The Long Way Home
An American Journey from Ellis Island to the Great War
David Laskin

Nunzio Donze’s Story

Thursday, July 15th, 2010

Richard Donze writes about his Sicilian-born grandfather:

I just finished reading The Long Way Home and enjoyed it very much. I am a second generation American-born grandson of an Italian-born WWI veteran (actually Sicilian, Nunzio, my paternal grandfather). Between the words and images in your book and those in the movie The Golden Door I have a better visual (and visceral) appreciation of what my grandfather endured coming over in the early 20th Century, and what he might have experienced when he went back to Europe in the war.

Sadly, my father and all his siblings have died, so the only recollections at hand are two that my 92 year-old mother recalls hearing about Nunzio’s war-time experience:

1. That he once told a buddy in the trench to keep his head down or else he’d get it blown off; the buddy didn’t listen and met that exact fate.
2. That he never fired his rifle because “They [the enemy] never did anything to me.” (When I first saw that you had a chapter titled “Why should I shoot them?” I wondered if my grandpop was articulating a common sensibility.)

Whether factual or apocryphal, these stories reinforced a recurring message in your book about the war being very immediate and personal for many of the troops, and less about ideology or grand designs.

After reading The Long Way Home I am inspired to do some research: to find out whether or not my grandfather was drafted; his unit; where he served; in which battles he fought; and whether or not he took advantage of the fast track to citizenship by virtue of his military service.

Just as the Great War made your Meyer and Sam and Tony and Epifanio and my Nunzio Americans, your book has made me and my family more connected to American history. Actually, (to paraphrase Ziggy Marley), it’s now American MY-story, not American HIS-tory.

Thank you for writing this book.

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Conrad August Westerberg’s Story

Sunday, June 27th, 2010

Seattle resident Donald Lorentz writes:

My maternal grandfather, Conrad August Westerberg, was an immigrant member of the World War I generation. He immigrated from Lannas, Sweden (Orobro Province) to Sioux City, Iowa, in 1912. He had an elder brother in that city. In 1917, soon after the US entered the War, he enlisted in the Army at age 29 1/2. In 1918 he became a US citizen, just prior to his deployment to France. Thanks to your research, we now know why he was able to obtain citizenship at that time. Once in France he served in combat, though we do not know the details of where exactly he fought.

Once he returned to Iowa in 1919, he joined with his brother to purchase and operate a Mobile service station, and became an active member of the American Legion, as well as Rotary and all sorts of American organizations. Ultimately he moved to Everett, Washington, where he ultimately became a member of the School Board, and remained active in so many organizations. He died in 1972 after a most productive life.

I often wondered why it was that he became such a vibrant American citizen, while my fraternal grandfather, also a Swedish immigrant, remained tied to the Swedish immigrant community throughout his life. We suspected that World War I participation had a role in their different perspectives. After reading your book we are absolutely assured that such was indeed the case.

I am now in the process of trying to learn more specifically the Army units in which he participated, and where exactly he served. We have numerous photos he brought back from the war, but have no other specific information.

Another interesting family sidelight on Conrad A. Westerberg. He was always proud of his Army service but never spoke much about it. After he passed away at age 84, we found his photo book from the Great War. He commented many times that the people from his unit in various photos had been killed in battle – a high percentage. Later, I learned that while my mother was pregnant with me in 1942 my grandfather (and her Dad) clearly hoped I would be a girl, no a boy, so I would not have to go to war. He always hoped each grandkid would be a girl. He clearly knew the cost, but was proud of his service.

Best wishes to you, and thank you again for completing such a meaningful work.

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Allan Denenberg’s Father’s Story

Sunday, June 27th, 2010

My father could have been one of your subjects. Shortly after emigrating from Poland he was drafted. He was given the choice of serving and thereby automatic citizenship, or refusing, in which case he could NEVER become a citizen. He chose to serve and saw action in France. He never talked about the war and we never pressed him. Two things I thought would interest you. I once asked him if he encountered anti-semitism in the army. He replied that he found very little of it, which surprised me. He also told me that during the high holy days he was pulled from the line and boarded with a French Jewish family for the ten day period. I guess the army really was sensitive to ethnic and religious considerations.

My father told me that upon discharge he appeared before a judge who told that it was an honor to bestow citizenship upon him. That was a source of great pride to him. Your book made me regret not having pressed him more about his wartime experiences. It also instilled great pride in him for what he did but never talked about. Thank you for your fine book.

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Irving Winkler’s Story

Wednesday, April 7th, 2010

A reader from Wichita, Kansas named Carol Kotsch shared this story about her grandfather Irving Winkler:

I stayed up late last night to finish The Long Way Home. This has been a subject of interest to me for many years since your stories were so close to my grandfather’s experiences.

Irving Winkler, like one of your characters, was not an immigrant himself, but the son of a German immigrant who entered the U.S. in 1881 and worked the iron foundries in Chicago. Irving was born in 1895 and eventually moved with his father and mother and brothers to farm cheap land in southwest Kansas, which became the farm where I grew up.

He was drafted on July 14, 1918, in Cimarron, Kansas–I have copies of his induction record–and was sent to Fort Riley in Manhattan, Kansas where he trained as a carpenter, and according to my uncle, helped build some of the barracks. He came down with Spanish flu and was given ice-water baths, which cured him. After he recovered, he was sent to San Antonio, Kelly Field, Texas, where he was part of 3rd Co. 164th D. B Bn, the 79th Balloon Battalion. The balloon crew’s mission was to spy over enemy territory in Europe, and Irving was trained to use a machine gun to defend them if the enemy line advanced. My father has a picture of his dad and the rest of the balloon crew framed in his home. It is a panoramic view of the men and the commanding officers, and you can make out Irving among all the men.

The story goes that Irving’s battalion was shipped out on a train to go overseas, but the Armistice was signed while the train was in Georgia, and the men were sent back. He was honorably discharged in 1919, and married the sister of one of his army buddies.

Some of the German Mennonites in my community of Montezuma were subject to beatings, but the Winkler family was never bothered—Irving was in the service, of course, but his father Otto was a patriotic American who made no secret of where his loyalties were. My uncle said his father had no problems about shooting Germans.

As a child I remember seeing his old uniform in the basement of his house, but it was disposed of by relatives after his death.

I enjoyed very much reading about the experiences of the men who left their homelands and came to America–they were very similar to what Otto went through. I appreciate all the research you did for this book and will be urging my father and uncle to read it as well.

Most sincerely,

Carol Kotsch
Wichita, KS

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Isidore John Vogelman’s Story

Thursday, February 4th, 2010

When I first started this blog back in the autumn, I encouraged readers to write in with their own family stories of immigration or military service.  The notes that follow come from Seth J. Vogelman, a North American transplant to Israel.  Back in 1981, Mr. Vogelman wrote his undergraduate thesis at McGill University on the Americanizing effect of military service on Jews during World War I.  I wish we had been in touch when I was researching The Long Way Home – we clearly have a lot in common.  It appears that Mr. Vogelman’s thesis was inspired by his own family history, because his grandfather Isidore John Vogelman was a Jewish immigrant who served in the Navy.

Mr. Vogelman recently sent me these notes about his grandfather, which I’m happy to post as the first of what I hope will be a series of stories contributed by readers of this blog.

The Vogelman family came from Radom (a city in what is now central Poland, but which before World War I was part of the Russian Pale of Settlement) and arrived in 1907 in NY. When the U.S. entered the Great War, my grandfather lied about his age to get into the Navy and get some steady income.  The story goes that he was underweight, so he went home and drank water and ate bananas for three days to make it.  He only went in in September 1918, saying he was 18 when really was only 17.

My grandfather was named Yonah Yitzhak Vogelman, but he became Isidore John Vogelman (though known as John) and immediately affected a southern accent to “blend in.”  He served as a Yeoman and Quartermaster on the USS Manchuria, a tramp steamer that brought the boys to and from France.  It was in the Navy that he also ate bacon for the first time, but didn’t really like it (my family was not religious even in Radom). He was not the oldest, but the only one to serve in WW I.

When mustered out in 1920, it was supposedly because he needed a better job, but in reality, his older brother was doing well in the fabric trade and he went to work with him.  There is a more interesting story, lost to history, about my wife’s father Aaron Beiner.  He was in the Rainbow Division, and he was even gassed. Aaron Beiner refused his pension, saying he was simply grateful for being in America.

—Seth J. Vogelman

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