This  article submitted by Roberta Robb Mid West Coordinator titled  SLOVENIANS CARVE OUT THEIR NICHE by Frank R.Bartol and Emma Knaus, Special thanks for allowing us to publish this to Frank R Bartol and Barbara Oberstar (daughter of Emma Knaus) 


THE SLOVENIANS

CARVE OUT THEIR

OWN NICHE

by

Frank R. Bartol and

Emma Knaus
 
 

Before beginning the story of the Slovenians in Alger County, it is necessary to locate Slovenia on the world map, because one of the great frustrations of early immigrants (and their descendants, for that matter) occurred when "outsiders" assumed it was part of Czechoslovakia, Russia, or some other Slavic Country in the central or eastern part of Europe. It is indeed part of a country: Yugoslavia, a federated republic formed after World War I and located across the Adriatic Sea from Italy. Slovenia is the northern-most republic within that federation.

Bounded by Austria on the north, it was under the domination of that country until 1918, and to this day many of Alger County's Slovenians are called Austrians by members of the non-Slovenian community, and even by some of the Slovenians themselves. Because the population of this small republic is less than two million, some misapprehension about it is understandable. It is very likely one of the smallest ethnic groups dealt with in this volume.

Slovenia is generally considered the most scenic part of Yugoslavia, attracting thousands of tourists yearly. And today it is also highly industrialized. But shortly after the turn of the century, when much of the out-migration to the United States started, it was a poor, largely rural area and its natural beauty could not be translated into a living for most of its people. Even before the general movement to America began, it was common practice for Slovenians to find work outside the country, usually on a temporary basis, with the men going off alone, leaving the family behind to tend the animals and maintain some semblance of family life.

This was especially true of the area from which most of Alger County's Slovenians came - Loski Potok, a collection of villages about thirty miles south of Ljubljana, the capital city. Here many of the men were skilled woodsworkers, who spent the wood cutting season in neighboring Croatia, Hungary or Rumania, and returned home to spend the spring and summer working their land and re-establishing home ties.

It was this wood-working talent which was much in demand in the United States at the time and workers were lured by promises of wages larger than they could earn in the old country. The four families which more or less formed the nucleus of the community that was later to develop came initially to Pennsylvania, and it was from there that they were recruited to come to the Upper Peninsula by the Cleveland-Cliffs Iron Company, based in Cleveland, Ohio.

On December 31, 1906, on New Year's Eve, they arrived by train in Coalwood, a lumbering camp community east of Munising. It was a cold and snowy day, with four feet of snow on the ground and they stepped off the train into the drifts - four married couples, two infants barely six weeks old, six older children and a number of young single men.

They were met by lumbermen who had come there earlier, most of them of Finnish descent, so there was a considerable communication problem at the outset. But the Finnish folks had food and lodging for the group, and after accepting this hospitality for a very short while the newcomers were soon settled in different parts of Alger County. Separation was sad for these four families, but they all had some relatives outside the immediate family with them and within the year they were joined by more young men, again mostly relatives and the loneliness was alleviated somewhat. 

John Knaus Family, about 1908, John Jr. and Baby Ludwig 

The Jacob Lustick family, which included four children - John, the oldest at twelve, Ludwig, Frank and Anne, who was barely six months old - remained in Coalwood (now called Hanley). In April of 1907 a daughter, Mary, was born to the Lustick family at a camp in Roscoe.

The John Knaus family located in Alger, a logging settlement east of Limestone. They brought with them one son, John, age two, and in August of 1907 a second son, Ludwig was born to them.

The Charles Laurich family, which included six-week-old Charles, Jr., went to Mathias, south of Winters in Mathias Township.

The Frank Debelak family, with two children, Frank Jr. and Mayme, who was just six weeks old, went for a short time to Rumely but soon returned to Coalwood, where a second daughter, Emma, was born in 1908.

These families, together with the single men, worked primarily in the cordwood camps, which furnished material for several chemical plants in the area. Camp conditions for the Slovenians were essentially the same as those for all people engaged in woodswork in the U.P. at that time, and the primitive way of life represented no great change from conditions back home. In fact, the camps were an improvement over the lean-to shelter and make-shift huts the men had been accustomed to in Croatia, Hungary and Rumania when they went on their wood cutting expeditions.

But a condition they were not prepared for was the hordes of mosquitoes, black flies, no-seeums and other insects that were apparently even more plentiful in U.P. woods then than they are now. The part of Slovenia they were from was hilly and at a fairly high altitude, with few breeding places for these insect pests. Thus they had experienced no such onslaught in the old country.

Old timers reminiscing about those days tell of the desperate, mostly futile attempts to protect themselves with concoctions of various kinds, most containing some kind of animal fat as a base. Commercial repellants were not generally available at that time. In and around the camps the situation was not much better. Children grew tired of brushing insects away and after awhile accepted them as inevitable. Everyone was glad when the insect season was over, even though it meant winter was just around the corner.

In the woods, men and horses were the main source of power. The young men would pair off into teams, one on each end of a cross-cut saw, some working with each other so well that they remained partners for years. The cordwood they cut was piled in the woods for the scaler to measure before making out the payroll, which, when weather conditions were unfavorable, was quite meager. After living expenses were taken care of, there was often very little to spend for frivolous things or to save for some big purchase.

In the camps themselves, the essentials of life were everybody's primary concern. Water had to be hauled and heated and kerosene lanterns and lamps provided the lighting. Groceries were brought in by the same freight trains that hauled the cordwood out. Wholesale orders of food and other provisions were delivered usually once a week from the Gannon Grocery, Roach and Seeber, Armour and Company, Swift and Company and Carpenter Cook. Smaller orders were bought in Munising and Newberry from such stores as McDougall's, Sam Marks and Hankin and Company.

The groceries came in hundred-pound bags and large wooden barrels, which had to be hauled by women in many instances, when the men were working in the woods. Meat was stored in stone crocks buried in the ground, for there was no refrigeration. In winter it was hung up in trees or in sheds built for that purpose.

The women did the cooking on huge camp stoves that had to be loaded with wood cut by the men, split and piled in huge stacks outside and brought in as needed. Dozens of loaves of bread were baked every week, as well as pies, doughnuts and other sweets. There were three full meals a day, for the men did hard physical labor which burned up several thousand calories daily. Breakfast had to be on the table at 6:00 a.m., dinner at noon and supper at 6:00 p.m. Between those times there were many other chores, including the making of clothing for the children who kept coming at fairly regular intervals to the married couples, large families being the rule in those days.

Much of the sewing was done late in the evening, after the men and children were in bed. There was usually a foot treadle sewing machine around, more often than not a Singer, to make the job a bit easier. With all this activity, there was little time for leisure, but moments could be found to read the mail that came from relatives back in Europe and to devour the contents of Slovenian reading material, which helped reduce the feeling of isolation. Because there were large Slovenian settlements in cities like Chicago and Cleveland, Slovenian language newspapers were eventually published in America and made available through subscriptions to the Slovenians of Alger County. Two of the more popular papers were Glas Naroda (Voice of the People) and Prosveta (Enlightenment), the former published in New York and the latter in Chicago. These papers kept the local Slovenians informed about the activities of their countrymen throughout the U.S. and of course carried news from home also.

These papers eventually made their way to the outhouses, for commercial toilet paper was either not available or just considered too much of a luxury; and when the weather wasn't too cold, many a youngster hid away in one of those little buildings to avoid the chores that always awaited him, whiling away the time by improving his reading knowledge of Slovenian. Such ploys only delayed the chores, however, and sooner or later the youngsters would find themselves rocking cradles, hauling wood and water, helping with the laundry and keeping the lantern and lamp founts clean and filled with kerosene.

These were daily chores usually assigned by fathers before they left for work and few youngsters dared leave them undone. Parents were sometimes feared because they stood for authority and discipline, and other senior members of the family were also highly respected by the children, a quality that was brought over from the old country and not allowed to die out here.

Not long after the original families settled in Alger County they began to be joined by family members who had remained behind waiting for their relatives in America to send them passage money. John Knaus, for example, was eventually joined by six of his brothers: Louis, Anton, Max, Joseph, Leopold and Jacob. And Jacob Lustick was followed by four of his brothers: Anton, Joseph, Louis and Frank. Other relatives came as well as people unrelated to the original settlers, who had heard about the opportunities here by word of mouth. Many young single men came just before they were eighteen to escape the military service, which was compulsory at that time (and still is). Many of these young men had no plans to be permanent residents of the U.S., hoping instead to gather a substantial nest egg and return to Slovenia, where some had sweethearts or wives waiting for them.

As war clouds started to form and more disputes around the European borders erupted, there was even less work available in the old country, and from 1910 to 1913 the pace of arrivals really accelerated. When World War I actually broke out all this travel was halted, of course, and communication between the Slovenians here and back in Europe was severely restricted. Any plans some of the young men might have had to return to their loved ones or to have them come here had to be postponed, which in many cases really meant "cancelled" since four years proved to be too long a period to sustain some relationships.

What few eligible women were here were quickly matched up with a mate, but the demand far exceeded the supply and the result was a large bachelor community that filled the bunkhouses of the camps in the area. For them it was essentially a lonely existence despite their fairly extensive contact with the families, especially the children, who came to rely upon them for the little extra treats they could not always coax out of their parents.

These bachelors worked as hard as anyone and earned as much, but without the motivation of an immediate family to support, they tended to blow their wages on gigantic binges that usually included much drinking, considerable poker playing and some liaisons with ladies of the evening, who were always available in places like Newberry and Munising. After their money was gone the men would return to camp and the process would start all over again. There was little true happiness to be derived from this kind of life, and in later years the men often talked about the emotional trauma they suffered in being removed from a familiar culture at such a critical stage in their young lives.

Had they remained at home they would have engaged in many of the rites of passage that had been practiced for years in Slovenia, which included walking in gangs to neighboring villages to serenade the young ladies and occasionally to challenge the young men. From everything that was told about old country life, it was as rich in ritual and tradition as it was poor materially and though attempts were made to transfer some of that ritual to the camps in Alger County, the environment just wasn't right and in essence these young people were robbed of their youth.

At this point perhaps a more detailed account of camp life is in order. Once again it should be noted that the situation was probably much like that in camps operated by any of the ethnic groups in the county, except that the menu at the camp table reflected Slovenian tastes and most of the conversation was in the Slovenian language.

At first the bunkhouses were located on the second floor of along camp that had the cooking and dining area on the first floor, but eventually the bunkhouses were separate from but adjacent to the cooking area, sometimes with a shed in between for storage. The beds were in a row, with long benches in the middle and a sink made of wood in the corner, where the men washed, shaved, etc. In the early days the double bunks were made of rough boards with mattresses of strong ticking which was filled with straw from the barn and which could be taken apart and washed when the camps were moved. Cleanliness was a must, but it was attained with some difficulty, since washing was all done by hand, with only a wooden wringer for those fortunate enough to have one. This laundry was done by young married women who lived in near-by shacks.

Bread was the mainstay in all meals, served with meat when that was available, otherwise with butter, or jelly. Meat was difficult to procure in the absence of adequate refrigeration, but meals were delicious in spite of this, because the Slovenian ladies could perform culinary miracles with the beans, peas, rice and other dry foodstuffs. Apples were delivered in large wooden-stave barrels, which were then used to store the dry foods mentioned above.

Apples were the only fruit eaten fresh, but there were prunes, raisins and dried apples available for the pies that were baked almost daily. Fresh milk was a luxury enjoyed only when there was a cow or two in the area and reserved primarily for the young children, the adults drinking coffee or tea. The men, of course, relished their beer, which also came in heavy oak-stave barrels, which were kept cool by being placed in galvanized tubs filled with water by the children, who also often served as bartenders for a few pennies of candy money.

These lumberjacks were almost always very considerate of the youngsters, exercising some paternal instincts on them in the absence of children of their own. One old man regularly took a small suitcase with him when he went to town, which he filled with candies and other treats, dispensing them to the kids, who never failed to spot him as he returned.

Life outside the camp environment was made more difficult for the Slovenians by their failure to begin learning the English language as soon as possible. Some learned a few words of Finnish because so many of their neighbors were of Finnish descent. But sooner or later learning at least some English became a necessity to those who planned to make America their permanent home.

There were, to be sure, a number of people who decided that this wasn't the land of opportunity for them after all or who missed the culture of the homeland so much that when World War I ended they went back to live out their lives. Some who did not return stayed only because a variety of circumstances, often involving finances, prevented their returning.

The majority, however, were glad that they had immigrated and demonstrated this by becoming naturalized citizens as soon as they could. In this endeavor they were often led by their womenfolk, who had even fewer opportunities to become Americanized than their men because they spent almost every waking moment involved in household and parental chores, but who overcame this obstacle in their zeal to become citizens.

At the end of the war Slovenians once again began arriving in Alger County, but this time in much smaller numbers because a quota system was now in effect. After 1920 only an occasional Slovenian came here to join some family member, and for all intents and purposes the period of immigration was at an end. But by this time the community had grown substantially, and to the original family names of Knaus, Debelak, Lustick and Laurich were added those of Mahne, Shega, Zbacnick, Truden, Tomsic, Ostanek, Bartol, Mikulich, Carr, Vesel, Kordish, Koshir, Bell (Zgonc), Rant, Oberstar, Praznik, Matekal, Mladenich and others.

The tradition of large families brought over from Slovenia was maintained, producing a significant population boom in the twenties. Not much imagination was displayed in assigning first names to all the children who came along. Boys were more often than not John, Frank, Anton, Louis, Joseph or Ludwig; and girls, Olga, Josephine, Angela, Mary, Antonia or Emma.

The result was sometimes amusing and occasionally confusing. There were at one time five Frank Bartols living in Traunik, which made it a little rough on the postal department. On one occasion this repetitious pattern proved profitable. A young couple went to get their marriage license, and when the clerk learned that they were named Frank and Josephine, the bride's parents were also Frank and Josephine, as were the groom's, and that furthermore the groom had a sister who had married a man named Frank, he decided to let them have their license free.

It was only natural that this boom would generate desire for a community more substantial and permanent than the lumber camps most of these families had started out in. Along the Soo Line Railroad tracks between Eben Junction and Trenary there were several lumber camps run mostly by Slovenians, and it was these logged-over lands along the railroad line that they began to buy up as the urge to settle down became really strong. One followed the other, and before long there was a definable community along the road from north to south and east to west. Wherever there was land for sale, houses sprang up, as well as barns and other buildings; and at the crossroads a store was built by William Kehoe (who, incidentally, was not Slovenian). As a matter of fact, the first settlers of the land that was later to become the main Slovenian community in Alger County were Dutch homesteaders named Nickel, part of a contingent that had settled in the Limestone area in the late 1880's. Mr. Kehoe's ownership of the store was short-lived, however, because John Knaus purchased it from him in the early '20's, and in 1925Louis Mikulich moved with his family from Vail Spur, where he had run a similar store at Camp A and purchased the Traunik store from Knaus.

By 1927 there were enough permanent residents in the area to warrant a post office, and Mr. Mikulich applied for post office status for the community, submitting three possible names for it: Nickel, after the first family to live there; Buckeye, after the lumber company which had logged heavily in the area and built a huge farm there; and Traunik, the name of the village in Loski Potok, Slovenia, where Mr. Mikulich and many other area residents had been born. Post office status was granted, and Traunik was the name selected by the postal department, much to the delight of the people, who now felt that they had almost literally transplanted part of the old country to the new.

The 1920'5 saw the greatest growth of the community. In 1920a hall was built to accommodate Lodge 387 of the SNPJ, a national Slovenian benefit society headquartered in Chicago, and this building became the focal point for virtually every social event that occurred among the county Slovenians, especially weddings, silver weddings and occasionally even a funeral, when it was requested by one of the lodge members.

Whenever a wedding or silver wedding (the area was too new for golden weddings at this time) was celebrated at the hall, Slovenians from within a fifty-mile radius would come to town in eager anticipation of a night's festivities - sometimes, for that matter, a weekend's, because the old world tradition of marathon celebrations was practiced here too.

The hall was constructed on two levels. In the basement were two rows of long dining tables, a large serving and food preparation counter and a large wood cook stove on which coffee was brewed and food brought from various homes was kept hot. Because the Slovenian ladies had a reputation for being unusually good cooks and bakers, it was fairly late in the evening before empty spaces at the table would appear so that the children could begin to eat. When weather conditions permitted, these youngsters would spend their time lying on their stomachs outside the hall, noses pressed against the basement windows, drooling at the prospect of the feast that awaited them. The custom of adults first was rigidly adhered to in these affairs as it was in the home.

The wedding gift ritual at these events was quite interesting. The bride and groom would stand at the entrance to the dining area, the bride holding a large tray upon which the wedding guests placed gifts of money as they passed by. Very rarely were gifts other than money given, and since the money was not hidden away discreetly in envelopes, one could readily see how generous or how stingy a particular guest was. The ritual was varied slightly for silver weddings, with the celebrants sitting at the head table, again a tray in front of them for

the gifts, which were presented after the guests had eaten. There was no special logic for this variation. Perhaps it was assumed that after twenty-five years of marriage the guests of honor didn't have quite the energy of a bride and groom, a not unreasonable assumption in light of the difficult lives led by these early residents.

The second level of the hall, alluded to earlier, was the upstairs, or the dance floor, to which virtually every one went after dining (with the exception of the down stairs work crew, almost always the ladies, who were doing the clean-up work and waiting on stragglers). At the front of the hall was a small stage for the orchestra, usually consisting of a banjo or bass player and a button-box accordionist, often recruited locally but sometimes brought in from as far away as Milwaukee or Chicago. Two of the local players were Frank Debelak, Jr. and Bob Lustick. These musicians were not under contract, but they could usually earn more money playing their instruments for an evening or two than they could earn all week in the woods, because when the hat was passed around the guests were quite generous, at least in part because they were fairly well lubricated by whatever liquid refreshment was then available.

Corn meal was spread on the dancing surface to make it more slippery, and it was regularly tested out before dancing began by dozens of youngsters, who considered sliding across the floor quite an adventure. The younger of these children would quite likely end up asleep on one of those dining tables downstairs later in the evening, because it was not a common practice to hire babysitters in those days.

Slovenians have always liked to polka, and this sometimes caused structural problems in the hall. Stories have been told about men hastily running out to find extra supports for the beams, which threatened to crack under the strain of a hundred polka dancers and deposit everybody in the basement. Later this problem was solved permanently by volunteer workers, who over the years made a number of improvements in the original structure.

Outside the dance hall there was also entertainment, because without fail a singing group would form up, and the strains of "Ljubca moja" (my darling) or some other popular ballad would fill the night air. These singers were amateurs but in a sense also professional, because each would sing a particular part, and any singer who could not pass his auditions was strongly discouraged from participating. No howlers were welcome here. The result was a truly beautiful, often sad sound, because Slovenian songs were full of partings and death. Sometimes, however, they were quite bawdy, and if literally translated would be considered X-rated.

The over-all effect of the dining, dancing and singing remains vividly etched in the-memories of all those old enough to remember these events. Today the hall has passed into private hands, and though it is still used on rare occasions for dances and other celebrations, the old feeling is only partially re-captured.

Of course, weddings and other celebrations occupied only a fraction of the time of Alger County Slovenians. Most of it was spent in the hard business of trying to make a living out of the woods and the somewhat inhospitable soil of the area they chose to settle in. Rock picking was an annual task dreaded by all, especially the youngsters, who were without fail given that chore. And it seemed that two stones appeared for every one plucked from the soil. Nevertheless, farms were established, most of them patterned after those left behind in the old country - that is, every farmer raised a little bit of everything, and families in those early days came quite close to being self sufficient, a situation that proved to be a lifesaver, when the depression of the thirties hit.

Life patterns, too, sometimes were like those in Slovenia, with the men of Traunik going away to lumber camps during the week, leaving the daily farm chores to wives and children. Money earned in the camps was used to buy materials for homes, barns, machinery, etc., for the farms at first generated very little in the way of cash.

Slovenians were then, and are now, very frugal people , who would not buy things they could raise or make themselves, thus most of them managed to get ahead under conditions that might have discouraged many people.

Eventually some of the farmers expanded operations to go beyond providing food for the immediate family. Several cleared enough land to raise cows for small dairy operations. Several became potato farmers, the largest producer being John Ostanek, and during the 1930's a potato warehouse was built next to the Soo Line tracks, where thousands of bushels were stored prior to shipment to city markets. Frank H. Bartol operated what was once the largest poultry farm in the central U.P., and later Frank Debelak, Jr. also went into the poultry business.

Naturally, not all the Slovenians were farmers. As the community grew so did demand for typical town services. Mikulich's store expanded to serve the needs of not only the local people but those outside the community, especially the lumber camps. Grocery deliveries were made to camps within a fifty-mile radius of Traunik.

Ludwig Knaus built a store directly across the road from Mikulich's, and shortly after added a tavern to it, which became a popular gathering place for the local men. On warm summer evenings they would sometimes sit on long benches in front of the tavern, looking across at another group of bench warmers in front of Mikulich's store.

Other businesses also sprang up. Lud Lustick started servicing cars in an addition behind Lud Knaus's store and then later built his own service garage several hundred feet south of the store. Matt Bell developed a small blacksmith shop next to his home a quarter mile east of the crossroads. The last business operation begun by a Slovenian in the area was a sawmill, located just across from the SNPJ Hall and operated by Robert Lustick, starting in the early forties.

None of the bachelors became farmers or businessmen themselves, preferring to continue working in the woods, though a few were in the employ of local farmers. Nevertheless, they were an important part of the community, establishing a suburb, as it were, a mile west of "downtown" that was given the unofficial name "Bachelorville." There were about ten little houses within a quarter mile of each other which served as homes for these bachelors and more than a dozen other places scattered throughout the community.

An interesting note: atone time there must have been at least thirty of these bachelors around, and they were known by only one name, often a nickname at that. When they died their graves were usually unmarked, but any area Slovenian today who is over forty can reel off the names of most of them without hesitating for more than a moment.

The Slovenian community as such was at its peak in Alger County just before the beginning of World War II, and Traunik continued throughout the years to be its center. When America entered the war, dozens of area Slovenian men were either drafted into the service or volunteered for it. The percentage of these who actually saw military action was very large, at least partly because these men, who grew up working on farms or in the woods were physically sturdy and well suited to the rigors of combat. Three were killed in action - Albin Knaus, Henry Knaus, and John Zbacnick - and two others, Louis Praznik and Bill Debelak spent time in prisoner-of-war camps. In addition, at least six other local soldiers were wounded in action. Certainly the record of Alger County Slovenians in World War II was a proud one.

The end of the war really marked the beginning of the end of the Slovenian community in Alger County. As the surviving soldiers returned to the area, they stayed just long enough to get their bearings again and then many of them headed for the cities, where they could earn a living far more easily than they could on the farm or in the woods. Before the war the Great Depression prevented much migration to the cities, but now there were jobs for the asking. Many of the young women had already made that move during the war to work in war plants or offices.

To be sure, the de-Slovenianization of the area is a slow process which is still going on. Louis Mikulich, Jr. still runs the local store and post office. The Ostanek brothers, Pete and Joe, operate large strawberry farms, and Bill Debelak runs the large farm built so many years ago by the Buckeye Company. And there are still as many people of Slovenian descent living here as non Slovenians. But the ratio is gradually shifting as the original immigrants die (there are fewer than a dozen left), and their children either move away or marry outside the ethnic community. Many of the homes these people developed are either unoccupied or have been bought up by outsiders. The John Knaus farm is deserted now, the Louis Knaus place was abandoned years ago and the house has burned to the ground. The store and tavern once operated by the Lud Knaus family has been sold and converted into apartments, none occupied by Slovenians. Lud Lustick's garage is now owned by a non Slovenian, and Bob Lustick's sawmill has been torn down. The SNPJ Hall across from the old mill site is still intact, but it is no longer a lodge hall. And so it goes.

In another generation, if present trends continue, the assimilation of the Slovenian ethnic group into the general population of Alger County will be almost complete, and only the name Traunik will remain to remind people that there once was a Slovenian community at the crossroads of County Road HO 1 and H 44. With the possible loss of the post office in the fairly near future, even the name may fade into insignificance.

But it is still the dream of those who continue to be proud of their Slovenian heritage that the pendulum may swing back some day, that the grandsons and granddaughters daughters of the original settlers will find their way back here, and that the night air on some future Saturday night will again be filled with the strains of a Slovenian ballad and the aroma of freshly baked poticas and strudels.