Sunday's Obituary: Mr. Mohney

One of my favorite finds during my most recent access to Newspapers.com is also one of the most enigmatic. I am taking liberties in applying the term "obituary" to this article, but... it's my blog and I can do what I want. And I'm dying to write about this one. (No pun intended.)

Clarion County.--A Mr. Mohney, who resided near Reimersburg, was kicked in the stomach by a horse from the effects of which he died in less than twenty-four hours. He was walking along conversing with a person on horseback, when to avoid the worst part of the road he crossed over behind the horse when the animal kicked him. He suffered most excrutiatingly [sic] until death came to his relief. Truly "in the midst of life we are in death."

Why do I find this article so compelling? It doesn't even record Mr. Mohney's first name. It was originally clipped by another user, who titled the clipping "Adam Mohney Death," but I have yet to locate any substantiating documents for that name.

Even so, the article supplies so many intriguing possibilities, and may even be a clue to my most recent brick wall. Most of my family lines can be solidly traced back several generations, but the parents of my great-grandfather John S. Brosius seemingly appeared out of nowhere in 1852. In that year, my great-great-grandfather Adam Brocius purchased 50 acres in South Shenango township, Crawford county, Pennsylvania. Before then, my Brosius line is a mystery.

Adam Brocius' wife is remembered in my family as Margrette Mooney, but the surnames of numerous DNA matches suggest that her surname was actually Mohney. However, I have thus far been unable to discover exactly how she ties into the Mohney family. So the mere coincidence of the surname Mohney is not enough to attract more than cursory interest in this article.

The surname Mohney combined with a kick of a horse causing death is clear reason for interest, though. As I have mentioned in at least one previous post, there is an oral history within the Brosius family of a grandfather dying by being kicked by a mule. Who the grandfather was who died in that way is inconsistent, depending upon the storyteller, sometimes being John S. Brosius himself and sometimes his father Adam Brocius. So it seems entirely possible that the victim wasn't either of them at all, but perhaps the story is a mangled remembrance of the death of Margrette Mohney's father, or at least someone in her line.

Her parentage has not yet been determined, so it could be that this Mr. Mohney is her long-lost father. Naturally, proving such an optimistic hypothesis will take a great deal of additional research, but it gives me a starting place. I am reasonably certain that Adam Brocius and Margrette Mohney moved to South Shenango from elsewhere in Pennsylvania, but both surnames are surprisingly common in that part of the country during the appropriate time period, so any hint of a starting place is greatly appreciated.

Mr. Mohney's death took place in 1858, when Adam and Margrette Brocius would have been a young married couple. No indication of Mr. Mohney's age is given in the article, so it is not impossible that he was of the right age to be Margrette's father. The location of his residence and death is in Clarion county, which is not far from Crawford county, sitting to the southeast, with only Venango county dividing the two. Even in those days, it would have been a reasonable distance to migrate while still remaining near enough to occasionally visit family for special occasions.

So now my task is laid before me. I need to build out Mr. Mohney's family tree, and see if I can discover if he connects in any way to Margrette Mohney. If not her father, perhaps he is her brother or an uncle. Or perhaps this is just another wild goose chase.

Sources:

"Pennsylvania Items: Clarion County," Raftsman's Journal, 6 Jan 1858, p. 2, col. 3; digital images, Newspapers.com (www.newspapers.com : accessed 18 Feb 2023).

Crawford, Pennsylvania, Deeds Xeroxed by Gloria Brosius and sent to Amber Brosius, John Ralston to Adam Brocius, 30 Nov 1852; Crawford County Office of the Clerk of Courts, Meadville.

52 Ancestors Week 20: Travel

This prompt is a week late, and there is a substantial gap since the last post. Although this quarantine theoretically provides more time, it has been hard to establish a routine. (It’s hard even to remember which day of the week it is.) In addition to that—or perhaps because of that—I have been finding most of the prompts uninspiring. An idea may spring to mind, but then I realize either that it has already been written about, or that there is a lack of information to support my ideas. However, this theme of “Travel” brings definite ideas to mind, and ones on which it is currently quite pleasant to dwell. Aren’t we all longing to travel?

Last summer my parents and I took a road trip to eastern Washington state and into the Idaho panhandle, and the previous year we took a similar trip farther south. In the summer of 1911 my great-grandfather, John S. Brosius, also took a trip to Idaho, and saw some of the same country that we would see over a hundred years later. His impressions were reported in the Sedan Times-Star upon his return to Kansas.

Reading that article, it is clear that he and I were looking through very different eyes. I was looking for beauty in the landscape and novelty in the sights. John S. Brosius was looking through the eyes of a farmer, judging the possibilities of planting, plowing, and harvesting. “The farms are mere hilltops… and a team must be driven corkscrew fashion around the hills. No team could begin to pull a load straight up the hill or hold it back going down,” he says of the land around Weiser, where he visited John Walker, Ben Steinweden, “and other Chautauquans,” relocated there from John Brosius’ own home of Chautauqua county, Kansas.

My memories of the Weiser area are of a cute Old Town containing a decent music store and an offbeat furniture store, among other things, in the midst of picturesque velvety hills. To me, the rounded hills contributed to the charm of the place, and their steepness entered my mind only as adding a gratifying briskness to a jaunt, had I been given the opportunity to climb them. To me they appeared quite gentle. 

John S. Brosius lamented that “he does not believe the Snake river country, where many are taking claims, will be irrigated for years and years if it ever is.” I cannot speak to whether it has been irrigated in the last 110 years, although I suspect it has, because we drove over a dam, but the Hell’s Canyon area must have looked much like it looked to Great-Grandpa. While I admired the landscape, my mom’s comments were more reminiscent of John’s, if expressed in different terms. “It’s too dry,” she complained.

“Mr. Brosius says the Blackfoot country looked better to him than any other part of Idaho,” offered the Sedan Times-Star, but “He would not live there, he says, on account of the dust. It is something awful.” My family’s road trips did not extend quite so far to the east. I will be curious to one day compare my impressions of that area to my great-grandfather’s.



Here is a transcription of the entire article of John S. Brosius’ unflattering description of Idaho:

BACK TO SUNNY KANSAS
IDAHO’S LURE TOO WEAK TO TO HOLD JOHN BROSIUS.
SEES MANY DEFECTS THERE
“Corkscrew Farming” on Western Idaho’s Hills Has No Attraction for Him—Back Here to Stay.

John Brosius returned this week from a trip to Idaho and the northwest and that he very much prefers Kansas to that country is very evident from his conversation. He saw most of the Chautauqua colony in Idaho and says that nearly all of them, if not all, are satisfied and happy. But as for him, he will stay right here at Sedan. The lure of the west is not strong enough to pull him away.

Mr. Brosius visited John Walker, Ben Steinweden and other Chautauquans over near Weiser, iin the west part of Idaho. He found them happy and well although he says he would not like to farm such land. The farms are mere hilltops, he says and a team must be driven corkscrew fashion around the hills. No team could begin to pull a load straight up the hill or hold it back going down. The land is so steep that the grain is hard to harvest. Yet it produces good crops. Mr. Steinweden says he “cussed” his farm when he first went there but now he admits he “would not trade it for half of Chautauqua county.” Mr. Walker raised quite a lot of fruit last year but had difficulty in selling it as under the Idaho law fruit that is damaged cannot be sold at anything like a full price.

Mr. Brosius says the Blackfoot country looked better to him than any other part of Idaho. He would not live there, he says, on account of the dust. It is something awful. He found Chautauquans there doing well for the most part, although some of them are still hunting work.

As a whole, however, Mr. Brosius saw many drawbacks to the Idaho country. For instance, he does not believe the Snake river country, where many are taking claims, will be irrigated for years and years if it ever is. He says the farmers over at the other side of the state are likewise crying for water right now and can hardly get enough for any purpose. The whole country, he says, has a man for every job and in most cases, several men for every job. Some of the last delegation to Blackfoot are still out of work while others are in the beet sugar plant which will run only until Dec. 1. Mr. Brosius saw many men on the trains coming out of Idaho and most of them had, like himself, concluded that other countries were just as good if indeed not much better.

Citation:

"Back to Sunny Kansas," Sedan Times-Star, 7 Sep 1911, p. 1, col. 4; digital images, Newspapers.com (www.newspapers.com : accessed 26 Jan 2020), World Collection.

52 Ancestors Week 14: Water

Grandpa Red, Vinis Brosius, spent a lot of time in the water. My dad mentioned to me the other evening that he remembers Lowell (Red's brother) telling him that Red had been a champion diver at (he thinks it was) Vancouver Pool. I myself remember hearing that Red used to high dive at Jantzen Beach Amusement Park, a much beloved icon of Portland's past. Although I have seen no photos of either of these accomplishments, there are photos of him in his swimsuit, playing on the beach with his brother and future wife and in-laws.

Lowell Brosius, Inez Underwood, Elsie (Underwood) Jones, Red Brosius, Flora (Amos) Underwood.
This would be Red with his brother and future (or current, depending on the date this photo was taken) sisters- and mother-in-law.

There are also stories of the time he saved a man from drowning in the Clackamas River. Once my dad showed me a newspaper clipping of that heroic event, but subsequent requests to see it again have resulted in the discovery that no one knew where it was anymore.

Until just the other day.

My dad opened up a box we had thought filled with photos, only to find stacks of letters, documents, charts, and more. The two of us spent a few hours rapidly sorting them into folders. Many of the items turned out to be things I have been seeking, such as the newspaper clipping about Grandpa's rescue, while others were things I didn't even know existed. It will be a pleasure to thoroughly examine each and every page later, but for now I can finally share that story.

I don't know in which newspaper the article originated, but I imagine it was the Oregon Journal, because I have been unable to find it in the Oregonian archives. However, this clipping most conveniently preserves the date: Friday, August 28, 1931. It also consistently misspells Grandpa's name as Vinas.

While Vinas Brosius, 6105 73d avenue and Aaron Babcock, 75th avenue and 63d street were swimming in the Clackamas river near the fish hatchery last Sunday they did some good rescue work in saving the life of a man named Fred Wilson, about 25 years old. Vinas first saw the man go down, went to where he was and brought him to the waters edge and called Aaron to assist him in taking him out of the water. Others assistance was summoned and the man was soon restored to normal. Vinas and Aaron are both about 16 years old.

This story is slightly different than I remember it. As I recall, it happened near High Rocks, a few miles downriver from the fish hatchery, and involved diving from a bridge. According to Dad, there were actually a couple of rescues that appeared in newspaper clippings, and perhaps it is the other one that I am recollecting. My quick search through the folder of papers we sorted out for Grandpa did not locate another article, but the folder is rather thick and it is possible I passed it without knowing. It is also possible that in our fast-paced sorting we accidentally mis-filed it, and I may later find it in someone else's folder.

52 Ancestors Week 5: So Far Away

This prompt has proven the most difficult for me thus far this year, although "So Far Away" should seem an easy prompt for an American genealogist, with the necessity of immigration in one's history. However, I have struggled to think of someone in my tree who (a) was "so far away" from his/her family, home, or something else, (b) I had enough information to actually write about, and (c) I haven't already written about. I'm not going to write about the Underwoods' 1903 trip to America; it's already been covered in Aunt Elsie's typescript, and I currently have nothing to add. Likewise, I've already written about John and Mary Craig's eventful trip on the Mauretania. Harry Stroesser made a long journey from Luxembourg to Iowa, but I have yet to discover his name in the ship manifests.

All week I have pondered a subject for this post (with the Carole King song running through my head), and, now that the week is nearly over, one has finally come to me. The research is so fresh that it should have been obvious! Last Sunday I visited my local Family History Center and used their portal to access to Newspapers.com. Perhaps it slipped my mind because it was not my intended research topic, but a quick dipping of my toe before I moved on to my main plan.

In my speedy foray into the world of newpapers, I stumbled across several articles about the Brosius boys away in France during WWI. The earliest of these is dated 18 Oct 1917, before Ormond Brosius had left for Europe:

Likes Army Life.
Ormond Brosius, Sergeant in Artillery stationed at Fort Bliss, Texas, writes his parents, Mr. and Mrs. John Brosius, that army life suits him and that his already dark skin is now so thoroughly tanned it is difficult to distinguis him from the Mexicans. Ormond volunteered in the regular army last April in company with Frank Ward and Bert Sherrod and they were in San Francisco until June when Ormond and Frank were transferred to Fort Bliss.

This article enabled me to add a few more details to my knowledge of Ormond's movements during the war. It also lines up to a certain extent with Ormond's own account of his enlistment:

There was three of us. When war was declared there was three of us... Frank Keller and myself and Bert Sheridan. We got on the Missouri-Pacific and went up to Wichita to enlist. Well, they told their right age. I was 16, see, and they was 18. So we got in this line... Ol’ Bert says, “I’m 18.” This old boy wrote it down. “Go on.” And Frank Keller was a-next... When they come to me, I told the truth. I said, “16.” And he said, “Young man, you come back in a couple of years.” So, the next morning I got right in this line, and when I got there I told him, “18.” “Go right ahead.” See? That’s how that happened. See. Boy, it pays to be a liar sometimes.

The first names are identical, even if the last names are not quite the same. Sheridan is quite similar to Sherrod, though. I also enjoyed the reference in the article to Ormond's dark skin. I have come across similar references on his mother's (Wade) line, and it is interesting to see how the trait is passed down the generations.

The next article helps to clarify the confusion between the names "Frank Ward" and "Frank Keller."

Mrs. E. A. Keller this week received a card announcing the safe arrival in France of her son, Frank Ward, who was at a cantonment in Texas. Ormond Brosius was with the same detachment.

It seems that Frank and his mother had different last names, and that Ormond was simply giving them the same surname. The date of arrival in France makes sense, given that the company had departed from Hoboken aboard the Aeolus on 23 Apr 1918. The 16 May 1918 printing of this note allows for the time for the troops to arrive in France, Frank to write the card, and the card to travel back across the ocean and then across land to Kansas.

It seems it took a little bit longer for Ormond to send news to his parents, but when he did it was not just a card but a whole letter.

Ormond Brosius writes his parents Mr. and Mrs. John Brosius of this city from somewhere in France, a cheerful letter telling of his safe arrival, good health and some of the quaint customs of the people of that land, which are a source of wonder and amusement to our soldier boys. He was enthusiastic over the country and well satisfied to be there under his own flag. Ormond enlisted early in the activities.

I can only wish the newspaper had printed the entire letter, as it did with one of his half-brother Harry's, which I transcribed in his Military Monday post and will not repeat here.

Speaking of Harry, the next clipping finally mentions him. Admittedly, I was more interested in finding articles regarding Ormond, in whose cabin I spent a wonderful vacation, than in Harry. When I have more time to dedicate to this newspaper research I will do a more thorough job.

John Brosius and wife are among the few Sedan parents who have received no letters from France since the armistice. Ormond is with the 18th Field Artillery and Harry with a Gas Regiment.

This clipping is dated 26 Dec 1918, the day after Christmas. The family must have spent an anxious Christmas waiting to find out if two of their members had survived to the armistice. It would have been the second anxious Christmas, the previous year still during the fighting.

They finally heard from their boys the next month.

Mr. and Mrs. John Brosius received word from their sons, Harry and Ormond Tuesday, the first they had received since the big fight ended and were greatly relieved to know that the boys are all right. Both are with the armies of occupation.

It surprised me that none of these clippings mentioned Lee, the third brother in the service. I don't believe that he ever went overseas, but some of these articles were about army life before prior to shipping out. Perhaps this lack of Lee has more to do with my search terms during my limited research time than anything else. When I return to this line of research, I will specifically seek information on Lee.

Sources and Citations:

"Likes Army Life," Sedan Times-Star, 18 Oct 1917, p. 7, col. 2; digital images, Newspapers.com (www.newspapers.com : accessed 26 Jan 2020), World Collection.

Ormond Brosius, Lowell Brosius (Portland, Oregon), recorded conversation, Aug 1979; audio cassette privately held by Amber Brosius.

"General News," Sedan Times-Star, 16 May 1918, p. 8, col. 3; digital images, Newspapers.com (www.newspapers.com : accessed 26 Jan 2020), World Collection.

"U.S., Army Transport Service, Passenger Lists, 1910-1939," online images, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 9 Jun 2018), manifest, Aeolus, 23 Apr 1918, entry no. 40, for Ormond J. Brosius, service no. 1,042,684.

"General News," Sedan Times-Star, 20 June 1918, p. 10, col. 2; digital images, Newspapers.com (www.newspapers.com : accessed 26 Jan 2020), World Collection.

"General News," Sedan Times-Star, 26 Dec 1918, p. 2, col. 5; digital images, Newspapers.com (www.newspapers.com : accessed 26 Jan 2020), World Collection.

"General News," Sedan Times-Star, 30 Jan 1919, p. 5, col. 3; digital images, Newspapers.com (www.newspapers.com : accessed 26 Jan 2020), World Collection.

52 Ancestor Week 4: Close to Home

Lowell Brosius, my Grandpa Red's brother, was born in Sedan, Kansas 21 Mar 1913. When his father died in 1920, he moved with his mother and the younger of the Brosius kids (he was the second youngest of them all) to the Pacific Northwest. He quit school at about age 13 and began working. He worked a number of different kinds of jobs throughout his life, along with a stint as an Army MP in Europe during WWII. Among his jobs, he worked as a logger, a gold miner, and a glazier. He was married once, but the marriage didn't last.

During my earliest years, he was renting the back room of a house in Portland, Oregon. There was a backyard with a tree, and Lowell used to feed the squirrels and scrub jays. They became so tame that the squirrels would climb on him and one of the jays would snatch a peanut from his open mouth. I don't actually remember that, but I have seen photos.

Lowell standing outside his pink trailer, 1988

When I was just a little bit older, he moved into a trailer court. As a child, I was amused that his trailer was pink. He lived there for many years, and I can easily conjure up the layout of his main room. The couch was to the right of the front door, parallel with the wall. Directly across from the door was his TV, which was always tuned to a football game, and which was topped by a gold-colored mantel clock shaped like a naked woman. To the left was his kitchen table and a chair or two. Stacked up behind the couch and TV, nearly to the ceiling, were dozens and dozens of old cigarette cartons--mostly Pall Mall, a few Lucky Strike, and one or two other brands--full of books by Louis Lamour. When we visited, we would be seated on the couch while Lowell sat across from us in a chair at the kitchen table. There was always a red plastic cup on the table, and every so often Lowell would spit into it. I made the mistake of looking inside it once, and seeing the brownish liquid that resulted from his habit of chewing snus.

At some point when I was in about seventh or eighth grade, Lowell could no longer drive. Dad would visit him at least once a week to offer to take him shopping, and I never turned down the chance to come along. Sometimes Lowell would take us up on the offer of driving him to the grocery store, and I can still visualize him in his plaid flannel shirt and jeans, leaning on the cart as he slowly walked up the aisles. More often, though, Lowell wasn't in need of groceries, and we would sit on his couch and visit with him. Budding genealogist that I was, I asked many questions about his family and childhood, and a couple of times brought my tape recorder along. Other times he and Dad would discuss current events and I would let my eyes wander over his belongings, especially those boxes of books.

Whenever it was time for us to leave, we would get into the car and wave goodbye as we drove away. Lowell would stand in his open doorway and salute us as we left. It wasn't a military salute, but rather a gesture of two fingers beginning at the temple and extending toward us, then remaining in place until our car was turning the corner. It's a rather simple, ordinary gesture, but as a child it puzzled me. Everyone else I knew just waved. To this day, every time I picture Lowell in my mind, the first image that comes to mind is of him standing on the top step of his pink trailer holding his hand in that casual salute.

Once I was in sophomore or junior year of high school, Lowell needed more care. He was still independent, but it was no longer advisable for him to live alone. So he moved in with us. We had a daylight basement, carpeted and furnished, so we set that up for him as his own apartment. He generally prepared and ate his own meals, but it became our habit to go down and offer him a bowl of ice cream every night. I know he enjoyed that, because sometimes we would come back from a weekend out of town and there were fork marks in the ice cream container where he had come upstairs and helped himself. I always found it strange that he scooped ice cream with a fork, but it was endearing too.

He kept a large supply of peanuts for the squirrels and scrub jays, and would spend time in the back yard feeding them. They never got quite as tame as the ones at his old back-room apartment, but an occasional squirrel did wander into the house demanding peanuts.

Lowell died there in our basement, sitting on Grandpa Red's big leather easy chair. Mom found him that morning when she went downstairs to do laundry. I was at school, and was called to the office to get the news. That was a rough day.

As a child, and well into my teen years, I always had an overactive imagination. I was afraid to go downstairs if the lights were out, and I didn't like to be the last one to go up the stairs, because of course there was a (imaginary) skeleton who resided under the staircase and would emerge and dance at the bottom of the stairs as I ascended. Looking back, I don't know how exactly that was threatening, but somehow it was. One would think that knowing someone had actually died down there would make the basement even scarier, but the opposite turned out to be true. The very next time I went down there, it felt as if Lowell's presence were protecting me. The skeleton under the stairs vanished, as did whatever other monsters my imagination had provided. I have never felt frightened in that basement since.

52 Ancestors Week 1: You

Last year I began the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge a little late in the year and tried to catch up. After a few weeks I was only falling farther behind, and soon gave up. This year, in the spirit of New Year's resolutions, I am starting fresh. The theme for this week is "You." Since I can't find a way to make this post about all of you who may be reading, I am taking the "You" to mean me. 

My great-uncle Ormond Brosius and his girlfriend Billie Gardner were visiting Oregon from their home in Wyoming. All the Oregon Brosiuses took advantage of this opportunity to have a family reunion. It wasn't a complete family reunion as one might envision, with all the descendants of a particular couple, but it was what they could manage in the area. There were Ormond and Billie, Ormond's brother Lowell Brosius, their brother Red and his family, their sister Susie and her kids, and their nephew Maurice (pronounced Morris) and his wife Mary. This was to be the largest reunion of the Oregon branches of Brosiuses ever held. 

One of the group shots taken during the reunion. None of the shots show all of the participants, but this one is the best grouping in terms of composition. From left to right: Eddie Renas (Susie's son), Lowell Brosius, Les Hogan (Susie's daughter's husband), Aileen Brosius (Red's wife), Ormond Brosius, Mary Brosius, and Maurice Brosius.

The reunion lasted a few days. There was much chatting, as would be expected, and my very pregnant mother had the foresight to record a portion of it to cassette. (This cassette has been cited and quoted in a number of previous posts.) There were also activities such as sightseeing, fishing, and shopping. 

My mom, as I mentioned, was very pregnant at the time. With me. So I was there, attending my first family reunion, in utero. And apparently I was anxious to attend it in person. The story goes that Billie took my parents to the Portland Saturday Market, which was an event worth seeing back then. I remember from my younger days acres of booths selling well-made crafts and foods. It took over the streets of Old Town and spilled into the historic buildings and then back out onto streets on the other side. It would take hours to go through, and all the while you would be hearing the sounds of street musicians and smelling the scents of unfamiliar cuisines. Today's Saturday Market is barely a shadow of its former self, and depresses me because I remember its glory days. Now it takes up only a couple blocks, and there is very little shopping available in those historic buildings. There is still the sound of street musicians, though, and the fragrances of world cuisines.

It was to the Saturday Market of Portland's past that my parents and Billie went, with its acres and acres of booths. And, as my mom says, "Billie walked that baby right out of me." I was born the next day while various participants in the reunion went fishing on the coast. I was literally born during a family reunion.

Thanksgiving 1914 (Remembering Aileen Underwood)

Now, therefore, I, John M. Haines, governor of the state of Idaho, do hereby join with the president of the United States in designating and setting apart Thursday, the 26th day of November, Thanksgiving Day, and I call upon our people to cease from all labor on that day and congregate at their houses of worship, or assemble at public meeting places, or gather around the family altar and offer to Almighty God their most heartfelt thanks for the blessings that are ours, and their most fervent prayer for the perpetuity of the conditions that make such blessings possible--thanks that ours is a land where every citizen is protected in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, prayers that as a nation we may ever be guided by the inspirations of the fathers of the republic--thanks that our country is at peace with the world, prayers that the carnage across the seas may cease.

So proclaimed Governor John M. Haines on 9 Nov 1914. Among those making preparations for the upcoming holiday, was the Underwood family of Meridian: Walter, the very pregnant Flora, and their children Walter, Bill, Elsie, and Olive. 

Elsie once told me about this particular Thanksgiving Day, and I wish she were still here to clarify the details for me. I am not certain whether Flora was planning to host the family gathering and the ensuing events changed that plan, or whether--and more likely, considering Flora's condition--it was planned all along that the family would go to their "Aunt Sadie's" (Walter's sister) house. But, either way, Aunt Sadie ended up serving as hostess. I like to envision a dramatic scene at the Underwood house, with all the family circled around the table, and Flora suddenly gasping out, "It's time!" She is then rushed into the bedroom, while Sadie graciously takes over the duties of the hostess. But it seems far more probable that Walter and the children went to Sadie's to begin with. Flora was nine months pregnant, after all, and preparing a Thanksgiving feast would have been quite strenuous.

Flora was in the bedroom, in labor. There was a woman, or some women, to help her (I seem to remember Elsie saying), but none of the family. Childbirth was for women, not for men, and definitely not for children. It was for the best if the family could be shuffled off to their aunt's for the celebration. And when they returned, Flora had a brand new baby girl. 

The child was named Aileen Maryann, after her Aunt Sadie's daughter Ileane and her paternal grandmother Mary Ann (Valentine) Underwood. I have always found it odd that her eponym should be "Ileane," while her own name was pronounced "Alene." Perhaps there was an evolution in the pronunciation of her first name as she grew.

She grew, eventually married Vinis "Red" Brosius, and had two children of her own. More time passed, and she became my grandmother. By the time I was able to remember, she had been widowed, and lived alone. To differentiate my two grandmothers, I called her "One Grandma," after the number of people living in her house. (My other grandma was "Two Grandma," for the same reason, but she didn't like the connotation of being number two, so I seldom called her by that name.) I remember that she tried to go along with my naming of her, but generally got it backwards, signing her cards "Grandma #1."

One Grandma, or Grandma Aileen as I more often call her now, passed away when I was only ten years old, and as recently as 2013 I was able to write (in a rough draft for a blog post about her which I never completed) "I still remember her well. However, my memories are beginning to fade a little, and get a little distressed around the edges like a photo that has been carried in a wallet for too long. So it is a good time to set them down, while they are still crystallized." Unfortunately, that metaphorical photo has been carried in my wallet for even longer, and is beginning to get creases and wear not only around the edges, but across the face. It becomes harder and harder to conjure up memories of her. 

The easiest memories to invoke are the general impressions of her as the "perfect grandma"--the kind you see on old television shows, the kind that cooks up a full turkey dinner with all the trimmings for every holiday, the kind that keeps her yard and her house immaculate, the kind that always makes you feel special. She was my only babysitter for most of my childhood, and every time we arrived at her house she would either be gardening in the yard, cooking in the kitchen, or knitting on the couch. She subscribed in my name to World magazine, the child's edition of National Geographic (and far superior to today's National Geographic Kids), and as I entered the house I would always look on the foyer table next to the tiny cactus in the boot-shaped ceramic vase to see if the new issue had arrived yet. Often I would, very gently, poke a needle in the cactus to show how brave I was.

Grandma taught me how to squeeze the sides of a snapdragon flower to make the "dragon" open its "mouth," and I remember the two of us playing with them in the back garden like puppets. The snapdragons were near the tomatoes and potatoes, and Grandma taught me how to harvest the potatoes. (She probably taught me how to harvest tomatoes as well, but I didn't like tomatoes.) I remember her teaching me, but I don't remember how to do it.

I do remember how she taught me to sew. She taught me my first stitch, the running stitch. She had once worked at Jantzen Knitting Mills, and had a a number of tricks. Perhaps if she had lived longer I would have become proficient. But she, at least, gave me a decent foundation. She did beadwork, as well. I forgot most of what she had taught me about that for a while, but then re-learned.

Grandma was a wonderful cook. I was fortunate enough to indirectly inherit some of her cooking ability. My maternal grandmother was... not a wonderful cook, so my mom eventually learned from her mother-in-law, Grandma Aileen, and then passed her learning on to me. Although Grandma Aileen was a wonderful cook, I was a picky child. She had to get creative to get me to eat anything besides peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or chicken noodle soup. To this day, the only way I truly enjoy a tuna fish sandwich is the way that Grandma made it: the canned tuna mixed thoroughly with a little mayonnaise, spread on white Wonder Bread, cut into four squares (not triangles), and with a few Pringles on the side.

One day she made tomato soup, which I refused to even taste because: tomatoes. So Grandma introduced me to the melon baller. I was to eat my soup with a melon baller instead of a spoon. The soup would run through the hole in the scoop, so I had to rush it to my mouth before it all ran out. Much to my surprise, tomato soup suddenly became palatable. After that, I often asked to eat my soup with a melon baller, and my favorite soup became tomato. 

The holidays were always spent at Grandma's house, with the whole family and a full dinner. Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, Jell-O salad, candied yams, coconut cream pie, chocolate pudding pie. We would all gather around the table together, but when it wasn't dinnertime, Grandma would be in the kitchen. She had a galley kitchen in her house, right off the dining room and visible from the living room. You couldn't comfortably fit more than one person in that kitchen at a time. So often Grandma would be in there alone, while the rest of us were gathered in the living room talking. And Grandma would be in the kitchen, laughing and laughing. She had the most joyous, infectious laugh. One couldn't help but laugh with her. She would shout out her contributions to the conversation, too, but her laugh was the most memorable thing.

The more I write about Grandma, the more memories begin to flood back. I remember how she would sometimes sit on the floor and play Barbies with me, and when we were done she would ask me to help her up. I would try to pull her up by the hand, and she would grunt and make it to her feet.

I remember that she wore false teeth, and would dislodge them from her gums and display them between her lips when I would request it. It was like an amusing magic trick.

I remember that she kept a bucket of coins in one of her kitchen cupboards, which she would let me play with. 

I remember the time she jumped up and down in her garbage can to compact the trash, but fell out and we had to rush her to the hospital with a broken wrist. Luckily it happened just as we were leaving her house, before we were gone. We were actually in the car, pulling out of the driveway, when it happened.

One day, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I was nine years old. We visited her at the hospital, or at the nursing home, every day after school. Sometimes it was boring, and I sat in the hallway doing my homework. The nursing home had a pet rabbit in a cage, which I enjoyed. I remember she had a roommate at the nursing home for a while: a young woman named Bonnie. We liked Bonnie.

Being in the nursing home, Grandma could no longer keep her hair dyed brown as it had always been. That was when I learned that Grandma dyed her hair. I remember that when it grew out, it was the most beautiful golden shade of gray, and I couldn't understand why she had been dying it.

On November 26, 1989, for her 75th birthday, I brought in my violin to play her "Happy Birthday." By that time she could no longer talk or move, but she listened with loving eyes to my scratchy, off-key rendition of the song. The next day she died.

Christmas of 1989 was the first Christmas we ever celebrated without her. But there were still presents under the tree with her name on the tag. She had done her Christmas shopping by mail order before she passed away. My present was exquisite: a real silver vanity set with a mirror, a brush, and a comb. The back of the mirror was engraved, and she had finally gotten it right. The engraving reads, "From #1 Grandma."

Today is the 115th anniversary of that eventful Thanksgiving Day when she was born. I have never forgotten her on this day, even if it is only to look up to Heaven and whisper, "Happy birthday, Grandma."

Sources:

"Thanksgiving Day Proclamation by the Governor of Idaho," The Meridian times, 13 Nov 1914, p. 1, col. 2; digital images, Chronicling America (https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov : accessed 24 Nov 2019), Historic American Newspapers.

Elsie Crocker, "Elsie Crocker" (typescript, 1990s); copy in possession of Amber Brosius.

Personal reminiscences of Amber Brosius.

52 Ancestors Week 4: I'd Like to Meet

The prompt for Week 4 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge this year was "I'd Like to Meet." 

Like any genealogist, there is a long list of ancestors I would like to meet if I could. But I think that number one on that list would have to be the subject of my previous post, Grandpa Red Brosius.

Sitting on Grandpa Red's lap, Easter 1980

To be quite technical, I did meet him. He was still alive when I was born, and, I am told, was crazy about me. But he passed away from emphysema before I was even a full year old, and I have no recollection of him at all. I have photos of him, an audio of his voice saying "Merry Christmas" in the 1950s, and numerous stories told to me by my parents and the few other surviving relatives who knew him.

Sadly, he was an alcoholic, and the stories I hear could almost be the stories of two different men. But it is clear that my parents (or whoever is telling the story) loved him. They paint a picture of a man who was caring, quirky, fun-loving, and intensely human. He fixed everything with duct tape--including plumbing. He insisted on watering the lawn, even in the middle of a drought (for which he made the local news as an example of what not to do! Wish I could find a copy of that). He chewed snus and used it to wash the car's windshield: he would squirt it between his front teeth onto the glass. He also smoked and, when an ash tray wasn't handy, would tap his ashes into the cuffs of his pants. (Grandma hated that!) He had injured a finger years earlier on a piece of glass, so that he had only one half of his fingernail, which he would whittle away with a pocketknife. To this day my mom treasures that pocketknife, which he sharpened so many times that the blade itself is little more than a sliver.

But I wish I had more than just these stories, and more even than the mementos. I wish I had a memory of him.

52 Ancestors Week 3: Unusual Name

The prompt for Week 3 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge this year was "Unusual Name."  

The six eldest Brosius kids: Marshall, Lee, Ormond, Wayne, Searle, and Susie.
Missing are the two youngest: Lowell and Vinis.

I don't have to go very far back in my family tree to find an unusual name. Those Brosius boys had some interesting ones. Among them were an Ormond, a Searle, and a Vinis.

To look at the name Ormond, it doesn't appear all that unusual. Uncommon, yes, but not strange. It has something of the look of the hero of a Regency novel. One imagines it spoken with a posh accent, and sounding similar to Armand. But Uncle Ormond's name sounded much more folksy, with an emphasis on the first syllable.

Searle, on the other hand, appears unusual when written, but when it was spoken, sounded the same as if it were spelled "Cyril." I have met people with Searle as their surname, but Uncle Searle is the only one whose first name I have seen spelled that way.

And then there's my grandfather, Vinis. Now, that is truly an unusual name. In all my research I have never yet run across another person, related or not, named Vinis. It was not pronounced like "Venus," as one may suspect at sight, but with a long i sound, as "Vine-iss." I can't help but wonder where my great-grandparents found this name for their son. In Latin, it seems to mean something about wine, although I have a hard time imagining that my great-grandparents understood Latin. My great-grandmother was literate, but her spelling and grammar, judging by a copy of a letter she wrote, was appalling. Perhaps her husband had a more classical education. None of my research, however, has indicated that he had.

Grandpa Vinis usually went by his nickname, Red; a very common nickname for a redhead, but Grandpa was a brunette. I asked my dad once why his dad was called Red, and he said it was because he used to wear a red hat. (If that is true, there does not seem to be photographic proof in our family albums.)

Military Monday: WWI Veteran Lee Brosius

 

Lee Brosius, with his wife Hazel, obviously some time after the Great War.

Since I have been featuring the World War I veterans of the Brosius family, I may as well write about the last one before I move on to another branch of the family. This is my grandfather and Uncle Ormond’s brother, and Harry’s half-brother, Lee Brosius. Unfortunately, all I know about Lee’s service is encapsulated in one terse sentence of Lewis W. Brosius’s Genealogy of Henry and Mary Brosius: 

Was in a balloon company in World War, did not go across.

No, it is not true that I know nothing else. I know also that he enlisted on 13 July 1918 and was discharged on 28 Dec 1918. Now we have truly reached the extent of my knowledge. Thus far I have been unable to locate any records which indicate in which company he served or where he was stationed. Perhaps someday I will learn more.

Real-photo postcard of a military balloon being raised for take-off during World War I. A group of unidentified soldiers is seen holding the balloon ropes (Undated) [Photograph by: Shaffer].

From Thomas C. Alston Papers, WWI 66, WWI Papers, Military Collection, State Archives of North Carolina, Raleigh, N.C.

No known copyright restrictions
Downloaded from Flickr

Sources:

Lewis W. Brosius, Genealogy of Henry and Mary Brosius and Their Descendants with Other Historical Matters Connected Therewith Also Some Short Accounts of Other Families Bearing the Brosius Name. (N.p.: n.p., 1928), 398.

U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, “U.S., Department of Veterans Affairs BIRLS [Beneficiary Identification Records Locator Subsystem] Death File, 1850-2010,” database, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 13 Apr 2015), entry for Lee Brosius; citing Beneficiary Identification Records Locator Subsystem (BIRLS) Death File. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.

Military Monday: WWI Veteran Harry Brosius

The only photograph I have ever seen of Harry Brosius; he is the elder boy.
The baby is his oldest half-brother Marshall.

This week I shall highlight the World War I service of my grandfather’s half-brother, Harry Brosius. He had previously enlisted in the Spanish-American War, but seems to have served only about a month before he was discharged for being “unsuited to the service.” His hometown newspaper elaborated slightly more, by saying that he “was honorably discharged for disability, having a foot that had been hurt once, or something of the kind.” 

His injured foot did not seem to affect his service in the Great War, however. He enlisted from Tucumcari, New Mexico on 26 Mar 1918, at the age of 36. Beginning as a private in Company F of the 30^th Engineers, he departed Hoboken, New Jersey, for Europe aboard the President Grant on 30 June 1918. A letter to his father shortly after his arrival in Europe was printed in the Sedan Times-Star:

From Harry Brosius. 

          Somewhere in France.

Dear Dad:

At last I will try and write you a few lines to let you know that I am still alive and not far from the front but we can't hear the boom of the guns yet and don't know when that will happen.

I had quite a trip coming over. We were about twelve days making the trip and the weather was fine with the exception of one day when it rained and we also had a little excitement as a sub put in its appearance and disappeared very quick when the cruiser and a destroyer fired about a dozen shots. We could see the periscope from the ship I was on. Some of the men seem to think there was nothing to it, but I saw it so believe it.

This is a pretty country and the crops look fine. You see lots of wheat, oats, barley and potatoes, but not very much corn; a little alfalfa and quite a bit of clover. The stock looks fine. What cattle I saw were fat and look as though they were well fed and the horses the same. They work them differently than we do. Instead of working two abreast they string them out and don't use wagons, but two wheeled carts and can haul a fair sized load. They are away behind the U. S. in harvesting as they cradle their crops and I have only seen two binders so far, but they don't have large fields like we do. I presume that is why.

We were two days and three nights traveling on one of the most uncomfortable railroad trains I ever rode upon. You had to enter into the side of the car and you couldn't lay down or get up and walk around when the train was in motion and the seats were very straight backs and no toilets on the trains and every time they would stop it would be anywhere from fifteen minutes to four hours. It took us two days and three nights to go about 5000 miles and I was worn out when I did get off and haven't had any rest to speak of. I guess I can't stand to hit the ball like I used to.

I have been trying to locate Ormond but that is impossible as they don't allow us to divulge any names of towns and places and such being the case, one hardly knows what to write about but presume that when we get into action for awhile will have some interesting things to tell you in the line of experiences and may possibly bring back a few souvenirs. We can send home such as helmets, buttons and medals we take from the Germans, but they are very particular about other articles such as postcards, handkerchiefs and other small articles.

Well, Dad, I hope you are holding your own and everybody else the same. Will close this time. As ever,--Harry. F. Co. 30th Engineers, American Expeditionary Forces. via New York.

The Ormond he had been trying to locate was his half-brother, and the subject of last week’s post. (I would also like to thank the WikiTree user Natalie Trott, who shared this article, among others, with me.)

Harry was in the action soon enough. He later related to Lewis Brosius, author of Genealogy of Henry and Mary Brosius and Their Descendants, that he “was sergeant in Gas Guard of Chemical Warfare Service in 89th Division and was in St. Mihiel and Meuse-Argonne drives and with the army of occupation on the Rhine.” Ormond seems to have also been in these drives, but it is unknown whether they managed to find one another while overseas. Ormond was in an artillery unit.

World War I: American troops pouring into the St. Mihiel salient, toward Mont Sec, on the morning of September 12, 1918
By Committee on Public Information [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

By the end of the war, Harry had advanced to the rank of corporal in the 6th Casual Company Chemical Warfare Service. He departed Le Havre aboard the S.S. La Lorraine on 23 Mar 1919, and was discharged on 18 Apr 1919. He brought home a very significant souvenir, as described in the Sedan Times-Star:

In reading the war news you perhaps remember the term "shell splinters" in connection with various ways in which the men were wounded. Harry Brosius who is recently back is carrying a "shell splinter" but fortunately in his pocket and not in his anatomy. This particular "splinter" has a special interest for Harry because he was ducked down on account of a suspicion that something was due to come along and that was what came. It buried in the planking above him and when he straightened up he determined that his forehead would have been right in the way of it had he been standing erect. An exploding shell is shattered into fragments of many sizes and shapes. This particular "splinter" is a jagged edged chunk almost as large as two fingers and weighs several ounces and looks capable of tearing off a leg or an arm or even very much worse if it struck right and with full force.

(Thank you again to WikiTree user Natalie Trott.) 

 

Sources:

“General News,” Sedan Times-Star, 8 May 1919, p. 4, col. 1-2; digital images, Newspapers.com (www.newspapers.com : accessed 5 Jun 2018).

Harry Brosius, enlisted 17 June 1899, discharged 20 July 1899; Register of Enlistments in the U.S. Army, 1798-1914; Records of the Adjutant General’s Office; digital images, Ancestry, “U.S. Army, Register of Enlistments, 1798-1914,” Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 10 Feb 2014). 
 
Harry Brosius in El Paso Enlistments: U.S.N.A.--Jan. 1, 1918, to April __; Mixed Lists of Enlistees; New Mexico Adjutant General Records; digital images, Ancestry.com Operations, Inc., “New Mexico, World War I Records, 1917-1919,” Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 29 May 2018). 
 
Harry Brosius; U.S., Headstone Applications for Military Veterans, 1925-1963; Records of the Office of the Quartermaster General; digital images, Ancestry, "U.S., Headstone Applications for Military Veterans, 1925-1963," Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 16 Feb 2014). 
 

“Letters From the Soldier Boys,” Sedan Times-Star, 29 Aug 1918, p. 1, col. 4; digital images, Newspapers.com (www.newspapers.com : accessed 4 Jun 2018).

Lewis W. Brosius, Genealogy of Henry and Mary Brosius and Their Descendants with Other Historical Matters Connected Therewith Also Some Short Accounts of Other Families Bearing the Brosius Name. (N.p.: n.p., 1928), 398. 
 
Sedan Lance, 3 Aug 1899, p. 5, col. 3; digital images, America’s GenealogyBank (www.genealogybank.com : accessed 19 Nov 2011), Historical Newspapers. 
 
“U.S., Army Transport Service, Passenger Lists, 1910-1939,” online images, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 29 May 2018), manifest, President Grant, 30 June 1918, entry no. 21, for Harry Brosius, service no. 1199178. 
 
“U.S., Army Transport Service, Passenger Lists, 1910-1939,” online images, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 29 May 2018), manifest, S.S. La Lorraine, 23 Mar 1919, entry no. 27, for Harry Brosius, service no. 1199178.

WWII: Japanese Anti-American Propaganda in New Guinea

Mister Doughboy, Mister Doughboy,
Gee, what a guy! You sure look pie to me.

–Jack Davey

This may seem like a tangent before the post has really even started, but I am a big fan of the old TV show M*A*S*H, and watch the reruns broadcast on MeTV almost every weeknight. Several weeks ago an episode aired in which the characters of Hawkeye and Trapper John had to defuse an unexploded bomb that had fallen into the compound. There were some tense minutes, followed by the revelation that it was a propaganda bomb, and it showered the camp with leaflets advising surrender.

Although this television show depicts a different war than the one I am thinking of, the scene reminded me I needed to finish a blog post that I began long ago.

During the course of WWII, almost a million U.S. service personnel passed through Australia and New Zealand. Initially, the American allies were welcomed almost as saviors. The British, Australia’s traditional allies, had announced their intention to focus on protecting England, leaving Australians feeling defenseless against what seemed at the time a real possibility of Japanese invasion. The arrival of the American troops, therefore, promised much needed support for the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC). In addition to this, they represented an idea of glamour as epitomized by Hollywood.

“In some ways, these soldiers matched the Hollywood image: their manners impressed Australian women (calling women ‘Ma’am’ and men ‘sir’) and their uniforms were better looking than the baggy uniforms of the Australian soldiers.” (“Americans”)

In addition to impressing women with their manners and uniforms, the American soldiers were also better paid than their ANZAC counterparts, and had little to spend it on besides a search for a good time. Many of the Australian and Kiwi women began to prefer Americans socially for these reasons. It was not long before the sense of relief felt by the ANZAC soldiers changed into jealousy.

This was of great concern to the ANZAC troops stationed in New Guinea, far away from their wives and sweethearts. And this concern was seized upon by the enemy, who hoped to use it to destroy morale in the ANZAC camps. Now, as far as I have discovered, none of my near relatives served in the South Pacific; they all seem to have been in the European Theater, and certainly none of them were ANZAC; but soldiers in both theaters had a tendency to pick up souvenirs to take home. These souvenirs were often traded around. So, through some channel or another, my great-uncle Lowell Brosius ended up with a stack of gloriously illustrated and colored anti-American leaflets.

This first one portrays a languorous embrace leaning in to a kiss, worthy of a turn-of-the-century romantic picture postcard. The man in the picture is obviously an American soldier, with superfluous American flags scattered over his uniform. The dreamy colors and style of the main image are juxtaposed against a gory rendition of dead ANZAC soldiers under a ragged and broken flag. The words are equally jarring:

Hey! You diggers!
He came, he saw, he conquered!
Thinking you “diggers” will never come back
alive, tha BLACKS and tha YANKS are
raping your wives, your daughters, your
sweethearts—they’re helpless without your
protection. Your future happiness is at stake!
One less Aussie simply means one more Yank
“safely” in the home. Surely you’ll not give up
your lives to make this possible.

It is an unsubtle appeal to the fears and prejudices of soldiers far from home.

The second flyer is in an entirely different style, with bright colors and a sequential layout.

The first panel reads, “We were the happiest of couples,” and shows a well-dressed man and woman arm-in-arm and smiling at each other. The background is a bright, sunny yellow. The second panel reads, “Until our tearful parting, Oh! how she wept!” It shows what is apparently meant to be the same couple, but the man is now wearing an Army uniform. The woman is crying and they are tenderly embracing. Her fur stole, which she had been wearing in the first pane, is hanging on the man’s arm, and the background is a somber bluish green, with the edge of a curtain indicating that they are now indoors. The third and final panel reads, “But, no sooner had I left, my wife was told that I’d never come back.” The woman, whose bust size seems to have increased exponentially, is now dressed in a tight tank top and short, shiny skirt. She is smiling lasciviously as a man, obviously a different man than in the first two panels, sets her onto a very soft-looking bed. A death’s head in an Army helmet and the suggestion of a uniform watches grimly from the head of the bed. The implication is, of course, that as soon as she thought her man was not returning, she went right out and found herself someone new. This time there is no hint in the picture (or none that I can recognize) that the other man is an American. But the fear of cuckoldry remains.

The third flyer, headlined “Australia Screams,” sneaks in some titillation for its recipients. It is also my personal favorite (but not for that reason).

On the left, somewhat to the background, an Australian soldier stands, bandaged and with bent bayonet, on a blood-soaked New Guinea. The words above him read:

The Aussie: “What was that scream. Something up?”

He is looking toward Australia, whereon an American soldier has planted the Stars and Stripes and is holding a woman in his arms. The woman, quite unlike the women in the first two flyers, is trying to fight him off, and is (perhaps as a result of the struggle?) in a state of dishabille. Her skirt is draped down, exposing her undergarment, and her blouse is unbuttoned, exposing her... lack of an undergarment. One of her hands is pushing against her captor’s smirking face, and the other one is drawn back in a fist. The words above read:

The Yank: “Sh..sh.. Quiet, girlie. Calm yourself He’ll be on the next casualty list. No worry”

The finial from the American flag’s pole is sharper than the bayonet’s blade and pointed directly at the Australian soldier’s heart.

The fourth flyer again visits the idea of Americans as the assailants of Australia, but this time without the violation of women. Instead, it is more of a deathly violation of Australia itself.

“The Spectre Commands,” proclaims the title in red letters reminiscent of those used in the titles of eerie horror movies. The titular Spectre appears as a waxy greenish-faced President Roosevelt in the robes of the Grim Reaper. The text reads:

   Roosevelt
Thou shalt go, Americans,
and eat the Australians
out of their homes
if necessary......
   The Americans
will fight to the last
Australian.

This Grim Reaper/Roosevelt towers over a gruesome Australian soldier, blue with death, eyes unclosed and bulging. He has been stabbed in the abdomen by the staff of an American flag, and his blood has poured out profusely, dripping off the edges of the continent of Australia. His hand lifelessly dangles into the ocean, the butt of his rifle floating up enough to show that he still holds it, useless as it now is. In my opinion, this image is the most disturbing of all the flyers. The earlier ones, despite the racist and/or misogynistic overtones, at least provided some cheesecake or romance for the men to enjoy. But this one is downright repulsive, though oddly compelling.

Not all of the flyers attacked the relationship between the Australians and the Americans. Some worked instead on the frustration of soldiers with their current situation.

This one represents New Guinea as an “Island of Deceit.” It is a bit harder for me to describe, as so many uniforms are depicted, and I am not sure if I accurately recognize them all. But perhaps specificity is not vital in this case. The three cartoonish, frightened figures in the middle are certainly representative of the soldiers intended to receive this propaganda, shown to be surrounded by large, imposing enemies. The enemies are wearing Japanese uniforms and carrying what appear to be Samurai swords. There is no escape for the Allied soldiers, as their retreat is cut off in front and back by the giant Japanese soldiers, and to the sides by the ends of the minuscule island. The text reads:

They were a “pushover”--were they?
Supplies were coming--did they?
Enforcement were on the way--are they?
NOW, where are you?
You stand between horrible DEATH--
and--reasonable surrender!

Obviously, the only option for the unfortunate tiny soldiers in the picture is to surrender to the giant enemies. Or die.

The final flyer, although still grim in intention, is much lighter in tone. It is entitled “Jilted, Re-Jilted.” I presume the first jilting must have been by his sweetheart for some interloping American, since I cannot identify any double jilting within the strip. The re-jilting seems to have been by the Army, which marooned him on a miniature island in the Pacific.

The first panel is labeled “Elation,” where the soldier dances in delight at the sight of an American ship on the horizon, which could be his salvation. This is quickly followed by “Deflation” in panel two. The soldier reels in shock as the ship is hit by either a bomb or a torpedo and sinks. But hope has returned in panel three with “Anticipation.” The soldier shades his eyes to make out the identity of the four ships now on the horizon. Panel four is titled “Perdition.” The soldier flings back his entire body in dismay, losing his rifle in the process, as he sees that the four ships bear Japanese flags. Finally, he reaches “Exasperation” in panel five, as three Japanese cannons aim at him. In his exasperation, he raises his fists Popeye-fashion at some distant power, disregarding the cannons at his back. “That blankety-blank President and his two-cent Promises---” he rages.

These six examples of Japanese propaganda aimed at Allied soldiers during WWII provide a vivid glimpse of what sorts of concerns soldiers stationed in the South Pacific might have suffered, and how their enemies tried to exploit them. The brilliant artwork and occasionally awkward language was engaging enough for some soldier to save, and to catch the eye of Uncle Lowell. I would be curious to learn what item he had collected in Europe to trade for these gems.

Sources:

State Library of Victoria / Ergo, Ergo (http://ergo.slv.vic.gov.au : accessed 15 Jun 2018), “Americans in Australia.”

Australian Government Department of Veterans' Affairs, Anzac Portal (https://anzacportal.dva.gov.au : accessed 15 Jun 2018), Australia and the Second World War: “Yanks down under - ‘Over-sexed, over-paid and over here.’”