Why a story about a sawmill on a family history site?
The answer is that most of the immigrants came over here during the early 1900's and were just beginning to get established in their new country when disaster struck - The Great Depression. This story gives you some idea, in a humorous way, how serious this time in our nation truly was.
This is a little story my dad told me and I'm not sure who the characters were - he never would discuss that? Who knows? It could have been a family member?
JoeB
--------------------
During the great depression sawmills were common places of work for whole communities. From the cutting of the timber through the sawmill operation to the distribution of the product was a very important facet of the community.
This was one of the few enterprises that was still operational.
This particular small mountain sawmill had about a dozen workers. They brought their lunches in personally marked pails and left them in a temporary shed while they worked.
A new man had been hired to the crew but his financial situation was so bad that he could not afford to bring any lunch. On his second day he was so hungry that he went to the shed before the other men on the crew came for lunch. He picked up several lunch pails and finally grabbed the heaviest one and ran into the woods and hid to enjoy his newly claimed “pot luck” lunch.
He was surprised to find a claw hammer and three black walnuts in the pail!
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Unknown Broidioi(?) Family
I hope that this photo is not too small for you to get the points I am trying to make. I wish I knew who these people are?
This portrait was on my cousin Pascal’s family history website with hopes that someone could identify the family. He knew that they were part of our family, but who were they?
They are a nice looking family. You can easily see that the parents show pride in their family. The lady looks a bit tired but why wouldn’t she? Six kids that close together would probably cause some tiredness.
Notice the discipline of everyone in the portrait. Even the baby is participating. How in the world did they achieve that?
It stands out to me that two of the kids have little uniform type outfits on that are basically the same. The white baggy socks on the one child seem out of place? I’m sure there is a story there. Did he get his other ones dirty and have to wear his play socks for the portrait? Reckon maybe there was a family crisis prior to the portrait over these baggy white socks? These are the type things that fascinate me.
All eyes are on the camera. This is simply amazing! Is it possible that this family has posed for many other pictures? Normal class people would not be posing regularly – could they possibly be of the elite class?
Everyone visible in this portrait has clean shoes. The immigrant’s shoes in my “Faded Portrait” poem were worn and run down in appearance. They were wearing nice clothes but their shoes looked like every day work shoes. This family probably didn’t have work shoes?
The man shows dignity and class in his suit. His head is back and he looks proud. This tells me that he probably normally wears dresses this way. He shows security in every way. This whole family looks as if they do this all the time?
Again, at the time of this photo there were two World Wars in this family’s future. I wonder what happened to each family member? Sadly, their stories we will never know. Before the sadness of this thought overcomes me I realize that they all are gone now.
But for an instant in time they are together – peering into the lens of a camera for us to wonder about this many years later.
This portrait was on my cousin Pascal’s family history website with hopes that someone could identify the family. He knew that they were part of our family, but who were they?
They are a nice looking family. You can easily see that the parents show pride in their family. The lady looks a bit tired but why wouldn’t she? Six kids that close together would probably cause some tiredness.
Notice the discipline of everyone in the portrait. Even the baby is participating. How in the world did they achieve that?
It stands out to me that two of the kids have little uniform type outfits on that are basically the same. The white baggy socks on the one child seem out of place? I’m sure there is a story there. Did he get his other ones dirty and have to wear his play socks for the portrait? Reckon maybe there was a family crisis prior to the portrait over these baggy white socks? These are the type things that fascinate me.
All eyes are on the camera. This is simply amazing! Is it possible that this family has posed for many other pictures? Normal class people would not be posing regularly – could they possibly be of the elite class?
Everyone visible in this portrait has clean shoes. The immigrant’s shoes in my “Faded Portrait” poem were worn and run down in appearance. They were wearing nice clothes but their shoes looked like every day work shoes. This family probably didn’t have work shoes?
The man shows dignity and class in his suit. His head is back and he looks proud. This tells me that he probably normally wears dresses this way. He shows security in every way. This whole family looks as if they do this all the time?
Again, at the time of this photo there were two World Wars in this family’s future. I wonder what happened to each family member? Sadly, their stories we will never know. Before the sadness of this thought overcomes me I realize that they all are gone now.
But for an instant in time they are together – peering into the lens of a camera for us to wonder about this many years later.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Henri Broidioi Wedding Portrait
I haven’t studied photographic techniques of the early 1900’s but I really believe that photographers must have attempted to have everyone in the portrait have the same expression. I call it the early 1900’s scowl. Look at today’s photos. Some smiling others looking solemn. Could you imagine someone in 1910 slipping and putting their hand behind some ones head in the “rabbit ears” sign? I have never seen that nor do I think that I ever will.
This is a happy scene but you have to realize that these same people will not be asked to survive one World War but two. I wonder what happened to each? Knowing that they were in the center of both.- did they all survive?
Less seriously, don’t you just love those hats? Is it possible that someone in the group might have operated a men’s hat shop?
Also, I see several neat mustaches in the group. Grandpa Broidioi wore one. In his own humor he called it his “soup strainer.” I remember that he always had a dignity about him even when he was in his overalls. I will always have that image in my mind.
I think that we have arrived at the fact that most of these macho guys are grandpa’s family – 9 brothers and 2 sisters. I believe that the top row plus the groom are probably his brothers. His two sisters are harder to pick out but 2 of these young ladies are most probably his sisters.
I enjoy looking for stories in each face and each pair of eyes. Even with the “1900’s scowl” their eyes and expressions show a window into their lives.
I enjoy studying and imagining each ones situation in life from their appearance and composure as the shutter opened. If a picture is worth 1000 words then I want to write them down. I enjoy pondering and questioning each face while trying to figure out what frame of mind each was in.
Have you ever been part of a group photo? Were you focusing on the camera when it snapped? If you are like me your mind may have been many hours and many miles away. You may have one expression on your face but have another one in your heart. That’s what I enjoy looking for in old portraits.
Try it for yourself on a group picture that you are a part of. Remember what you were thinking at the time. Then see if you can pick up expressions on yourself and others in the group. We all put on facades for photo shoots. That is a fact.
Many would consider this analysis a waste of time but I feel that the past is our link to the future.
We must treasure the past. If not, then why have family history sites?
This is a happy scene but you have to realize that these same people will not be asked to survive one World War but two. I wonder what happened to each? Knowing that they were in the center of both.- did they all survive?
Less seriously, don’t you just love those hats? Is it possible that someone in the group might have operated a men’s hat shop?
Also, I see several neat mustaches in the group. Grandpa Broidioi wore one. In his own humor he called it his “soup strainer.” I remember that he always had a dignity about him even when he was in his overalls. I will always have that image in my mind.
I think that we have arrived at the fact that most of these macho guys are grandpa’s family – 9 brothers and 2 sisters. I believe that the top row plus the groom are probably his brothers. His two sisters are harder to pick out but 2 of these young ladies are most probably his sisters.
I enjoy looking for stories in each face and each pair of eyes. Even with the “1900’s scowl” their eyes and expressions show a window into their lives.
I enjoy studying and imagining each ones situation in life from their appearance and composure as the shutter opened. If a picture is worth 1000 words then I want to write them down. I enjoy pondering and questioning each face while trying to figure out what frame of mind each was in.
Have you ever been part of a group photo? Were you focusing on the camera when it snapped? If you are like me your mind may have been many hours and many miles away. You may have one expression on your face but have another one in your heart. That’s what I enjoy looking for in old portraits.
Try it for yourself on a group picture that you are a part of. Remember what you were thinking at the time. Then see if you can pick up expressions on yourself and others in the group. We all put on facades for photo shoots. That is a fact.
Many would consider this analysis a waste of time but I feel that the past is our link to the future.
We must treasure the past. If not, then why have family history sites?
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
What's In a Name?
I remember as a child wondering about my last name, Brodioi. Why couldn’t I have been a Smith or Jones? I remember young bullies teasing me about my last name and pronouncing it funny and laughing about it. As a six year old I guess that really bothered me.
Also, I really felt bad for my grandpa because his name was Hyppoliet August Brodioi. He got his mail as H. Brodioi and for some childish reason I thought that he was probably ashamed of his name too. That could not have been further from the truth. As I grew to my early teen years I realized that he was a strong man who was proud of his name and his heritage.
Now looking back I realize that the ones who made fun of me were basically insecure as to who they were and were simply using me to cover their weaknesses.
Over the years I have found that most people miss-pronounce the name with an Italian ring to it.
Now, finally, I see the humor in that Italianization of Brodioi.
I wouldn’t say that my grandma disliked all Italians but she did seem to hold them to a different standard.
I always wondered about that? I thought maybe there might have been some political problems between Belgium and Italy that troubled her?
On 3 July 2006 this question was answered in a very simple manner.
While looking at the Lusitiana’s manifest for their voyage I realized that they were traveling, cramped and crowded for 6 days, with the majority of the names on their page of the manifest being primarily young single men of Italian descent. I figure that in that six day journey my grandma probably had about enough of young macho Italians to last a lifetime.
I took the liberty to Google many of the names to see if any had become either famous, or infamous, but so far no matches have occurred. Who knows??
Looking back I am tremendously proud that I am not a Smith or Jones but a Brodioi, or actually Broidioi...
Nothing wrong with Smith or Jones but their base is so broad that tracing family is really tough to do. Now Brodioi is a different animal altogether.
I now realize that the uniqueness of the name is one of the things that I love about it. My wife has adapted to it well and is very proud to wear it. Our children also adapted well and seemed to not have the problems I encountered.
Here is something that just happened and I find it really thought provoking. Just this week our grandson graduated from kindergarten and as we were in attendance at the school I was looking over the hand out program. I noticed that his last name was spelled Broidioi in the manner that my grandparents used as they entered Ellis Island. I asked my son about the spelling and he said that it was probably a misprint. I thought this was amazing that an error could correct another error that was made one hundred years ago. Imagine the odds against that?
One funny and positive example of the uniqueness of Brodioi occurred during my military basic training. Drill instructors are normally not the most fluent individuals. My drill instructor never pronounced my name the same was twice during eight weeks of training. He never asked but his pronunciation attempts always had an Italian flavor. Many times I think that he intended to put me on KP or some other undesirable duty but simply gave up on my name and instead called on “Smith” and “Jones.” My unit had two each of these.
Now I am glad that my parents never allowed our name to be “Americanized.”
While I am proud to be an American, I am also proud of my European heritage. My grandparents came to America to start a new life, not to cut themselves off from their past life.
I will do my utmost to insure that our “across the pond” contact is never lost again.
Joe
Also, I really felt bad for my grandpa because his name was Hyppoliet August Brodioi. He got his mail as H. Brodioi and for some childish reason I thought that he was probably ashamed of his name too. That could not have been further from the truth. As I grew to my early teen years I realized that he was a strong man who was proud of his name and his heritage.
Now looking back I realize that the ones who made fun of me were basically insecure as to who they were and were simply using me to cover their weaknesses.
Over the years I have found that most people miss-pronounce the name with an Italian ring to it.
Now, finally, I see the humor in that Italianization of Brodioi.
I wouldn’t say that my grandma disliked all Italians but she did seem to hold them to a different standard.
I always wondered about that? I thought maybe there might have been some political problems between Belgium and Italy that troubled her?
On 3 July 2006 this question was answered in a very simple manner.
While looking at the Lusitiana’s manifest for their voyage I realized that they were traveling, cramped and crowded for 6 days, with the majority of the names on their page of the manifest being primarily young single men of Italian descent. I figure that in that six day journey my grandma probably had about enough of young macho Italians to last a lifetime.
I took the liberty to Google many of the names to see if any had become either famous, or infamous, but so far no matches have occurred. Who knows??
Looking back I am tremendously proud that I am not a Smith or Jones but a Brodioi, or actually Broidioi...
Nothing wrong with Smith or Jones but their base is so broad that tracing family is really tough to do. Now Brodioi is a different animal altogether.
I now realize that the uniqueness of the name is one of the things that I love about it. My wife has adapted to it well and is very proud to wear it. Our children also adapted well and seemed to not have the problems I encountered.
Here is something that just happened and I find it really thought provoking. Just this week our grandson graduated from kindergarten and as we were in attendance at the school I was looking over the hand out program. I noticed that his last name was spelled Broidioi in the manner that my grandparents used as they entered Ellis Island. I asked my son about the spelling and he said that it was probably a misprint. I thought this was amazing that an error could correct another error that was made one hundred years ago. Imagine the odds against that?
One funny and positive example of the uniqueness of Brodioi occurred during my military basic training. Drill instructors are normally not the most fluent individuals. My drill instructor never pronounced my name the same was twice during eight weeks of training. He never asked but his pronunciation attempts always had an Italian flavor. Many times I think that he intended to put me on KP or some other undesirable duty but simply gave up on my name and instead called on “Smith” and “Jones.” My unit had two each of these.
Now I am glad that my parents never allowed our name to be “Americanized.”
While I am proud to be an American, I am also proud of my European heritage. My grandparents came to America to start a new life, not to cut themselves off from their past life.
I will do my utmost to insure that our “across the pond” contact is never lost again.
Joe
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
American Dream (Post 5 of 5)
After Grandpa died (1962) Grandma lived alone in the house they had built together on their farm snuggled up against the Cumberland Mountains. She was fiercely independent at age 78 and wanted to live on her own. When she was in her 90’s my dad and mother
insisted that she move in with them. Her independence showed again as she agreed to move to their new brick home on their farm about 2 miles away if she could add an apartment onto their house at her expense for her to live in.
An architect friend of my dad’s (Carl Bauer) designed the apartment add on. It not only looked good but was also functional. In the design he positioned her sitting room with a view of the Cumberland Mountain chain that she loved. She lived there until her death at age 106.
My dad passed away during this period so she not only outlived my Grandpa but she also outlived her youngest son, Henry.
She once told me a few years before her death that all her friends were gone. I never thought of how that must feel until she mentioned it. She had outlived all her friends and acquaintances both here and in Belgium.
For her 100th birthday the local newspaper sent a reporter to get pictures and to interview her. She received cards and letters from Congressmen and Senators plus a personal note from one of our greatest Presidents – Ronald Reagan. She also received the key to the city of her Belgium hometown with a nice note from the mayor. Many of her younger relatives in Belgium, who my sister, had corresponded with over the years sent her notes of congratulation.
At this point I would like to mention Grandma’s mental state in her latter years. She could still recall stories from her youth and loved to tell them in her broken English.
One local high school history teacher (Larry Majors) who grew up in the same community regularly visited her and once told me that to him she was a living history lesson. Just think, she was born in 1884 one year before Ulysses S. Grant died and not many years after
Abraham Lincoln’s assassination. Hyppoliet and Leonie Broidioi were part of the birth of this great nation.
Leonie Broidioi saw early automobiles and flying machines from the Wright Brothers to the Apollo moon landing. She also saw the Depression, two World Wars, and finally American fast food. She developed a great love for Kentucky Fried Chicken in her latter years.
There was a young Catholic priest who regularly visited her even though she never made it to Winchester to the church.
I often heard her remark - reflecting her Catholic upbringing - how vulgar television had become. She said that when she was growing up in Belgium a lady would not even allow a gentleman to see her feet. Much of what was on TV embarrassed her. Sadly I guess she lived long enough to witness the beginning of the decline of our culture.
When I think about the lives of Hyppoliet August and Leonie Marie Brodioi, my grandparents, I feel a tremendous amount of pride. The only reason that I am an American is because of them. They were pioneers in the truest sense. They gave up all their family and security ties and as a young attractive couple they traveled to a wild untamed exciting, ready to explode, country to begin a new life. In my opinion, they were the essence of pure courage. They and thousands of others like them made this country the great country that it is. They were people with a dream who were willing to work hard to achieve their dream. They had an aura of independence and pride that showed in everything they did. May my grandparents and every other hard working immigrant like them rest in peace. They served their new country well by working as hard as they did to build this great nation.
I feel that if we wish to save the culture we have in this once great nation we must revisit that pioneer selfless spirit. The immigrants never thought that their lives would ever be easy but they worked as they did to make a home for their descendants for generations to come. Most of the people in this country are from immigrant roots. Some by choice, others forced, but we are all from the same stock. We need to check our cultural roots and try to copy the immigrant passion and work ethic that built this great nation.
That, along with a rebirth of faith, is the hope of our nation.
Joe
insisted that she move in with them. Her independence showed again as she agreed to move to their new brick home on their farm about 2 miles away if she could add an apartment onto their house at her expense for her to live in.
An architect friend of my dad’s (Carl Bauer) designed the apartment add on. It not only looked good but was also functional. In the design he positioned her sitting room with a view of the Cumberland Mountain chain that she loved. She lived there until her death at age 106.
My dad passed away during this period so she not only outlived my Grandpa but she also outlived her youngest son, Henry.
She once told me a few years before her death that all her friends were gone. I never thought of how that must feel until she mentioned it. She had outlived all her friends and acquaintances both here and in Belgium.
For her 100th birthday the local newspaper sent a reporter to get pictures and to interview her. She received cards and letters from Congressmen and Senators plus a personal note from one of our greatest Presidents – Ronald Reagan. She also received the key to the city of her Belgium hometown with a nice note from the mayor. Many of her younger relatives in Belgium, who my sister, had corresponded with over the years sent her notes of congratulation.
At this point I would like to mention Grandma’s mental state in her latter years. She could still recall stories from her youth and loved to tell them in her broken English.
One local high school history teacher (Larry Majors) who grew up in the same community regularly visited her and once told me that to him she was a living history lesson. Just think, she was born in 1884 one year before Ulysses S. Grant died and not many years after
Abraham Lincoln’s assassination. Hyppoliet and Leonie Broidioi were part of the birth of this great nation.
Leonie Broidioi saw early automobiles and flying machines from the Wright Brothers to the Apollo moon landing. She also saw the Depression, two World Wars, and finally American fast food. She developed a great love for Kentucky Fried Chicken in her latter years.
There was a young Catholic priest who regularly visited her even though she never made it to Winchester to the church.
I often heard her remark - reflecting her Catholic upbringing - how vulgar television had become. She said that when she was growing up in Belgium a lady would not even allow a gentleman to see her feet. Much of what was on TV embarrassed her. Sadly I guess she lived long enough to witness the beginning of the decline of our culture.
When I think about the lives of Hyppoliet August and Leonie Marie Brodioi, my grandparents, I feel a tremendous amount of pride. The only reason that I am an American is because of them. They were pioneers in the truest sense. They gave up all their family and security ties and as a young attractive couple they traveled to a wild untamed exciting, ready to explode, country to begin a new life. In my opinion, they were the essence of pure courage. They and thousands of others like them made this country the great country that it is. They were people with a dream who were willing to work hard to achieve their dream. They had an aura of independence and pride that showed in everything they did. May my grandparents and every other hard working immigrant like them rest in peace. They served their new country well by working as hard as they did to build this great nation.
I feel that if we wish to save the culture we have in this once great nation we must revisit that pioneer selfless spirit. The immigrants never thought that their lives would ever be easy but they worked as they did to make a home for their descendants for generations to come. Most of the people in this country are from immigrant roots. Some by choice, others forced, but we are all from the same stock. We need to check our cultural roots and try to copy the immigrant passion and work ethic that built this great nation.
That, along with a rebirth of faith, is the hope of our nation.
Joe
Monday, May 26, 2008
My problem
I have a dilemma.
I am having trouble figuring out how to work my stories into this family history blog and it is just not working.
You see I have an abundance of stories and I want to place all of them out for your reading. If I get close to posting them all - that will give me incentive to write more. I have a “treasury” of stories not yet written that need to be told.
Here is what I have decided to do.
I am establishing another blog for my short stories from my youth and I intend to link that site to this one for your easy search. The link for my short story blog will be: www.echoesfromthehillsides.blogspot.com
Also I have an abundance of religious writings and poetry that I plan to put on still another blog. The link for that blog will be: www.circleoftheearth.blogspot.com.
Sounds like a lot of work but it is a labor of love for me. I enjoy telling stories using this medium.
Eventually you will see that I have moved the short stories not applicable to my family history blog to one of the other sites.
If you link over and there is not much there, bear with me, it will be soon.
Thanks for your support.
Joe
American Dream (Post 5 of 5) to follow tomorrow....
I am having trouble figuring out how to work my stories into this family history blog and it is just not working.
You see I have an abundance of stories and I want to place all of them out for your reading. If I get close to posting them all - that will give me incentive to write more. I have a “treasury” of stories not yet written that need to be told.
Here is what I have decided to do.
I am establishing another blog for my short stories from my youth and I intend to link that site to this one for your easy search. The link for my short story blog will be: www.echoesfromthehillsides.blogspot.com
Also I have an abundance of religious writings and poetry that I plan to put on still another blog. The link for that blog will be: www.circleoftheearth.blogspot.com.
Sounds like a lot of work but it is a labor of love for me. I enjoy telling stories using this medium.
Eventually you will see that I have moved the short stories not applicable to my family history blog to one of the other sites.
If you link over and there is not much there, bear with me, it will be soon.
Thanks for your support.
Joe
American Dream (Post 5 of 5) to follow tomorrow....
American Dream (Post 4 of 5)
Here I will add a little tidbit of information that has always intrigued me regarding my grandparents move to Raceland, La.
As a footnote my dad - as a young man - rode his Indian motorcycle to Louisiana to satisfy his curiosity to see if he could find the swampland that was the original purchase of Hyppoliet and Leonie Brodioi. He never pinpointed the exact property but he did observe that oilrigs were everywhere in that area! Imagine that? An interesting turn in the road of life. I could just as easily have grown up to be an oil baron?
My Grandpa was a tall handsome man and my Grandma was a very small attractive woman under five feet tall who probably never weighed more that 100 pounds in her entire life. They worked together on their dream farm in the “Tennessee Hills” with both doing man’s labor.
They gained the respect of their neighbors in the community through their work ethic.
Grandma baked her own bread and cooked meals on occasion for up to 20 men during the wheat harvest threshing season. The whole community worked together to handle the wheat harvest at each farm. I never remember eating any fried food at Grandma’s table.
She was a great cook but she baked and broiled all her foods in the European tradition. I imagine that may have contributed in some way to their longevity. My Grandpa lived to be nearly 90 and my Grandma died when she was 106 years old.
As a footnote my dad - as a young man - rode his Indian motorcycle to Louisiana to satisfy his curiosity to see if he could find the swampland that was the original purchase of Hyppoliet and Leonie Brodioi. He never pinpointed the exact property but he did observe that oilrigs were everywhere in that area! Imagine that? An interesting turn in the road of life. I could just as easily have grown up to be an oil baron?
My Grandpa was a tall handsome man and my Grandma was a very small attractive woman under five feet tall who probably never weighed more that 100 pounds in her entire life. They worked together on their dream farm in the “Tennessee Hills” with both doing man’s labor.
They gained the respect of their neighbors in the community through their work ethic.
Grandma baked her own bread and cooked meals on occasion for up to 20 men during the wheat harvest threshing season. The whole community worked together to handle the wheat harvest at each farm. I never remember eating any fried food at Grandma’s table.
She was a great cook but she baked and broiled all her foods in the European tradition. I imagine that may have contributed in some way to their longevity. My Grandpa lived to be nearly 90 and my Grandma died when she was 106 years old.
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