Two male babies were born in Europe, one in 1886 and one in 1892. One was brought to this country in 1888 by his parents. The other decided to make the United States his home when he was 18.
The 18-year-old settled in Chicago in a neighborhood dominated by others of his nationality. The parents of the 2-year-old, as well as several other sons and daughters, settled in Iowa and took up farming.
In Chicago, the young man learned a trade and became a tool-and-die-maker. He learned the English language from his contacts at work.
The 2-year-old grew up with his brothers and sisters and helped with the plowing, planting and harvesting on the family farm. He learned the English language in school, but they still spoke in their native tongue at home. When he grew into manhood, he somehow managed to scrape up enough money to buy a threshing machine.
Working throughout northern Iowa and southern Minnesota with his threshing machine, he met the woman he would marry. They had three sons and one daughter. The Chicagoan met his bride-to-be in the neighborhood where he lived, and they had a son and daughter.
Both fathers did not ask for, nor did they receive, any special treatment. They managed to eke out an existence despite the Depression years.
The only occasion for their names to appear in print was when they died. Except to friends and relatives, their deaths meant little to the world at large.
Nothing unique or noteworthy there. But that is what is so wonderful. Millions of stories like this can be told of the many, many people who came to this country. These are the kinds of people who populate the United States and make it the great country it is.
I’m proud to say that one of the men mentioned above was my father and the other, my father-in-law.
