The Dirty Thirties: No Easy Street

Ernest Johnson Begins Farming

During the Depression era, independent farmers like my maternal grandfather, Ernest Johnson, found it increasingly difficult to earn a living from planting and harvesting, and frequently supplemented their income through other work. The following story tells how he coped and managed to keep his small farm through difficult economic times in the 1920s and 1930s.

Ernest and Esther Johnson in March 1917.
Fosston, Polk County, Minnesota.

My Grampa Johnson was a farmer in rural Minnesota from 1914-1945. Like his nine brothers and sisters, Ernest Johnson had a Norwegian accent all of his life, even though he and his siblings were all born in America. English was something primarily used at school and social functions, while Norwegian was spoken at home. Upon leaving his parents' farm in 1914, Ernest purchased a plot of land about three miles outside of Leonard, Minnesota in Clearwater County, where Mississippi headwaters trickle from Lake Itasca, mirroring lush pines and running crisp and clear on the long journey to the Delta in the Gulf of Mexico. When Ernest married Esther Agnes Berge on March 22, 1917, he brought his shy, deferential, and bespectacled bride to live on that small farm. In a little clapboard farmhouse with one room up and one room down, my aunt and mother were born, in 1918 and 1920, respectively.




The farmhouse where my mother was born near Leonard, Minnesota, ca. 1920.



Ernest Johnson lived down the road from his parents and some of his siblings. For many years, the creed among farmers, including his grandparents as Norwegian-American homesteaders, was that neighbor helped neighbor, and especially, family helped family. Family is the main reason Ernest's parents left behind a picturesque and productive farm in the green and forest-rimmed fields outside Fosston in Polk County, so that they could follow him and his older brother, Bennett, to Leonard, over twenty miles away. Keeping the family together was not only ideal, but prudent, especially when there was hard labor to be done on a regular basis.

Though the newlyweds were off to a good start, Ernest and Esther's marriage was tragically short. Before their younger daughter celebrated her second birthday, Esther fell mortally ill with tuberculosis and died in January 1922. As per their mother's deathbed request, the young girls were sent to live with their paternal grandparents down the road, Ole M. and Malla Johnson, in order to be close to their father as they grew. It was painfully obvious that Ernest would not have the time nor resources to care for his two young daughters as long as perpetual and solitary work awaited him in the fields. And, what of the autumn and winters, when he must travel here and there to bring in some kind of income? No, it was far better that the little tow-headed girls, Phyllis and Doris, be watched over by their grandparents and a maiden aunt, Mabel, who could help supervise them and make their clothing.

Phyllis and Doris Johnson, Sept. 1921.

Once again a bachelor, Ernest applied himself to whatever would bring in enough money to pay the bills and buy seed. He helped on his parents' and brothers' farms, grew what small crops he could, and took pleasure in training and caring for his horses. Ernest's young nephews and their friends delighted in visiting someone who was "batching it." They could also ride horses away from the critical eyes of their mothers, and Ernest helped their fun along with some of his tricks. His horses were trained to stop dead in their tracks when he snapped his fingers, which sometimes left young riders clinging frantically to whatever they could, like real bronco busters. Ernest Johnson's farm was also a place where boys might find some privacy to steal a taste of their first cigar, or make successful raids on the cooky jar without the usual repercusions at home. Ernest may have been a longtime widower, but he knew how to fend for himself in the kitchen. He made his own doughnuts and canned apples, peaches, and other fruit... and he always kept the cooky jar full, too.

Ernest Johnson shows off his prized team of horses, Tony and Birdie.
My grandfather was very fond of this photograph, taken on his farm
near Leonard, Minnesota, May 2, 1943.

Whenever he could, Ernest Johnson raised sheep and planted seed crops such as flax, clover, and alfalfa, using only horses and a plow. He hunted game and fished to supplement both his larder and his income. He often traveled away from Leonard to help with late summer harvests in the fields of South Dakota and also drove drays for logging companies in the forests of northern Minnesota--hiring himself out however he could. He was often away from home for months at a time, leaving family and neighbors to tend to his livestock, and he returned such favors for them. Truth be told, he even attempted a little bootlegging on the side, but it was thankfully a short-lived venture that ended when others blew up the still during his absence.

With the onset of the 20th Century and increased industry, family-run farms began to struggle. Ernest's father, Ole M. Johnson, had made a success out of his own farm without once using a tractor, but he'd had decades of early midwestern development to build upon his success and reputation. For Ernest's generation, when so many small farms reached for a foothold in existing markets, independence by farming was harder to achieve, especially when the stock market crash of 1929 darkened the forseeable future. When the money was gone and seasonal jobs were harder to find, Ernest Johnson, bachelor farmer, began to look long and hard at new federal programs created by President Herbert Hoover and Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal, and the promise of jobs with the Work Projects Administration (WPA). Unemployment insurance would not become available until after 1935, but even then, many farmers who were independently employed were not eligible for the "Dole," as it was often called.


To be continued in Part II...

A Gem That Sparkles Still

The topic for the 47th Carnival of Genealogy is: A Place Called Home.

It's time for a geography lesson. Pick out a city/town/village where one of your ancestors once lived and tell us all about it. When was it founded? What is it known for? Has is prospered or declined over the years? Have you ever visited it or lived there? To a certain extent, we are all influenced by the environment we live in. How was your ancestor influenced by the area where they lived? Take us on a trip to the place your ancestor called home. The deadline for submissions is May 1, 2008.

Leonard, Minnesota
The area surrounding Leonard, Minnesota in Clearwater County is the kind of place you'd want to raise your children... a place where time stands as still as you want it to. Though the population of the town proper now hovers at less than 30 people and the median age resident is 61.5 years, the area is still as good a family environment now as it was 91 years ago. In 1917, my great grandparents, Ole and Malla Johnson, packed up their children and belongings and moved from their farm near Fosston in Polk County to three miles east of Leonard in northwestern Minnesota. (See the Google map.)

My mother and aunt were officially born in Dudley Township, since the village of Leonard was not incorporated until after their births in June 12, 1922. Leonard was named after the first child of an early settler, George H. French. French’s trading post and post office was a log house on the shore of nearby Four-Legged Lake.

"Many settlers came and some stayed, but many moved on. They were well acquainted with the saw, axe, grub hoe, shovel, grass and brush scythes. Fields came slow in the rocks and stumps. This was a difficult land to make a farm in."[1]

I suspect that my great grandparents moved to the Leonard area from their lush farm near Fosston because they had helped their two eldest sons, Bennett and Ernest (my grandfather) acquire cheap farm land there in about 1914, and then moved to be near them.

Leonard was, and still is, a rather secluded village, and looked a bit like a "one horse" town is the early 20th century photograph shown below. But, it was active hub for farmers who made a living from the surrounding territory. The early village included a Trading Post, a Soo Line Depot (beginning in 1911), Cooperative Creamery Association, Community Hall, a blacksmith shop, two Lutheran Churches, and later, Strand's Store, Monson Oil Co., and the Leonard Cafe, and not a whole lot more. Anybody who is anybody can still be found at the Leonard Cafe at some point during the day.

The area conjures up visions of "rolling farmland, green pastures, verdant forests, and placid blue lakes and streams abounding in wild migratory birds and variety of game fish." The soil runs from very sandy, sandy loam to heavy clay--suitable for hay, pasture, livestock, and farming, but the land will not carry anyone with cash crop farming. Success was derived only from individual farming. [2]


Five years ago, I visited the place where my mother was born and grew up. It was like a homecoming for me, though I'd never set foot on the soil before. Every building seemed familiar, though a bit more worn than what I'd imagined. The first stop was the farmhouse my great grandfather built in 1917. Though the property now lacks a barn and many of the original outbuildings, the house still stands straight and true with a dignity that shines through peeling and graying layers of paint.



The house built by Ole M. Johnson near Leonard, Minnesota.


Ole and Malla Johnson have not lived there for many decades, and it shows. (The photograph here was taken during the 1930s.) Gone now is the garden where Malla grew vegetables and little yellow ground cherries to make sauce with. Gone is the windmill that heedless young grandsons used to try and climb when Grandma Johnson wasn't looking. And, where was Colonel, the farm horse who lived to be as old as Methuselah, and constantly carried children to and fro on his dark, gleaming back? I could picture it all in every detail--standing on the very soil where my mother's paternal grandparents raised a large family, toiling every day and never letting up until the day they died. I could almost hear my great grandmother humming Norway's National Anthem as she made her daily crossing in the yard to the chicken coop in order to scrap the roosts clean.

The entrance to the Johnson farm on Rural Route One used to have maple trees that turned beautiful colors each autumn. Across the road was the Old Mogster Place, which served as the home for several Johnsons in turn, including Bennett and his sons, and Oral and Agnes and their large family. The local church and cemetery were just down the road from the farm, on the way to town, and the little schoolhouse was a hop, skip, and a jump in the opposite direction.

The land for District No. 31 School was donated by the Mogster family, who were early settlers in the area. Ella Stevens was the first teacher, receiving $5o a month as her salary. Among the 15 or 16 students who attended the school's first year were my grandmother's four younger sisters: Cora, Mildred, Clarice, and Stella Berge.

The school was never closed because of weather, since there was no communication and small children walking up to several miles needed an open building and warmth on arrival. However, my mother told me about a day when she and her sister and two cousins bundled up in 50 degree below weather to make the walk to school. The snow was so hard it was like walking on cement. When they finally made it to the school house, they were red, raw, and stiff. But, the teacher had not made it to school that morning and the door was locked, so the children turned right around and backtracked to their grandparents' farm right away.




Johnsons on the back steps of the school house, ca. 1930.  L to R:  Phyllis Johnson (holding a Brownie camera), Wesley Humberstad, Doris Johnson (my mother), Bennie Johnson, Mabel Johnson, Harvey Moen, and Marie Rinde--a neighbor.  Standing in front:  George Johnson and Thea Humberstad.



School District No. 31, outside Leonard, Minnesota, where
 my mother, aunt, and many other relatives attended school.

When I visited East Zion Church, the Lutheran Church my mother attended as a child, I was amazed to find the door unlocked. The minister's podium stood right where is had for years and years. Instead of pews, the floorboards held bunches of flowers, both real and artificial, each carefully laid out. Every time the caretaker prepared for mowing the cemetery lawn, new floral groupings appeared. Walking outside, I visited my great grandparents double headstone, where they were buried together in April 1948, having passed away within a few hours of each other. If they could raise up and take a nostalgic look around, they would be content to still find their farmhouse just about in sight across the road.

When my own mother passes away, it is her wish to be buried in that little East Zion churchyard next to her grandparents. In her heart, she has never left her childhood home. Leonard is the gem that sparkles in the memories of many of my relatives, some of whom still live in the area. It is an icon of days gone by, and a tribute to the dreams and efforts of pioneering settlers who sought an honest living on land they could call their own.

Life was simple and very few felt deprived. They had their card parties, quilting bees, Ladies Aid, church services, school programs and picking blue berries in groups, and picnics. Families worked together sawing wood and threshing, with a few ladies helping with the cooking. A good deal of time was spent getting ready for the Fourth of July and Christmas holidays, easily the big events of the year. [3]

The local historical society for Leonard, Minnesota is the Clearwater County Historical Society in nearby Shevlin, of which I am a proud member and supporter.

[1-3] George and Winifred Boorman. The History of the City of Leonard, Dudley Township (self published), 1982?

(The Boormans were neighbors of the Johnson family and were acquainted with my great grandparents, Ole and Malla Johnson. I obtained a copy of this self-published book directly from Winifred Boorman, who passed away last year.)

Dancing in Boom Town

My mother has a favorite photograph of herself, which was taken in Richmond, California when she was 25 years old. I recently found out that she (Doris) had been carrying the original around in her purse for years, and I convinced her to loan it to me so I could have professional copies made. Persons involved with eldercare, take note: what unknown and irreplaceable family treasures are being toted around in your mother's or aunt's purse? Better find out--respectfully, of course!

In 1945, Doris was still a country girl getting accustomed to city life, though immediately after leaving her childhood farm home she worked a six month stint at a candy factory in St. Paul, Minnesota. She loved being in St. Paul, but was somehow convinced to join her sister, Phyllis, who had recently moved out to Richmond on the west coast. Doris and her aunt, Mabel, rode the train out from Minneapolis in April 1945. There were so many soldiers aboard that the two women had to sit on their little (and very hard) suitcases near the bathroom during the entire trip.

Doris shared a one-bedroom, second-story apartment with no ice box on Sixth Street near the elevated railroad tracks in downtown Richmond, along with her sister, aunt, and a cousin. They made do. Sometimes they worked the canneries, and several of them tried waitressing. Doris started out as a waitress, but soon gave it up because she was too shy; she had great difficulty with the amount of personal interaction it required.

At the apartment, two of the women shared a double bed, another had a cot, and the fourth slept on the living room sofa. Not having an ice box meant stocking up on canned goods and carrying the heavy bags home on foot, while buying perishables as often as possible. A kitchen cupboard was vented to the outside, but it only kept things as cool as the outdoor temperature. In the Bay Area, that usually wasn't very cold. My grandfather, a custodian at the Ford Motor plant, was in the habit of going down to the Richmond pier on Sundays. After the end of wartime food rationing, he would buy a fresh salmon, or he would get steaks at the market. Then, he would take the groceries to his daughters' apartment and visit while they cooked dinner. I think they had to do his laundry, too, but that's another story.

Richmond,_California is sandwiched between Berkeley/Albany and San Pablo in the East Bay. The town experienced explosive growth during World War II. San Francisco Bay, with its many ports, saw an inevitable increase in military activity. There was also associated growth in existing industries, such as the Standard Oil Company, and the Ford Motor Company, which switched to building tanks during the war years. The Kaiser Shipyards were built along the Richmond waterfront and began recruiting workes from all across the United States. Richmond produced the most Victory and Liberty ships for the war effort, even breaking records in the process. As a result of all this, the once-sleepy Richmond became a hub of activity, with lines forming everywhere for restaurants and bathrooms, which were few and far between. There were all-nite movie theaters in operation for those who had nowhere else to go, and "hot-beds" where a place to sleep could be rented for eight hours.


Doris was especially fond of the outfit she wore in this photograph, which she bought in Richmond because it had a Scandinavian look and reminded her of home. It consisted of a bib and matching full skirt, all pink, which she wore with a white blouse. The pink roses in her hair were probably acquired at Kresses Dime Store or Woolworth's--trinket meccas in those days. Her sister, Phyllis, owned a similar outfit in lime green. I'm sure the girls looked quite cute together.

When the photograph was taken, Doris was at a dance hall in downtown Richmond. Photographers would wander through and offer to take pictures, which any gentleman accompanying a lady was expected to buy as a memento. I say "accompanying" gentleman, because it was common for girls to attend the dances in groups with friends or relatives and meet up with soldiers or sailors on leave, just to dance and enjoy the music. There were also many workers from the nearby Kaiser Shipyards, seeking entertainment with pockets full of newly-earned cash. The atmosphere inside those wartime dance halls was usually quite innocent, since in most places only soda pop was sold. But, as extra insurance, officers from various military branches made sure their enlisted men did not embarrass their country with any unwise behavior.

One place Doris attended frequently was the MacCracken Dance Hall. Steps led down from the street into a cellar-like basement. She remembers that the location was on the list of potential fallout shelters for Richmond during World War II. With the shipyards nearby, that was a very real concern. The dance halls in the Richmond area usually had big bands or country musicians performing, like the Dude Martin Hillbilly Trio in the photograph below. The scene was quite different from the dances Doris attended back in her hometown of Leonard, Minnesota.



















The Dude Martin Hillbilly Trio performs at a Richmond dance hall
during World War II. Collection: Dorothea Lange Collection The War Years
(1942-1944) Richmond, California Dude. Oakland Museum of California.


Back in Leonard, dances were held at the community hall in town. For farming folk, most any occasion was also a good reason to hold a dance, and local musicians jumped at the chance to play. There were no formal bands and no one ever got together to practice, but there was always someone's brother or uncle who could do a fair job with a piano, guitar, or accordian. And, it wasn't just the Scandinavians who partied. Doris once commented on the German community near Leonard, who often held their own functions: "Those Germans sure knew how to party!"

There would also be dancing at family celebrations, like weddings or anniversaries. When Doris was very young, she and the other children would stand on the sidelines and tap their toes and wiggle about, longing to participate. At some point in her teens, she was invited to dance for the first time. The man who asked was a cross-eyed relation to a cousin of hers, and a generation older. Doris replied shyly that she'd like to, but she didn't know how. "Come on, I'll show you!" he replied happily, and took her out onto the dance floor to cut a rug.

After that, Doris danced every time she got the chance, and she began attending Leonard Community Hall events regularly with her sister, cousins and friends. Dancing was the most fun she'd ever had, and it was the only way for her to enjoy music back then, since her grandparents' farm did not have electricity for radio. So, it's no wonder she was willing to suffer the crowds of the Richmond dance halls and the attentions of all those eager enlisted men later on. A shy farm girl in the city need never sit at home with her knitting, if she is willing to dance the boom town jig with the best of 'em, that is.

Who's the Gal with the Legs?

Left to right: Doris Johnson, Bennie Johnson, George Johnson,
and Phyllis Johnson. Leonard, Minnesota, ca. 1930.

Even farm kids need a little comic relief now and again. For a good laugh one day, my mother and aunt changed clothing with their boy cousins, and someone came around with a Brownie camera to snap a photo. I'll bet the boys were cringing a few years after this one...