Grandpa (Revised)
The Ferdinand Totzke family
front row: Albert (Dad,) Elsie, Wolga, Aurella
second row: Fred, Hertha, Herman, Emma, Carl
back row: Grandma Emma and Grandpa Ferdinand
I believe the children are in order of age from the oldest Carl,
working around to the youngest Aurella.
Thought I better finally get around to writing some of Dad's stories.... starting with my Grandpa Totzke. I never knew Grandpa because he died about 10 years before I was born. Anything I do know about him is only through stories I've heard over the years, which weren't many. During Dad's last story telling session, I learned a little more.
Grandpa was born in Danzig, Germany (now Gdansk, Poland.) I'm not sure how old he was when he came to America, but I now know what he did when he came to this country. I always thought he was a farmer from the very beginning, but Dad told us Grandpa was a lumberjack before settling on the farm which is still a part of the family homestead. That sure makes sense to me, because I think Dad has a little lumberjack in his genetic code. He still gets outside when he can with his trusty little hatchet to split some of the pieces of wood that are too big for the furnace. Maybe that's Dad's way of keeping Grandpa's spirit alive too.
Dad learned well from Grandpa. When they would make firewood as he was growing up, Grandpa preferred to work with Dad instead of Uncle Fred or Uncle Herman. They both were of the mindset that by pushing harder you could cut deeper and be done faster. Dad, however, learned from Grandpa that if you cut lighter but got a good rhythm going you could saw much faster. They made a good team with the two-man cross-cut saw. As Dad describes it, he and Grandpa would get that saw flowing over the wood in a smooth, light rhythm and be done in no time and with far less work. Sure would have loved to see them in a lumberjack contest!
Grandpa also had a big ol' sharpening stone from his lumberjack days that they had out in front of the barn to use on their various knives and tools. This was during the days of the Depression when there was an effort out to unionize farmers for better milk prices. They organized a milk strike and wanted all the farmers to dump their milk instead of selling it. Grandpa was a hard-headed independent old German (sounds like my Dad too) and refused to join the union or to dump his milk when he had a family of nine kids to feed. He did give in to not selling the milk to the cheese factories, but would not just dump it outright.
One day Grandpa was out sharpening his tools and two of the union guys stopped by to try to bully him into joining the union again. Grandpa told them this was his farm and no one was going to tell him how to run it. When they wouldn't give up, he finally had enough of them and chased them off the property with the ax he was sharpening at the time.
Early the next morning at 2 am, one of Dad's sisters woke up to the sounds of a crackling fire. She looked out the window and saw the barn completely ablaze! So she started yelling for everyone to wake up. Dad and Uncle Fred ran out without bothering to put anything on over their long underwear, or shoes on their feet. It was November 16, 1933 - night of the first real snowfall of the year, ending the summer-long drought. But they couldn't waste any time getting the animals out of the barn so no time to put those shoes on. They managed to get all the animals out and into one of the other sheds, but the barn and all of the hay inside it burned completely to the ground. Losing the hay was a major issue too, as that was during the year of the same drought that led to the Dust Bowl in the south. Thankfully in the days ahead, neighbors shared what hay & feed the did have so Grandpa's family could keep the animals alive through the winter.
As they fought to save the livestock, Dad looked out to the west to see a neighbor standing on top of the hill in the field, watching what was going on. It was one of the two union men that Grandpa had chased off with the ax that afternoon. He didn't move a muscle to help... just watched the chaotic scene below. Dad also saw some sets of footprints along the cowpath leading from the barn next to the shed where they took the animals, eventually disappearing into the pasture and the woods. There were a couple of gas cans lying nearby. Now, in our days of CSI and forensic scientists that would have been enough to convict those two guys, but in those days it didn't mean much. Even though they all knew who had burned the barn down, there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it.
Turned out there was a cheese factory in a neighboring township that was burned down the same night - one that refused to cooperate with the union too. Ironically, the day after the fires the milk strike officially ended.
Thought I better finally get around to writing some of Dad's stories.... starting with my Grandpa Totzke. I never knew Grandpa because he died about 10 years before I was born. Anything I do know about him is only through stories I've heard over the years, which weren't many. During Dad's last story telling session, I learned a little more.
Grandpa was born in Danzig, Germany (now Gdansk, Poland.) I'm not sure how old he was when he came to America, but I now know what he did when he came to this country. I always thought he was a farmer from the very beginning, but Dad told us Grandpa was a lumberjack before settling on the farm which is still a part of the family homestead. That sure makes sense to me, because I think Dad has a little lumberjack in his genetic code. He still gets outside when he can with his trusty little hatchet to split some of the pieces of wood that are too big for the furnace. Maybe that's Dad's way of keeping Grandpa's spirit alive too.
Dad learned well from Grandpa. When they would make firewood as he was growing up, Grandpa preferred to work with Dad instead of Uncle Fred or Uncle Herman. They both were of the mindset that by pushing harder you could cut deeper and be done faster. Dad, however, learned from Grandpa that if you cut lighter but got a good rhythm going you could saw much faster. They made a good team with the two-man cross-cut saw. As Dad describes it, he and Grandpa would get that saw flowing over the wood in a smooth, light rhythm and be done in no time and with far less work. Sure would have loved to see them in a lumberjack contest!
Grandpa also had a big ol' sharpening stone from his lumberjack days that they had out in front of the barn to use on their various knives and tools. This was during the days of the Depression when there was an effort out to unionize farmers for better milk prices. They organized a milk strike and wanted all the farmers to dump their milk instead of selling it. Grandpa was a hard-headed independent old German (sounds like my Dad too) and refused to join the union or to dump his milk when he had a family of nine kids to feed. He did give in to not selling the milk to the cheese factories, but would not just dump it outright.
One day Grandpa was out sharpening his tools and two of the union guys stopped by to try to bully him into joining the union again. Grandpa told them this was his farm and no one was going to tell him how to run it. When they wouldn't give up, he finally had enough of them and chased them off the property with the ax he was sharpening at the time.
Early the next morning at 2 am, one of Dad's sisters woke up to the sounds of a crackling fire. She looked out the window and saw the barn completely ablaze! So she started yelling for everyone to wake up. Dad and Uncle Fred ran out without bothering to put anything on over their long underwear, or shoes on their feet. It was November 16, 1933 - night of the first real snowfall of the year, ending the summer-long drought. But they couldn't waste any time getting the animals out of the barn so no time to put those shoes on. They managed to get all the animals out and into one of the other sheds, but the barn and all of the hay inside it burned completely to the ground. Losing the hay was a major issue too, as that was during the year of the same drought that led to the Dust Bowl in the south. Thankfully in the days ahead, neighbors shared what hay & feed the did have so Grandpa's family could keep the animals alive through the winter.
As they fought to save the livestock, Dad looked out to the west to see a neighbor standing on top of the hill in the field, watching what was going on. It was one of the two union men that Grandpa had chased off with the ax that afternoon. He didn't move a muscle to help... just watched the chaotic scene below. Dad also saw some sets of footprints along the cowpath leading from the barn next to the shed where they took the animals, eventually disappearing into the pasture and the woods. There were a couple of gas cans lying nearby. Now, in our days of CSI and forensic scientists that would have been enough to convict those two guys, but in those days it didn't mean much. Even though they all knew who had burned the barn down, there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it.
Turned out there was a cheese factory in a neighboring township that was burned down the same night - one that refused to cooperate with the union too. Ironically, the day after the fires the milk strike officially ended.
posted by Kris at 5/10/2008 10:42:00 AM
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