Saturday, November 7, 2009

The Weller Family's Move from Louisiana to Indiana

The following is the second group of excerpts of Clara Alvina Koenig's manuscript An Afterglow of Yesterday. The manuscript was described in this earlier blog article.

The first excerpts, about J. George Weller's mother, was in this blog article.

J. George Weller's parents -- Johann George Weller and Katerina Regina (Meyer) Lehnberg -- were born in Germany. They met in New Orleans, Louisiana, and eventually married there in 1854.

The manuscript is confusing about their children, but it seems they had two daughters who died in infancy and then two sons who grew to adulthood. Then a third son also died in infancy. The oldest of the two surviving sons was Johann George (born in 1860), who eventually became a Lutheran pastor and then the Concordia president. The younger surviving son was Heinrich Herman (born in 1862), who eventually became a merchant.

The family moved from Louisiana to Indiana in about 1866. In 1873, when Johann George was 13 years old, he entered a preparatory school at Fort Wayne, Indiana, to obtain an education to become a Lutheran pastor.

The manuscript's second group of excerpts begins with the family still living in New Orleans:


Eventually, Johann Georg Weller owned five drays, drawn by horses and mules: he drove one of them himself and hired four other men to take charge of the rest. They hauled hundreds of bales of cotton to the ships and brought many boxes of tea and sacks of coffee to the warehouse.

A daughter was born to the Wellers in 1856 and another daughter in 1858. Both lived but a short time.

....

When the Civil War began, the best horses and mules were seized to be used by the army. This ruined Johann Georg Weller’s business. Because of flat feet, he did not have to go to war but was left in New Orleans with several others to look after the soldiers’ families.

Supplies had to be collected for the army; food became scarce and prices soared. A single barrel of flour cost fifty dollars. The Wellers shared their meager supply of food with a neighbor and his five small motherless children. One evening, “Mother” Weller informed the neighbor that only a little flour and about two pounds of bacon remained in spite of careful rationing, but offered to share that even to the last.

Before the sun rose on the following morning, six shots echoed through the neighborhood. Katerina and Georg heard and understood: the neighbor had despaired. Perhaps they should not have told him that the supply of food was nearly exhausted. Several other men helped Georg construct rude coffins and dig the graves. Short and simple was the burial service. Lovely garden flowers, five small crosses, and one large cross marked the six mounds.

Sadly Georg returned to his work. Although the future looked dim and hopeless, there was always work to do. He made his way to the riverbank to fell dead trees, which were used as fuel for cooking purposes. Suddenly the man stopped and stooped to examine what lay before him: a shirt, a pair of trousers, a purse containing $50.00, a hat, and a pair of shoes. Georg called and searched along the river banks but found no one. He wondered what to do, then resolved to carry the purse to town to find its owner. No results were obtained although several notices were posted about town and an article was inserted in the newspaper. The contents of the purse proved a veritable godsend to the Wellers.

On an April evening in 1862, a hurried meeting was called of all the men who had been left in New Orleans. Without doubt the city would have to surrender to Union forces within a few days. Plans were made to burn all ware-houses and to destroy whatever provisions remained. They would rather lose it through fire than to surrender it to the Northern men. Johann Georg resolved not to help with the burning; Katerina warned him that he could be jailed, but nothing was ever done to punish him.

No deeds of cruelty were committed by the Union soldiers, who were too sick to molest anyone. They were not accustomed to the extreme heat and the strange food and water of the South.

It was a January evening in 1863, shortly after President Lincoln had issued his Emancipation Proclamation. Katerina sat on the wide verandah rocking little Henry while three-year-old Georg played on the lawn with his father. An old negro woman walked sadly down the street. One wrinkled hand grasped a cane while the other carried a bundle tied in a bandanna.

“What seems to be the trouble, auntie?“ asked Katerina.

“Oh, missie, ah is so sad ‘cause my massa put me out -- and ah served him many long years. He heard dat Pres’dent Linco’n set de colo’ed folks free an’ massa wouldn’t keep me even one mo’ night.

The old negress was invited to stay with the Weller family as long as she liked. “Auntie” helped as much as she could about the house. This proved a boon to Katerina when little John was born in the spring of 1864 (May 16th). He was not as healthy as the parents had hoped, and in spite of loving care, the child died shortly before its second birthday. Katerina’s health had been impaired by the birth of her first child; the anxiety and sorrow concerning little John made her condition a little worse. She was obliged to use a cane because of the pain and discomfort in her left leg. From this time on a maid, or a hired girl, was a necessity in the Weller household.

After the war had destroyed most of their property and they had lost little John, the Wellers decided to start life anew in the North. “Auntie” was asked to accompany the family but she refused because the change of climate might prove fatal to an old woman who had spent all of her life in the South. The dear old negress promised to tend the little mound in the churchyard. Tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks as “Auntie” said good-bye.

Various members of Zion Congregation accompanied Georg and “Katy” and their two sons to the boat landing. A river steamer carried the Weller family up the Mississippi and the Ohio. At length, the family arrived in New York City, where they visited Katerina’s oldest brother and planned to establish a new home.

Georg found employment in a planing mill. During his first week of work, an accident deprived him of one finger. While temporarily unemployed, Georg considered the future: the neighborhood in which they lived offered them no Lutheran church and school -- little George was old enough to attend school and ought to have religion and the other three r’s. On the other hand, Fort Wayne was widely known as a Lutheran center, and Adam Saeger and George Kronmueller, the two brothers-in-law in Fort Wayne, would be glad to help them locate in Indiana. Besides, Johann Georg was anxious to see his sisters again and to meet their families.

So the Wellers went to Fort Wayne and were welcomed by the Saegers and the Kronmuellers, who introduced their southern relatives to neighbors and friends and to the pastor of St. Paul's Evangelical Lutheran Church, Dr. Sihler.

Although the Scheumanns lived only about fifteen miles from Fort Wayne, they belonged to the Friedheim Congregation and did not meet the Wellers until many years later.

Johann Georg and Katerina soon joined “Dr. Sihler’s church” in Fort Wayne, and their son George was enrolled in St. Paul’s Parochial School. Johann Georg found employment in Bassis Foundry. He worked in this place for about three years.

During this time, Wilhelm Suedhof came to Fort Wayne to live with his Aunt Katy and his Uncle Georg. After Katerina Meyer had spurned the rich young man and fled to America, her younger sister married Suedhof. Their only child, Wilhelm was left an orphan at fourteen. He lived with his grandmother for a few years. Then the grandmother died and the young man emigrated to the United States. He worked for the Wolff Clothing Store of Fort Wayne for a number of years.

In 1870, Johann Georg Weller rented part of the “college farm,” near Fort Wayne. This farm was a hundred-acre tract bought by the founders of the Practical Seminary as an endowment: the rent from the land helped pay expenses and professors’ salaries at the college.

Having been a “Landwirth” (that is a farmer who owned his land) in the old country, Georg was happy in his work. His sons George and Henry attended St. Paul’s school and helped on the farm during their spare time.

When George was thirteen years of age, he joined the communicant membership of his church through confirmation. Having decided to become a minister, George entered the preparatory college at Fort Wayne in the fall of 1873. Two years later, Henry’s school days ended with his confirmation. He helped with the farm work, spending free hours with neighbor boys or in town.

The Mother of J. George Weller

This is the first group of excerpts from the Clara Alvina Koenig's manuscript Afterglow of Yesterday, which is partly about the family of J. George Weller, the first president of the school that has become Concordia University. The manuscript is described in this earlier blog post.

This first excerpt tells about the life of a woman who was born with the name Katerina Regina Meyer and who became the mother of J. George Weller. The excerpt begins in the year 1838, as 19-year-old Katerina is traveling by ship to the United States in order to escape a marriage that her father had arranged for her. The excerpt begins with a conversation between Katerina and her family's former maid Marie, with whom Katerina is traveling on the ship.


“Oh, Marie, I cannot bear to think how my poor mother would grieve if our ship should sink into this vast ocean -- or if we should die of the terrible fever that is claiming so many of the others. My father would never forgive himself for having been so anxious to unite me in marriage with that young Suedhof.

“My dear Fraulein Meyer, your father meant well -- but he did not realize how you felt about the matter.”

“Mother understood that I did not love the young man and she did not want me to marry him solely for his riches. Even if he is the sole heir to that vast estate, I still prefer the hardships of this voyage to being Suedhof’s bride.”

“How surprised your father must have been, when he returned home that evening, to learn that you suddenly decided to accompany me to America!”

“That’s the worst part of it. I did not even wait to bid Father farewell. I feared he would not let me go -- now, I may never see him again. Oh, it makes my heart ache to think of it.”

Marie, who had been the faithful maid of the Meyer household for many years, put an arm around her young mistress.

“Fraulein Katerina, you must not worry so much -- the Lord will not forsake us -- even now, He is sending the wind to fill the sails and blow us forward. Take a little of this wine that your dear mother gave us.”

The young woman sipped a little of the port wine. Just then, Herr and Frau Schultz discovered their two friends sitting in a far corner of the ship.

“Marie seems to take good care of you, Katerina; still you do not look like the happy maiden we knew in the Fatherland. A young woman of nineteen should not be burdened with the cares of old folks.”

“Ja, ja Mama, you forget that the hopes of youth run higher than ours, and that young people are apt to be impatient. Even I am weary of this long journey.”

Katerina’s voice sounded sad and weary. “My friends, if it were not for you and Marie, I should have died of despair and homesickness. Ever since our ship was blown off its course and separated from the other two ships, I fear we may never see land again.”

During the long days and desolate nights that followed, Katerina Meyer shared her wine with Marie and the Schultzes. After the drinking water became stagnant, they added a little of the port wine to it, thus the water did not make them sick. When the supply of water was exhausted, the passengers and crew were obliged to drink ocean brine. Eighteen young people died as a result. Wrapped in sheets and weighted, the bodies were lowered into their water grave.

The food supply dwindled from day to day as the ship was carried southward by strong ocean currents. The blazing sun added to the discomfort of those on board the ship.

On a beautiful summer morning in 1838, after being on the briny deep more than two months, the captain sighted land along the distant horizon. Words cannot describe the joy that filled the hearts of those tired and homesick people. With tears of joy flowing from their parched cheeks, the passengers knelt to thank God for having answered their prayers by bringing them to the new country.

Although the ship had set sail for New York, it was carried so far off its course that it landed at New Orleans. This proved rather bewildering to the German immigrants. The new country was much larger than what they had imagined and the language was strange and confusing.

Marie and Katerina found a negro “mammy” selling gingerbread near the wharf. They pointed to the bread and offered German coins for it. The old negress understood. Katerina and Marie went their way, nibbling the spicy gingerbread. Suddenly they were forced to stop: a large dray, piled high with cotton and drawn by a span of mules, passed directly in front of them. The driver glanced at the two women, then halted his team and gazed at them. Greatly surprised, the young man exclaimed (in German):

“Katerina Meyer! Is it you, or do my eyes deceive me?”

Katerina made no reply. Her heart beat audibly as she remembered her mother’s admonition not to speak to “strange men in America” because they might lead her astray; but this man knew her name and spoke her native tongue!

The driver of the cotton dray sprang from his seat, removed his large, wide-brimmed hat and stepped before the terror-stricken girl:

“Katerina, don’t you know your former school-mate any-more?”

“Why -- it’s Willie Fruehe! I’m so glad to see you! No doubt, you remember Marie. She worked for us many a year; and over there are Herr and Frau Schultz. Come, let us join them.”

Joyfully, Katerina led Willie to their mutual friends. Everyone seemed to talk at once -- there was so much to tell; conditions in the homeland, the long voyage, the separation of the ships, and the change in their own landing place; then the future was considered. Marie decided to go to St. Louis with the Schultzes while Katerina accepted Willie Fruehe's invitation to accompany him to the plantation, about three miles from New Orleans. Mrs. Fruehe welcomed Fraulein Meyer and assured her that she might stay indefinitely.

It was at the plantation that Katerina made the acquaintance of various people, among them Frank Lehnberg, a horsecar conductor and a close friend of the Fruehe’s.


Katerina again found employment; this time, on a large cotton plantation. The master of the house was a tall Spaniard who was feared by all the slaves because of his cruelty. The mistress was a small German woman, much to the delight of the maid who was nicknamed “Katy” by her new employer.

One of the slaves on this plantation, a mulatto girl, was given special duties about the house and enjoyed certain privileges. She and “Katy” became friends. Both soon proved to be favorites of the household.

The Spaniard had chosen a mulatto boy, who was also one of the slaves at this plantation, and had arranged for his marriage to the mulatto girl. The cruel slave-driver planned to use the couple for breeding purposes. Several years had passed and still the couple was childless. This fact enraged their master.

One morning, while the mulatto girl was cleaning the master bedroom, Katerina was helping the lady of the house. Sounds of a struggle floated down the broad stairs, and the mistress asked “Katy” to investigate the cause of such commotion. Taken by surprise, the Spaniard pushed the mulatto girl from him and sprang to his feet. Angrily shaking his clenched fist, he ordered the two girls to be about their work and fled from the room. The mulatto girl burst into tears. “Katy” laid a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder, but asked no questions.

Just before the next slave auction, the mulatto girl tearfully confessed to “Katy” that she would rather die than to comply with her passionate master’s wishes. The master, therefore, was going to sell her to the highest bidder --- preferably a very cruel man. Sad was the parting when the slave girl took leave of her young husband, of the kind lady of the house, and of “Katy”.

The mistress of the house persuaded her hard-hearted husband to tolerate occasional visitors’ days for her personal maid’s friends. The Fruehes were welcomed no less by the mistress than by Katerina.

Frank Lehnberg also, was a frequent visitor. Occasionally on Katerina’s free days, she and Frank drove to Jackson Square Park, where soft sunlight filtered through the scarves of Spanish moss and the sweet, cool breath of magnolias was on the air. There were flowers of all kinds: azaleas, roses, camellias, wisteria, and flowering quince. Peacocks strutted under the stately old oak trees, while mocking birds poured out their song from the tree tops. Katerina looked lovely in her best dress of white silk-and-linen with a small pink flower-design scattered over it. The skirt was hooped and the neckline was low. A black net shawl, finished with yards and yards of black velvet ribbon and edged with heavy silk lace, was draped about her shoulders and fastened at the front with a pink rose. A white leghorn hat, trimmed with a large pink rose, black mesh finger mitts, and a black mesh bag completed the ensemble.

Once, when the Spaniard and his wife left for the big slave-market, “Katy” was put in complete charge of the household and for six weeks the young woman supervised the plantation. The slaves loved her and gladly obeyed her. “Katy” had often seen very meager portions distributed to the hard-working Negroes; now she paid for butter and rice with her own earnings and gave the slaves rice with their gumbo and butter on their coarse cornbread. The slaves did not forget this kindness; when “Katy” left the plantation to be married, more than forty of them kissed her hand and some murmured, “De Lord bless you, Mis’ Katy.”

Katerina Meyer and Frank Lehnberg were married in 1841. They spent nearly ten years together, during which time Frank changed his occupation from conductor on a horsecar to proprietor of a brick yard. He bought a large brick house, in which he and Katerina lived, and later added a smaller frame house to his possessions.

Katerina’s brother from Saint Louis visited the Lehnbergs. Meyer contracted yellow fever, or malaria, and died in New Oreans. Their sister, who spent a very short time in the Southern metropolis, died of the same fever.

Although the Lehnbergs at first belonged to the “Lutheran Church on Custom House Street,” they later transferred their membership to Zion Congregation because it was much closer to their new home.

In 1851, Frank Lehnberg died of the dreaded cholera. His widow spent much of her time at the Fruehes. At other times, some member of the Fruehe family stayed with Katerina in her large and lonely house.


For many years a small group of Lutherans had met for services on the Custom House of New Orleans; one of the men read a sermon out of a well-worn book which had been brought from the old country and the whole group joined in singing hymns -- there was no musical accompaniment. About the year 1852 this group was organized into a congregation and adopted the name “The Lutheran Congregation on Custom House Street”. This congregation soon owned a small church building, and called a pastor during 1853. The rather long name of the congregation was changed to St. John’s.

Mr. and Mrs. Fruehe and their children belonged to St. John’s Congregation and, since “Katy” spent much of her time with the Fruehes, the young widow usually attended services in that church. After some time the pastor noticed that Katerina was blessed with a good voice so he asked her to help lead the singing.

Katerina’s sweet voice trembled a little and she found it hard to keep her eyes on the words before her. Mrs. Fruehe noticed it, but thought nothing of it.

As the carriage rolled toward the plantation after the services, Katerina asked: “Doesn’t that Herr Weller have a lovely voice?”

With a twinkle in his eye, Wilhelm Fruehe replied: "Yes, he has been a Vorsaenger in our church for a number of years. I know him well -- maybe I can introduce him to you”.

“The pastor thought of that before you did.”

A faint blush spread over “Katy” Lehnberg’s face but “Willie” Fruehe pretended not to notice it. In a matter-of-fact way he remarked: “Weller is a mighty fine fellow. You ought to be glad that the Catholics didn’t keep him, or the two of you might never have met.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“Well, I’ll tell you: That man had a hard time getting started, but he’s doing well now. He told me that his money was stolen on the voyage from Germany -- the strange part of it was that the thief left the prayer book which had been tucked into the same pocket with the money. That was in the fall of 1848 -- about five-and-a-half years ago.”

“What did the poor man do then?”

“Oh, that was only part of his trouble; besides that, he contracted typhoid fever on the way. When the emigrants landed they took him to a Catholic hospital. Weller stayed there about six weeks, during which the priest and the nuns tried to convert their Lutheran patient. When the Catholics saw that they couldn’t convert him to their beliefs and that he was penniless, too, they asked him to leave the hospital.”

“Oh, how terrible!”

“Johann Georg was hardly able to stand on his feet, but he prepared to leave. He thanked the doctors and nurses for their care and staggered down the corridor. At the door he met a nun who had a sympathetic face. That nun wished him God’s blessing and handed him a bottle of wine and a loaf of rye bread, which she had carefully hidden under her cape for that very purpose. By the time Weller ate the last of that supply, he was much stronger and soon found odd jobs. Later, he got work as a dock hand. He gradually advanced from driver of a large cotton dray to owner of a dray. Right now, he is about ready to buy another one.”

The following Sunday, Katerina Lehnberg, Mrs. Fruehe, and the children waited in the carriage. Finally, Wilhelm Fruehe appeared, followed by a tall dark-complexioned man. “Katy’s” heart beat faster.

“I’ve invited another friend of mine to dinner,” announced “Willie”. His wife spoke to the guest,

“You are most welcome. There is always room for an extra passenger and Dina will be glad to set another place at the table.”

The young man bowed and a slow smile spread over his handsome face as he greeted the women and children in the carriage. Katerina admired these expressive brown eyes, that row of shining teeth and the manly stature, that were complemented by “a lovely voice”.

“If only he were not so bashful,” thought Katerina as they rode along, “he would be the ideal man.”

After the couple became better acquainted, Johann Georg Weller sometimes visited Katerina Lehnberg in her own home in town. Words failed the shy suitor on several occasions. Finally, one evening, the lady remarked, “No doubt you are aware of the fact that I am a young widow and that we are unchaperoned -- people are apt to think it a bit unusual. I see no reason why we should not consider matrimony: we seem well suited to each other.”

The young man needed no more urging but poured out his heart, and was accepted.

On the eighth of January, 1855 , wedding bells rang for Katerina and Johann Georg.

The couple lived in Katerina’s brick house as long as they were in New Orleans. Johann Georg joined Zion Congregation. The Wellers were close friends of Pastor and Mrs. Fick, and Katerina was chosen as one of the sponsors for Dorothy Fick. Mrs. Metz, the pastor’s wife at St. John’s, was a sister to pastor Fick of Zion.

Monday, November 2, 2009

A Manuscript About J. George Weller

I recently received a manuscript (as a Microsoft Word document) titled An Afterglow of Yesterday, written by Clara Alvina Koenig in 1941. She was a granddaughter of Heinrich Herman Weller, who was the brother of Johann George Weller (J. George Weller), who in 1894 became the first director of the Evangelical Lutheran School Teachers Seminary, which eventually became Concordia University.

I received the manuscript from J. George Weller's great-grandson George Weller, who received it as a photocopy from his sister Marcia (Weller) Weinhold. She has sent me an e-mail in which she told how she herself obtained the manuscript:

I visited Seward once, in the late 80’s. The manuscript was not from the Concordia library (though I think they need a copy). However, it was a library worker who put me in touch with a relative of Clara Koenig’s (sorry, names escape me) who was working at the Cattle Bank (who could forget that name?) and met me for lunch. Another relative also came and brought her copy of the document.

She allowed me to borrow it and take it back to Kalamazoo, Michigan, where Kinko’s required a letter of permission to copy before they would copy it for me. I made several copies, one of which I took to the Lake James cottage. [A member of the Weller family owns a cottage at Lake James, Indiana, which family members share and use as for vacations and reunions.]

I mailed the manuscript back to the Koenig relative who had lent me the manuscript. This same relative gave me Clara’s address in a nursing home. I sent her a card thanking her for writing down the stories. I received a nice reply from a caretaker indicating that Clara was not able to write back, but enjoyed the card (whatever that may have meant).

Aunt Dollie (Margaret) was still alive (which could date my trip...) when I brought the copy to Lake James, and reported that she and Mort (Martha) had stopped in Seward some years before and obtained a copy. She did not say from whom.

I also received a ride over to the former Weller home (where it had been moved) by a 90-some year old woman named Margaret. I remember her first name only because she was the name-sake of one of our Chicago cousins, one Margaret Kruse.

Some day I hope to find all the details of that trip (they were in a box under my bed in Kalamazoo, but I’ve moved twice since then.

In 1995-96 Marcia's brother George re-typed and polished the manuscipt, and he sent me an electronic version recently. He sent me also several genealogical descriptions of the the Weller family.


The manuscript begins with the immigration of a Prussian family, the Mailands, to the United States in 1832 and ends with the Missouri Synods decision to turn the seminary in Seward into a college in 1905. During the course of the manuscript, the developments of several German immigrant families -- the Wellers are only one of several -- are described. The entire manuscript is about 80 pages, and I will provide my electronic version to anyone who requests it.


In the following articles in this blog , I will excerpt some of the manuscript's passages that involve J. George Weller and his family.

J. George Weller's parents were Johann George Weller and Katerina Regina Meyer, who emigrated separately from Germany, met each other in New Orleans, Louisiana, and eventually married there in 1854.

The manuscript is confusing about their children, but it seems they had two daughters who died in infancy and then two sons who grew to adulthood. The older son was Johann George (born in 1860), who eventually became a Lutheran pastor and then the Concordia president. The younger son was Heinrich Herman (born in 1862), who eventually became a merchant.

The family moved from Louisiana to Indiana in about 1866. In 1873, when Johann George was 13 years old, he entered a preparatory school at Fort Wayne, Indiana, to obtain an education to become a Lutheran pastor.

Johann George moved from Indiana to Nebraska to begin working as a Lutheran pastor in about 1882. Eventually his brother Heinrich Herman and then their parents followed them to Nebraska, and they all settled in Staplehurst. In 1894, Johann George moved to Seward to begin teaching at Concordia, leaving his brother and parents in Staplehurst.

Johann George Weller had eleven children and his brother Heinrich Herman had nine children. There have been many grandchildren and further descendents, who have scattered all over the United States and beyond.


Ms. Koenig, at the beginning of her manuscript, credits her sources of information as follows:

I am indebted to the following persons, documents and periodicals, as sources of information:

Wilhelmina Mailand, the active little woman whose life spanned a period of ninety-six years, and whose memory was keen to the end of her days;

Katerina Weller, who lived with my grandparents for twenty-two years and was an invalid for more than half of that time;

W. C. Hartmann, better known as “Bill” both in the story and in everyday life;

James (or “Candy Jim”) Hartmann, the eldest son of Fred Hartmann;

Mrs. Charles Scheumann, whose maiden name was Alice Daehling;

Mr. AND Mrs. H. H. Weller, “Hank” and “Lisette” in the story;

Johann Georg Weller’S passport;

Henry and John Weller's baptismal certificates;

Friedrich Hartmann’s obituary;

James Hartmann’s affidavit of identity;

Alice Daehling’s baptismal certificate;

the Friedrich Scheumann family-record and a plushpicture album owned by Mrs “Bill” Scheumann;

the early church records of both Zion and Immanuel Congregation;

the anniversary editions of the Nebraska Farmer and of the Concordia Teachers College Broadcaster.

The Architecture of Homes by J. O. Shroyer, The Homes of Nebraska by Sol. Miller, and the four paragraphs of Pioneers of the Spiritual Trail by Dr. John W. Holland), which were copied from the December 1934 edition of the Nebraska Farmer by special permission of the McKelvie Publishing Company, Lincoln, Nebraska.

Information regarding Concordia Teachers College and the quotations from The Story of Concordia by H. O. A. Keinath, also The Reminiscences of the Senior Professor by H. B. Fehner, which were taken from the November 1934 Broadcaster by permission of Prof. Keinath, editor of the college paper (at that time) and historian of the institution.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

The Wellers Who Lived at Concordia

This is a photograph of Johann George Weller, the first president of Concordia University. The image is taken from a Concordia webpage that no longer exists.

The Reverend J. George Weller (Johann George Weller), who from 1894 until his death in 1924 served as the first director of  the Evangelical Lutheran School Teachers Seminary in Seward, Nebraska. This school eventually became Concordia Teachers College and now has become Concordia University.

(Flickr page)

When the webpage did exist, the image was captioned as follows:

Director George Weller

The Rev. George Weller was called in 1894 to be the Director of the new synodical school in Seward, Nebraska. Prior to that time he was the pastor of Zion Lutheran Church, Marysville, Nebraska, just outside of Staplehurst, Nebraska. Initially Weller taught all subjects except music to the students. He is pictured here in the study of his home, a room which also served as a college office, bank, and dispensary. Weller served as Director of the Lutheran Teachers' Seminary, as it was called in those days, until 1914. Following that he continued to teach there until his death in the mid-1920s.

This photograph certainly was taken in Faculty Lane House 1, where Weller lived from 1895 until his death in 1924. His surviving family continued to live in that house until 1930.


I have received several written records from George Weller, a great-grandson of J. George Weller, the first President of Concordia College and the first occupant of Faculty Lane House 1.

According to a family genealogy, J. George Weller was born in 1860 in New Orleans, Louisiana, and he married Louise Katharina Clara Eirich in 1882 in New Minden, Illinois. He died in 1924 in Seward, Nebraska. He and she had 11 children:

Johann Friedrich Heinrich (“John Henry”) Weller, born in 1883 in Staplehurst, Nebraska. He worked as an engineer and married Mary Wynne, a nurse.

Hulda Catharina Elisabeth Weller, born in 1884 in Staplehurst. She married Alexander Pitcaithley.

Heinrich Friedrich Weller, born and died in 1886 in Staplehurst.

George Ernst August Weller, born in 1887 in Staplehurst. He worked as a teacher and musician. He married Martha Sophia Gallmeier in 1913. He died in 1932 in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

Clara Anna Weller, born in 1890 and died in 1893 in Staplehurst.

Elsa Lisette Christina (Christine) Weller, born in 1892 in Staplehurst. She married Dwight Williams.

Helen Maria Amanda Emma Weller, born in 1894 in Staplehurst. She married Ernest August Paul (Bud) Gallmeier in 1920. She died in 1955.

Anna Marie Louise Weller, born in 1896 in Seward. She married Herbert Trier in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

Paula Weller. She married Henry Ehlen.

Raymond Frederick (Bub) Weller. He married Merle.

Alfred William Tobias (Sam) Weller, born in 1905 in Seward. He married Judith Rogers in 1927 in Minden, Nebraska. He died 1965 in Glidden, Iowa.


The Weller family moved into Faculty Lane House 1 in 1895. At that time the family consisted of parents George and Louise and five children -- Johann (age 12), Hulda (age 11), George (age 8), Elsa (Christine) (age 3) and Helen (age 1). (Two children had died in infancy in Staplehurst.)

While the family lived in the house, four more children were born -- Anna, Paula, Raymond and Alfred (Sam).

After George Weller died in 1924, the surviving family continued to live in the home until 1930.


George Ernst August Weller (who was born in 1897), had an oldest son named Robert, born in 1914. Robert worked as a Lutheran pastor, and he married Clara Frieda Elisabeth Hoyer in 1941. She worked as a teacher. They had an oldest son, George, born in 1942, who worked as a physicist and research engineer. The latter George is the great-grandson who sent me the records. His oldest daughter Gretchen is a Lutheran pastor. George describes his daughter:

As to the "liberal" Wellers, yes, I would say so.

My daughter is an ELCA pastor, at St Matthew, Renton, Washington. She is sometimes known as "guitarchick" and as "the rock and roll pastor of Renton". You can guess where she stands on the recent ELCA churchwide meeting results.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

The Concordia College Library

When my family lived on Faculty Lane, I could walk to the Concordia College library in a couple of minutes. I spent a lot of time there.

Link Library at Concordia University in Seward, Nebraska. Image taken from http://www.cune.edu/academics/library/442/

I don't remember how I was able to check out books. I don't think I had a library card. As I remember, the place where the books were checked out had a set of cards with the names of faculty kids who used the library, and I simply stated my name, and the clerk verified that there was a card for my name and then checked out the books to me. I used the library often enough that usually the clerk recognized me and so did not have to look for the card.

The library had a special room with books for children -- for elementary-school pupils. While I lived on Faculty Lane, I selected most of my books from this room.

One of the books I found in the children's room made a huge impact on my life. This book was a history of Soviet espionage in the United States. The book included a chapter about a Soviet spy ring that was discovered because of some information that was provided by a paperboy. The story is told in this website:

On June 22, 1953, a paperboy for the Brooklyn Eagle, knocked on the door of one of his customers in an apartment building on Foster Avenue in Brooklyn. The paperboy was going through the month-end ritual of collecting from his customers. The lady customer only had a dollar bill and the paperboy did not have enough coins to make change so he asked the neighbors next door if they could help. The neighbors pooled their coins and produced enough change for a dollar, and the bill was paid.

As the paperboy was leaving the apartment building, and jingling the change in his hand, he could not help but notice that one nickel weighed less than the other nickels.

As he examined it, it fell to the ground and opened up after hitting the cement sidewalk. Inside was a miniature photograph showing numbers arranged in columns.

Hollowed nickel of Soviet spy Reino Hayhanen. Image taken from http://www.fbi.gov/page2/june04/060704nickel.htm
Coded paper in hollowed nickel of Soviet spy Reino Hayhanen. Image taken from http://www.fbi.gov/page2/june04/060704nickel.htm

Two days later a New York City detective casually remarked to an FBI friend about the hollow nickel a newsboy had discovered. The detective had received the information from another police officer whose daughter was acquainted with the paperboy. The New York City Police picked up the nickel with its contents and turned it over to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

FBI agents in the New York City office examined the hollow nickel. The interior of the coin appeared to be what agents described as a microphotograph portraying 10 columns of typewritten numbers. There were five digits in each number and 21 numbers in most columns. Suspecting a coded espionage message, the agents shipped it to the FBI Laboratory for further analysis.

Following its arrival in Washington, the coin received careful scrutiny by a team of FBI scientists. Hollow coins, occasionally used in magic acts and only occasionally seen by the FBI, were seldom if at all, seen by ordinary citizens. The coin was indeed unique, even for the FBI. It was a Jefferson nickel with a tiny hole drilled in the letter R of the word "TRUST." Investigators concluded that the tiny hole had been made to accept a device to open the coin. The other side of the coin had been made from another nickel minted during World War II and composed of a copper-silver alloy.

As efforts began to decode the message on the microphotograph, FBI agents in New York launched an investigation. The neighbors who had given change to the newsboy for a dollar bill knew nothing of the coin and confirmed that they had never seen such a thing. Proprietors of novelty stores and other businesses in the area were contacted and photographs of the hollow coin were shown to them, but this failed to produce anything positive. A detailed canvassing of the neighborhood did not yield any useful information. The meaning of the microphotograph seemed destined to remain a mystery.

From 1953 to 1957, attempts to solve the mystery of the hollow nickel by interviewing former intelligence agents who had defected to the free world from communist-bloc nations shed no light on the case. FBI investigators checked out hollow subway tokens, other hollow or trick coins but none appeared to suggest a tie to the one discovered in Brooklyn. The search for the person for whom the coded message in the nickel was intended was nowhere to be found.

Seemingly unrelated events can occasionally bring solutions to insolvable mysteries. The key to the paperboy's hollow nickel proved to be a lieutenant colonel in the Soviet State Security Service (KGB). The 36-year-old officer telephoned the United States Embassy in Paris and subsequently in an interview stated that he had been operating as a spy in the United States and needed help. The spy, Reino Hayhanen, explained that he had just been ordered to return to Moscow and felt defection was better than returning for an uncertain future.

Mr. Hayhanen had been born on May 14, 1920 near Leningrad to two Russian peasants. Despite this modest background, Hayhanen became an honor student and in 1939 earned the equivalent of a certificate to teach high school. In September of 1939, he was appointed to a primary school in the village of Lipitz. His high level of proficiency in the Finnish language, however, attracted the NKVD or secret police. Two months after beginning his job as an elementary school teacher, the NKVD drafted him to go to the combat zone and translate captured documents and interview prisoners during the Finnish-Soviet war.

When the war ended Hayhanen was ordered to review the loyalty and reliability of Soviet workers in Finland and to develop sources of information in Finland. His real job was to identify anti-Soviet elements in the intelligentsia. By 1943, he had gained considerable respect for his knowledge of Finland and Finnish matters and was accepted into membership into the Soviet Communist Party. At the end of the war Hayhanen received promotion to the rank of senior operative and worked in the village of Padani, identifying dissidents. The KGB called Hayhanen to Moscow in the summer of 1948 and gave him a new assignment. He would be required to learn English, sever all connections with his family and receive special training in photographing documents as well as in the encoding and decoding of messages. While his training continued, he worked as a mechanic in Valga, Estonia, and in 1949 entered Finland as Eugene Nicolai Maki, an American-born laborer.

[The article continues on the linked website.]

This story captured my imagination. Another chapter in the book claimed that the Soviet Union had a secret town where everyone spoke English and all the signs were in English, and this town was where the Soviet spies learned to speak English like native Americans.

This book gave me the idea that I should learn to speak Russian perfectly and then sneak into Russia and secretly convert a lot of Russians to Christianity.

The library's children section did not have any books about how to learn Russian, so I went into the adult section and found three books about the Russian language. None of these books was useful, because they were not introductory books. One of them was the second-volume of a old textbook set, and the other two were collections of reading texts for intermediate students who had learned some of the language from other books. I checked out all three books and took them home and looked through them, but they did not enable me to teach myself Russian. (I described how I eventually learned Russian in this article.)


The library's children section also enabled me to learn about sex. I found a few books about puberty, and I read them thoroughly. A couple of those books I read many times, always the same few pages. I noted the Dewey Decimal numbers of those books and then went into the adult section, and there I looked through the books with similar Dewey Decimal numbers. The books in the adult section provided me with more details and with some vivid illustrations.

Another group of books that I remember checking out from the adult section was about boxing. I went into the adult section to look at books about sports and physical fitness, and I found several books about boxing techniques. I checked out these boxing books and took them home and practiced the techniques that the books illustrated.

One of these boxing books included instructions about how to make barbells out of a piece of pipe, a couple of tin cans and concrete. I followed those instructions and made a set of those barbells. I used these barbells to try to build muscles in my arms as I practiced my boxing techniques. The barbells looked like this:


The events I have described so far in this article happened before I began in seventh grade. In particular, I found the boxing books and built the barbells during the summer between my sixth grade and my seventh grade.


It was during that same summer that I acquired a lot of old magazines in the Concordia College library. I was in the library's adult section browsing around for books about some subject that interested me at that point. I don't remember whether I was looking for books about spies, about the Russian language, about sex, about boxing or some other subject. Anyway, while I was browsing through the shelves, I saw a college student, apparently working part-time in the library, who was taking a lot of old, bound volumes of magazines from some library shelves and loading them onto a cart. This college student was talking with someone else, and from that conversation I understood that he had been assigned to throw all these old, bound magazines away.

I asked the college student whether he really was throwing all these magazines away, and he replied that he indeed was doing so. I then asked whether I could have them all, and he said that indeed I could, because otherwise he intended to throw them into a dumpster. So, I took all the magazines from him and carried them home.

This was a lot of stuff, and I had to make many trips back and forth between the library and my home in order to move it all. I carried it all in my arms.

The magazines were all from the first half of the 1940s. The magazines included Life, Look, Saturday Evening Post and a couple other titles. Most of the magazines were bound by quarters. For example, all the Life magazines for the months January through March 1940 were bound in one volume, and all the Life magazines for the months April through June 1940 were bound in another volume, and sor forth. On that day I carried home a total of about 30 bound volumes of these old, various magazines from the early 1940s.

My Mom allowed me to keep all these bound magazines in our study in our home. I looked through those volumes many times, especially during the summer when I acquired them. This experience gave me a sense of what life was like when my parents were young. My mother was born in 1932, so during that period, 1940-45, she was ages eight to thirteen. I myself was eleven years old in the summer when I brought the magazines home from the library. Perhaps that is my Mom allowed me to keep them.

Those old magazines remained with our family as long as we lived in Seward, Nebraska. I think I had to get rid of them right before our family moved to Eugene, Oregon, but I don't remember whether I gave them to someone else or threw them into the garbage. It is possible that we did take them to Eugene, but much of our family's belongings burned up in a fire in a storage facility while we were waiting for our new home in Eugene to be built. If we did take them to Eugene, then they burned up in that fire.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Some Descendants of George Weller

The following is information I received from Steven Trier, great-grandson of George Weller, who lived in Faculty Lane House 1 from 1895 to his death in 1924. The surviving Weller family continued to occupy the house until 1930.

Mr. Trier sent me this information in several messages, and I have organized it into one essay.


George Weller was born in New Orleans, Louisiana. His real name was John Weller but he was called George from infancy on. (When he himself had children, his eldest son was named John, after his own real name, and it was many years and several children later that a son was named George, after his assumed name.) At an early age George Weller's family moved to Fort Wayne, Indiana, and he grew up there.

George Weller eventually married a woman named Clara Erich, who had three brothers who all were all Lutheran pastors. They had attended the seminary (or the school that eventually become the seminary) in Fort Wayne.

George and Clara Weller had about eight children, who included Anna, Hulda, John, Bub and Elsa. (The Wellers all had nicknames -- Rubs, Pussy, Dolly, Bing, Bub, Petey, Mortz, etc. Maybe I'll have to setup a cross reference to follow. I am still trying to clarify details about that Weller family.)

George Weller was my great-grandfather, and his daughter Anna Weller was my grandmother. Anna Weller eventually married Herbert Trier, who was born and raised in Fort Wayne, Indiana. (There ae many associations between the Weller, Erich and Trier families and between Seward, Nebraska, and Fort Wayne, Indiana.)

During Anna's childhood growing up in the Weller family in Seward, Nebraska, there were still small groups of Indians in the Seward area, and the White and Indian children sometimes would play together. It is more than likely that the Concordia children were the only Whites allowed to do so. German was the language spoken in the Weller home as well as in the church services. (It is interesting to read the St Johns history and see that there were still German services in the 1950s).

Herbert and Anna (Weller) Trier had four children -- John Weller Trier, Eric Trier, Barbara Trier and Herbert Peter Trier. The youngest, who was called Pete by the family, is my father. He was born in Fort Wayne in December 1927.


The Trier family had settled in in Fort Wayne in 1828. When George Weller had lived in Fort Wayne, he and his family had socialized with the Trier family. My great uncle (a Weller) was the Director of Music at St. Paul's in Fort Wayne, and my Dad and his Trier family lived literally in the shadow of the Church. So the Weller and Trier families knew each other well and so became inter-married.

The Weller and Trier families also have a connection to the Seminary in St. Louis. Missouri. The real push to set that school up came from the Fort Wayne Lutherans, including my great, great, great-grandfather Conrad Trier. He was one of the founders of St Paul in Fort Wayne as well as Trinity Lutheran Church in Fort Wayne.


Because of economic hardships during the 1930s and early 1940s, the two youngest Trier children -- Peter (my Dad) and my aunt Barbara -- were shipped out to live with their Aunt Elsa and Aunt Hulda (the Weller sisters of my grandma Anna Weller) in Kearny, Nebraska. During those years, Peter and Barbara occasionally visited the Weller family in Seward.

Because of his years living in Kearny, my Dad probably knows more about those Nebraska Wellers than anyone still alive. He says that Uncle Bub Weller (a son of George Weller) attended the University of Nebraska in the early 1920s and was a team captain and All-American. Uncle Bub's older brother John Weller (the oldest son of George Weller) attended the University of Nebraska in 1902-1906 and was a team captain too. Bub was a big man and played tackle and was the key in Nebraska's upset win over Notre Dame. John was smaller and played in the backfield. I believe John eventually worked as an engineer on the Panama Canal.


Two Daughters of George Weller
The woman standing second from the left (in the dress with horizontal stripes) is Elsa (Weller) Williams, and the woman standing second from the right (in the dress with the red collar) is Anna (Weller) Trier. Elsa and Anna were daughters of George Weller, the first President of Concordia College in Seward, and so they grew up in Faculty Lane House 1. The picture was taken in 1971, when Elsa was living in Lincoln, where Anna visited every year from Fort Wayne.
(Click here to see the image in larger sizes.)


A few days ago my uncle Eric Trier celebrated his 85th birthday. Eric and my Dad are long in years but they are not old. My Dad works out every day for a couple of hours as does my uncle Eric. My Dad is a medical doctor, still in practice.

One of my Weller uncles (my great uncle) was the head of a local FBI office at the onset of World War Two, and when he was directed to confiscate fire arms from second generation German-Americans, he resigned.

Aunt Elsa (Weller) Williams's husband Dwight Williams was a colonel in the Army as well as a school principal.

While I was growing up in Indiana, the Weller family had a lake cottage in northeast Indiana, and it was and is the mecca for all Wellers. So as a kid I got to spend a great deal of time around all sorts of the clan, and it is large. Interestingly, they are fairly liberal for Lutherans in comparison to George Weller being very traditional.


I have been to Seward several times and even was offered a scholarship to attend Concordia College in Seward after I graduated from Concordia Lutheran High School in Fort Wayne in 1979.

I am intending on a visit to Seward yet this fall with some of my kids (I live in Colorado) so they may see Weller Hall and the house where their great-grandmother Anna grew up. I have been in contact with Dr. Bergman, who now lives in the old Weller house, and he has invited me to visit. I also have discovered that one of my teachers of my grade school (Holy Cross Lutheran in Fort Wayne), Dr. Stan Obermueller, has been living in Seward and teaching at Concordia for the past 25 years.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

My Failures as a Paperboy

(This article follows an article about how I became a paperboy and a second article about how I delivered newspapers and a third article about paper-route economics.)

From the beginning of my paperboy career, I understood the importance of increasing the number of customers on my route. The time I spent delivering papers every day was practically constant. Delivering one more newspaper took almost no more time, but my profit increased by more than a penny a day.

I did more arithmetic. If a new customer subscribed to both the daily and Sunday deliveries, then in a year, my increased profit at the end of the year would total (42¢/month * 12 months = ) $5.04. If I put that extra profit into my savings account at Cattle Bank, then at a 3.5% interest rate I would earn 18¢ interest every year afterwards -- EVERY YEAR AFTERWARDS !! -- PLUS COMPOUNDING !!!

And that was just for one more customer. My brain feverishly fantasized about the profitable results of several new customers added to my route every month.

During the first couple of months after I took over my paper route, I spent a couple of hours on Saturday afternoons knocking on doors of non-subscribers in my route area and trying to sell subscriptions.

I had read the guidance in The Newspaper Carrier's Handbook about how to sell subscriptions. The following pages depicted the paperboy scouting for prospects on his route and then approaching those prospects to sell subscriptions.

Newspapers Carrier Handbook - pages 18-19 Click here to see the above two pages fully in larger sizes.

Newspapers Carrier Handbook - pages 20-21 Click here to see the above two pages fully in larger sizes.

Newspapers Carrier Handbook - pages 22-23 Click here to see the above two pages fully in larger sizes.

There also were various sales instructions like this ...

The Way to Add New Customers for the Lincoln Star (Seward, Nebraska) Newspaper

Click here to see the above leaflet in larger sizes.

... and this.

Newspaper Sales Tips

Click here to see the above leaflet in larger sizes.

I did not have the self-confidence or the ability, however, to sell like the boy in the manual did. I was only nine years old and was easily intimidated. When I knocked on a door and someone opened the door, the conversation usually went like this:

Me: Hi, would you like to subscribe to The Lincoln Star?

Adult: No, thanks. [Closes door]

After a few such Saturday afternoons of rejection and frustration, I gave up.

However, the newspaper's distribution office in Lincoln regularly conducted various contests and prizes to entice the paperboys into trying to sell subscriptions. One popular prize was a group trip to the state fair in Lincoln. If all the paperboys in a district together sold a total of so many new subscriptions in a particular time, then all the paperboys (even paperboys who did not sell any subscriptions at all) got to go to the state fair for a day.

I would try to sell subscriptions when the prize was a trip to the state fair. I cannot remember whether I did sell any subscriptions on those occasions (maybe a sold a few) but I always got to go to the state fair, because all the paperboys in the district sold enough for everyone to go.

The trips to the state fair were a lot of fun. In the morning we paperboys would fill a bus, which drove us to Lincoln and dropped us off at the fair. I think each of us received some discount coupons for rides and games. Then in the evening the bus would drive us all back to Seward.

The state fair had a much larger selection of rides and attractions than the county fair in Seward had. The state fair had some burlesque attractions. There were some view machines, where you put a coin in the machine and then you looked into a visor and saw a short film of a woman dancing around in lingerie. Then the woman would start to take off their lingerie and the scene would go black. There also was a live burlesque show with real women dancers. I was too young to get into that, but a couple of the very oldest paperboys were allowed to enter. I spent a few coins looking into the viewing machines. A couple of the guys bought some playing cards that were illustrated with pictures of women with lingerie, and those guys would show the cards around in the bus on our ride back to Seward. This was the funnest day of the year for us paperboys.

During the first year that I worked as a paperboy, a bunch of us won a trip to watch the University of Nebraska's football team play a game. There were a lot of empty seats in the stadium, because the team always had a bad record in those days. Paperboys were allowed to attend free as a promotion, just to fill some of the seats. I remember that we boys spent more time running around and playing in the stands then watching the football game. (The Cornhuskers began to win football games and become popular after 1962, when Bob Devaney became the coach. My father sat next to Devaney on an airplane flight and had a conversation with him when Devaney was flying from Wyoming to Nebraska to take over the coaching job.)

After I quit working as a paperboy, there was one subscription contest where the prize was a trip to Omaha to go on a tour of the Strategic Air Command (SAC) air base. My brother Steve Sylwester went on that trip.

I remember one subsciption-selling contest where I did sell a couple of subscriptions. One summer afternoon each of us paperboys received a phone call telling us we were supposed to report immediately to the home of Austin Neihardt, Seward's distribution manager, for an important meeting. This never had happened before. I rode my bicycle to Neihardt's, where the living room was filled with paperboys. A distribution manager from Lincoln introduced himself and gave each one of us a small catalogue showing prizes we could win for selling subscriptions. The prizes were very attractive. Then he told us that we would get triple credits for all the subscriptions that we sold by 7 p.m. on that very day and double credits for all the subscriptions that we sold by the end of the weekend.

Of course, all we paperboys raced out immediately on our bicycles to our route areas and tried to win these prizes. That day I sold one subscription, and then I sold another subscription by the end of the weekend. The I won a good Swiss Army pocket knife and a couple of other prizes. Normally we had to order our prizes from the catalogue and wait a few weeks to receive them in the mail, but when I returned to Neihardt's house at 7 pm with my first new subscription, the manager had one of the prize knives with him, and so he gave me that prize immediately. I opened the blade and barely touched it to my finger tip, and the blade was so sharp that it cut my skin and caused me to bleed. What a cool knife!

That particular contest has stayed in my memory for several reasons -- the unexpected phone call, the catalogue, the sharp knife and my immediate success selling two subscriptions. This success bothered me, because I felt that I probably could have sold more subscriptions during those years if I had continued to try regularly. I could have improved my sales skills and could have earned more money. I pondered my inadequate effort and sales failure often during my last months as a paperboy.

I did sell a few subscriptions by giving prospects the newspaper free for a week. On the first day we would leave the first day's newspaper at the foot of the door and hang this announcement on the prospect's doorknob.

Door Hanger (Front Side) for Paper Boys Who Delivered Lincoln Star (Lincoln, Nebraska)

Door Hanger (Back Side) for Paper Boys Who Delivered Lincoln Star (Lincoln, Nebraska)

In my experience, this method worked rather well -- certainly much better than knocking on doors with cold calls. I think that about half of the prospects who received the newspaper for a week eventually subscribed. I wanted to use this method more often, and I do not remember why I did not. Maybe I was supposed to take more initiative and propose good prospects to the district manager. Or maybe these free newspapers were a bonus for paperboys who already were selling more subscriptions with other methods.

In general, my attitude, effort and service declined significantly during the last year or two that I delivered newspapers. I got up later and later and delivered the newspapers later and later. I dawdled. I forgot to deliver papers to some customers. The number of subscribers declined to a lower number than when I had begun delivering the route. I became dissatisfied with the amount of money I earned, but I did not want to make any effort to sell subscriptions.

I made a special effort to deliver the newspapers early only during the month before Christmas, because most of my customers gave me a Christmas bonus. Some customers gave a cash bonus -- as much as five dollars. Other customers gave me boxes of candy. During the Christmas break from school, I would spend my days eating boxes of chocolate-covered cherries and watching television (Jack Benny movies, Bob Hope and Bing Crosby movies, Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney movies, Abbott and Costello movies, etc.).

A major reason why my attitude declined was that I foresaw that I would be able to work in the Concordia College cafeteria during my eighth-grade year. That job payed 60¢ an hour and did not include exposure to freezing, windy weather. I could foresee an escape from my paper route and a big step up in my employment.

For some boys, delivering a newspaper route was the beginning of a life-long career in entrepreneurial business. I, however, grew up in a family of teachers and pastors, and so during those young years I had no role models or mentors or coaches who provided guidance and encouragement for a business career. When I think back at that experience of delivering newspapers, I cannot escape the conclusion that I did not succeed as I initially hoped I would succeed and perhaps could have succeeded.