where the homecoming court was introduced. I was moved. (Okay, not really.) But it has moved me to reveal this family archive gem from the ghost of Prep homecomings past. It's grainy and it's black and white. But it is a classic and, of course, there is drama and human interest oozing out all over the place - known only to the participants and others who were there on that fall Friday night at dear old Northwestern Prep in 1969.

Are you ready for it ....

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You'll want to first notice the elaborate state of  the art lighting. And that's all there was, trust me. You can't see the sound system, but you would have heard it, or maybe not. The stage really wasn't all that helpful, and I'm not quite sure what that box is in the lower right. I'm sure it was important though.

Other than looking terrified, embarrassed, or somewhat bored, let me tell you about this cast of court (and courting) couples.

Let start on the left and get it out of the way right from the get go. Yep, that's me, looking rather "Joe Prep-ish" I don't mind saying. I'm  escorting Joanne Jaeger. Six years later she would be in our wedding and there started courting my buddy groomsman, Don Sutton. We were in their wedding not long after. That's Don in the back with the shirt and tie. He was the class "Studley Dudley" and was the pep  rally speaker.

To  my left is Doreen Marohl, the class "looker"- a beautiful gal then and still today. (We're Facebook Friends.) It's a wonder I learned any Latin my first year  at Prep. Doreen sat in front of me. She smelled so nice, wore these beautiful sweaters, and her lovely blonde hair was always hanging in front on me on my desk. No wonder I couldn't conjugate amo. The college guys on campus noticed her too, and she  dated a few of  them. Prep guys never  had a chance. That's Mike Hintz with Doreen, looking mildly interested in the whole affair. I like Mike and we are friends today. He was a more than decent athlete, good student, a great guy who became a fine pastor, world missionary, and now the synod's evangelism leader. But how Mike got to be with Doreen will forever be a mystery to me.

Of course, in the middle you see the lovely maiden from Montello, Carol Mateske, with my good friend (who  is now in heaven), Mark Lindner. "The Gief" as we called him looks like a gief and about as stiff and uncomfortable as any human being could be. Not only that, when he was picking out pants that night he must have thought there was a flash flood warning. I love that guy! But we really needed to switch places (no offense to Joanne intended), but Carol and I both would have voted for the switch. But we didn't have a vote on that (not sure who did the pairing), and  I was too cool (okay, I was chicken) to say anything. It took me until the snow fell to admit that I had my eyes on her and do anything about it. We did enjoy the other major campus social event together, Winter Carnival.  I can remember that coat so well. I wonder what happened to it. She looked good  in it, but I suppose it would be out of style today - what with the fluffy trim and all.

Next is another family connection. That's Marsha, now Stueber, Hackbarth, who is the aunt of Jeff's wife, Andrea. (Paula Schmeling, or li'l Hacky, as I called her, was Marsha's younger sister, who may  have  been in the crowd that night.) Marsha is with Charlie Degner, the Ixonia farm boy who became my district president in Minnesota. Charlie and Marsha were actually an item in those days, and  we thought they would get married someday. Oh well, guess not. Charlie was also one  of  the class brains, a practical, "let me fix that" kinda guy, and he looks more interested in what Don was doing behind him, trying to get the microphone going. 

Finally, the last couple is my good buddy, John Gawrisch  and Jackie Kletsch. They were not a couple, but Jackie wished they were. If "Goo" was interested, he didn't let on, and would have probably been too bashful to do anything about it anyway.

I'm not sure who the other guy is. A college guy maybe. Looks like John Johnson. I can't tell, and I don't remember.

Well, Marsha became homecoming queen - I'm sure  hands down. We lost the football game to Racine Lutheran, a game in which I sprained my ankle badly, didn't come out and got burned on a touchdown pass to a guy who wasn't that good. That was disappointing. But I don' think we won any  games that  year.

But this was a cool night none  the less!

But darn! I wish I had  kept  that letter sweater!!!

Homecoming Royalty indeed! 1969 style!

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100 Bucks for Fred and Ernestine

Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Mecan, WI (known by some as the Big Mecan church) celebrated their 150th anniversary this past Sunday (September 18, 2016). It was a good day. Beautiful weather. Excellent worship service. Fellowship lunch. Well done all the way around.

So over the past weeks and months we've been poking around the cemetery. Dad Mateske knew that his great grandparents were out there somewhere, and so we went looking for them. Pretty easy to find, although the grave marker is getting harder and harder to read and has some of the usual old gravestone growth on it. Johann Friedrich (Fred) Mateske and his Frau, Ernestine Wilhelmine Theresia Mateske nee Pockrandt are the only Mateske names in Big Mecan cemetary. (*see note at end)

Dad wanted to make a special anniversary offering for  the special day and so $100 was given in honor of  his great grandparents. That's worth a blog post. And that gift gave me my title.

    

               

From the picture below you can see the location in relation to the back of  the church. The grave is just south of the road that goes through the middle of the  cemetery. You can't miss it.

The Johann is left off Friedrich's name, and he was know just as Fred. One early census must have had a real 'Merican enumerator as he spelled the last name Mateskey. That's no doubt what he heard. 

Ernestine's engraving is a bit less weathered, and it's a good thing she didn't want her whole name put on there. They would have needed a bigger monument!

  

So  what's their story. Fred and Ernestine came from the old country in the late 1860s from two little towns in Posen, Prussia, Germany. That is in the northwestern part of what is now Poland. They came via the port of Quebec, Canada. They had four children: Rudolph (that's our branch), Richard, Gustoph and Emma. He was a farmer according to all the census reports. However, one other person who  has done some research on the Mateske/Pockrandt name also said that he was a carpenter and later a blacksmith. Don't know about that, or where that came form, but I suppose he could have been all three.

Fortunately somebody saved Ernestine's obituary, and that is as good a way as there is to tell you about them. So let's just let that do the talking. It will tell you something about their life and their faith. It's still hard, but good stuff.

Cleaning  up old gravestones can be tricky business and a rubbing should probably be made of the engraving before it disappears all together. We'll get on that. And I don't know where  the Mateske homestead is exactly. We'll have to check that out too.

Anyway, next time you get out to Mecan, look them up.

* About the asterick - There is another Mateske out there but she is in the Dahlke plot and the Mateske name is not on the marker. Bertha Mateske married a Dahlke. She is a niece of Fred and Ernestine.

Hey! Who's Got a Birthday This Week!?!?!?

It's September - the birthday month, as I like to call it.
And who's got a birthday this week?
That's right ......... Aunt Norma!

You thought I was going to shamelessly toot my own horn and solicit birthday greetings (no gifts, please!Really.) It is my birthday  this week - number 64. But look at my picture for this post. I'm not the only one who's in the center of the picture. I'm not the only one cutting  the cake.

Late 1950s at 4711 20th Avenue

Norma Sylvia Haubrich was born on September 22, 1908 in Kenosha, WI. That makes her the oldest child of both my grandparents and thus the oldest of my aunts and uncles. As it turned out, she is the first of that group to die, and the  youngest. In July of 1969, she was almost 61! Cancer.

Aunt Norma was the first to be born and the first to die, but by my way of thinking, she was more than that. I have a theory that she was, in a sense, the glue, the center, the mover and  the shaker of our little extended family that often gathered at 4711 20th Avenue in Kenosha.

Maybe that's part of  the explanation. 4711 20th Avenue was where the Haubrichs lived for decades, since early in the 20th century. Pa Haubrich bought that house when it was still called Lyman Avenue (in 1926 Kenosha changed the street names to street numbers). He raised a family there. He died there, and before that he arranged for Gramma and him to live there in a renovated upstairs apartment while Norma and her family (Uncle Kelly and cousin Carol) lived downstairs and turned 4711 into the gathering place I remember.

Maybe along with that, it was the fact that Norma was the oldest and it would be natural for her to assume some kind of leadership role. But it was more. I remember my Aunt Norma as the energizer bunny - she was always in motion and the apron that she so often seemed to be wearing was her "uniform." She was chatty (and, for better or worse, was very much part of the Haubrich Information Bureau (aka gossip). She had a laugh that could fill the room. Although she was not your stereotypical huggin' and kissin' aunt, I always felt loved and welcomed by her.

Norma was social. She liked to enjoy family and friends and was a joiner of social/service groups at church and in the community. She liked to go out and have a good time. When fairly recently, I saw for the first time pictures from her youth, courting, and young married years, you could see that she was always like that - whether with her sidekick cousin and best friend, Hilda Wegner, or with Kelly and their mutual friends.

A couple of stories are worth  sharing, although the details are fuzzy. Forgive me if don't get everything exactly right.

My Dad told me once that Aunt Norma saved their marriage. Before Mom and Dad were married, Dad was in the Navy and serving on the east coast and in the Atlantic at the time. For one reason or another (he described it as some kind of schmaltzy you can do better than me/I'm probably not coming home logic), he wrote a letter to Mom at 4711. In those days the mail came through the mail slot on the front porch and dropped on a little bench that was there. Norma saw the letter and had a feeling. She did the unthinkable (but for all the right reasons, I think). She opened it and saw the "Dear Doris" message. She didn't give  the letter to Mom. She got  on the phone and somehow (to his dying day Daddy said it was a miracle that she was able to get through and find him) got a hold of Dad and pleaded with him not to do this to Doris. He would break her  heart. He agreed and she got rid of  the letter. Amazing! But that was Aunt Norma.

The other story is about her daughter Carol. Since Carol is still with us, she may have to straighten me out and give some more details. (But she did confirm the jist of this story with me). Carol was in the market for  a husband (or her  Mom was), and somehow  and for some reason I don't recall, a notice was put on the bulletin  board at Wisconsin Lutheran Seminary in Thiensville (Mequon). Basically, the message introduced Carol and was "trolling" for interested eligible bachelors. It so happened that a guy by  the name of Warren Henrich answered the call, and, well, the rest is  history. Again, it sounds amazing, but that was my Aunt Norma.

Granted, I was going on 17 when Norma died, and I only knew her as a boy growing  up and somewhat from a distance. But my memories are good! I miss her. And I will stick with my theory that when Aunt Norma died - so much changed. You could argue that times were changing anyway, we were all changing, and that it was inevitable. But again, I  think it was more than that. Uncle Kelly was never the same after the  summer  of 1969 and he died in 1973. Gramma already was moved out of 4711 and moved  in with us in Zion. The house was sold. And that was that. Pictures and memories are all that's left.

I'm glad I share a birthday week with my Aunt Norma, and I can honestly say that when my birthday comes around every year, I have, at least, a little thought for her.

Gramma Haubrich with  Her Girls
Lilah and Mom in the  back; Norma (as I  remember her  best) and Lucille in front
1960