To America in the 1920s-30s

Italian passenger ship S.S. America

 Ignazio soon got a job in a large tailor shop in Greensburg near the train station, on Harrison Avenue. This was probably the shop opened by Anthony Robert in 1914.  But over the next two years the news from Manoppello was not good.  His parents’ health grew worse.  First his mother died, then a year later, his father.

 Even the news about Italy was bad.  With continued poverty there was political unrest and violence.  The new Fascist party and its armed thugs, the Blackshirts, began a campaign of strike-breaking and attacking socialist politicians.  In late 1921 Benito Mussolini renamed them the National Fascist Party, and in the fall of 1922, Mussolini organized a march on Rome to demand power.  To avoid bloodshed, the King made him prime minister. It was the beginning of terror, warfare and the Fascist dictatorship.

 By then Ignazio and G had already decided she would join him in Greensburg, and they would remain there. 

On her 1976 visit to Manoppello, Gioconda with her sisters:
Serafina, Suor Carla, G., Onorina, Stella; with Rose Severini. 

 For Ignazio, there was now no close family in Manoppello to return to.  His sister was with him in Greensburg and his older brother Giovanni emigrated to Ohio.  His parents and their generation may have been the last Severinis to live out their lives in Manoppello. A survey of names in a mid-1990s telephone directory—just about the last time such a directory was a source of fairly complete information—showed no Severini listed.  But there were 39 Iezzis listed in Manoppello.  G’s family in fact still lived in the same house as she had.  All but one of G’s sisters had remained in Italy.  Her younger sister Clarina became a cloistered nun at the Capuchin monastery.  She was Suor Carla.

 Another factor in Ignazio and G’s decision could have been the new United States laws to limit immigration, specifically from Italy and Eastern Europe. (Immigration from Asia had been almost totally banned for years.)  The Emergency Quota Act of 1921 would become the sweeping Immigration Act of 1924.  The 1921 Act continued to allow close relatives of U.S. residents to join them, provided they were either spouses or would vouch for their support.  But there was no guarantee that this provision would remain.

 Gioconda might have gone as early as 1921, when her youngest sister, the 19 year old Prosperina, sailed for America and headed to Greensburg, where she was to marry the 32 year old Joseph Romasco, originally from Manoppello.  Instead G. waited until Flora was a little older.  Just a month after Flora’s second birthday, they took the train to Napoli to begin their journey to America.

 Gioconda was traveling with her cousin Giuseppina, also a Iezzi, who was also married to a Severini, Ignazio’s cousin Raffaele.  Raffaele Severini lived in Newark, New Jersey.  Guiseppina also had a daughter with her, Antoinetta, who was eight years old.

 Before they could get on the ship, they were herded into a building with more people than she had ever seen in one place, G. remembered.  Doctors examined them and they were dusted with powder for lice.  The officials were not mean but most of them showed no feeling but impatience.  The people were scared and so tried not to offend the officials who would decide if they were allowed to board the ship. Some travelers would get no farther than this: if they were found to be too sick, or for reasons that remained mysterious, they were turned away.  They were careful, because if the officials in New York sent them back, the steamship company would have to pay the fare.

 But G and Guiseppina and their children were allowed to board.  It was a big steamship with two smokestacks.  It was called America.

 There were many steamships called America over the years, from several different countries. This S.S. America was an Italian ship built in 1908 that made its maiden voyage from Genoa to New York in May 1909. It’s the same ship that brought Ignazio’s sister Anna Severini to America in 1914, also from Napoli.  It continued taking passengers from Europe to New York, including returning American soldiers after World War I.  Just two years after this 1922 crossing, the ship changed destinations to South America, and four years after that it was scrapped.

 More generally, G’s voyage in 1922 was very near to the end of an era that had begun at least thirty years before.  With the restrictions of the 1924 law, the ships full of immigrants soon stopped crossing the Atlantic.

 But now safely aboard and with one worry behind her, G. faced the voyage itself.  They were deep in the belly of the huge ship, and there were so many people.  The only light came through the tiny windows, but she did not like to look out, because the water was right there, and it seemed it would cover them over at any moment. G. did not trust the food, nor some of the people around them.  But Guiseppina helped with the baby, and Antoinetta played with her.

 Once on the nearly two week voyage G. wrapped Flora in a blanket and took her on deck to see the sky.  But the next day Flora was sick, and so there was another worry.  What if they didn’t let her into the country because her daughter was too sick?

 Then they arrived in New York Harbor, on November 1, 1922: The Feast of All Saints.  Some had gone on deck to see the Statue of Liberty. Then they approached their destination: Ellis Island.

 They all were herded off the ship and into even bigger buildings than in Napoli, as big as cathedrals.  There were many more people there, all talking different languages.  

 

The building was cold, and they stood in line to be examined again by doctors.  Everyone was frightened because if they did not pass they would have to go back.  G. was worried about Flora.  If they were sent back, she might get worse on the return trip.  Their money would be gone, and they would be separated again from her husband by an ocean of a size she now knew too well.

 As they stood, they watched the people in front of them being examined.  They saw that some people had an x marked in chalk on their clothes.  Some worried when they did not get the x, but G. guessed that the x was bad, and she was right.  Those were the people who had to go back. 

They got to the front of the line, were quickly examined and the doctors passed them.  Now there was another line, and at the end of that would be Ignazio, there to vouch for her so she and Flora could stay.

 But again she was worried because some said the boat had arrived early.  And when she got to the official who looked at her papers, no one was waiting.  She had seen Guiseppina and Antoinetta ahead of them in another line, and her husband Raffaele Severini standing with them. He lived in a city nearby, and could come to Ellis Island every day to see if her ship was arriving.

 She watched the official carefully.  As he looked at her papers he frowned.  He was not going to let her in.  She did not know why. 

Then another official came.  He spoke Italian.  He told the first official that her husband was here.  Without him, she would be turned away.  She thought it was a miracle.

 But Ignazio was still in Greensburg.  The man ready to sign for her was Raffaele Severini, Guiseppina’s husband.  The first official looked at his identification, with the same last name as hers.  He passed them through.  They had landed in America.

 G. and Flora went to Newark with her cousin’s family, to send Ignazio a telegram saying she had arrived.  G. learned that it had been Guiseppina’s idea that Raffaele pose as her husband.  There were so many people in so many lines that he was able to sign as the husband of two women.  Besides, to them, all Italians looked alike.

 Ignazio arrived in Newark the next day, looking very handsome in his new raincoat, tailored suit and his beret.  But Flora would not let him touch her mother.  She screamed at him in the Italian of Manoppello: “Get away from my mother!  Don’t stand so close to my mother! I don’t want to see you here, you frog face!”  This was a story G. told. 

Harrison Ave. Greensburg

They took the train, past the wide farm fields of central Pennsylvania, through the mountains and around the Horseshoe Curve outside Altoona, to the giddy hills of Greensburg, with trees everywhere, all along the tracks. It was most of a day’s travel. They got off at the bustling Greensburg train station, very near the tailor shop where Ignazio worked.

 By American standards, Greensburg was an old town. There is evidence of Native Americans living in the area for thousands of years.  The Lenni Lenape (Delaware), the most prominent in this part of western Pennsylvania when Europeans first arrived, were relative newcomers.  The town itself was settled by these European transplants before the American Revolution, a place of inns and taverns a day’s ride on horseback from Ligonier to the east and Pittsburgh to the west.  The young George Washington made that ride, and helped establish that road.

 Incorporated just after the Revolution and named after one of its generals, Nathaniel Greene, Greensburg became the county seat for Westmoreland County, the last county established by the British government in the United States.  There had been a regular stagecoach stop just across the street from where the train station was now.  A hotel was built there before the Civil War, and a hotel was still there in 1922, the Lincoln Hotel. 

The town, and especially this part of the downtown, was still growing.  Much of that was due to the railroad.  The Pennsylvania Railroad carved out its roadbed and started service in 1852.  Soon it was linked to the rest of the state, and then the rest of the country. Hauling freight, carrying away the region’s coal and coke, and bringing passengers, the railroad still dominated in 1922. It was in that year that hundreds of people lined the Greensburg tracks to watch the latest demonstration of the railroad’s power: the largest train of locomotives to travel across the United States, a total of fifty steam engines.

 As Ignazio and his family got off the train at the large and ornate Greensburg station, opened just ten years before, they likely could see just outside of it on Harrison Avenue, across the way from the Lincoln Hotel, a much larger hotel under construction, the Penn Albert. It would be eleven floors tall, and after it opened in 1923 it would be a center for community events and entertainment, with its meeting rooms, the Crystal Room ballroom and Chrome Room restaurant, and the Roof Garden for music, dancing and big events.  Many years later, one of those events would be the wedding reception of their son.

And these were not the only hotels nearby.  There was the Hotel Rappe about a block away—it was almost as large as the Penn Albert—the old Cope Hotel, and soon there would be the Keystone Hotel.  

Hotel Rappe, later Greens-
burger & General Greene

At the other end of Harrison Avenue, past the Merchant’s Hotel, the heart of Greensburg’s commercial downtown began.  There were big banks and the county Court House. A new department store called Troutman’s was opening next year, where the old Hotel Zimmerman was. There was McCrory’s five-and-ten and other shops. All of that promised a steady stream of customers for the tailor shop, though it was by no means the only tailor shop in the downtown.  But it was the closest to the railroad station and the hotels.

 The house on Hamilton Avenue where they were first to live was on the western side of Greensburg, near the crest of a hill and a corner of Pittsburgh Street, a major road to downtown. G. must have been pleased to learn that St. Anthony’s, a Catholic Church that served mostly the Italian community, was a short walk away.  

 Ignazio, Gioconda and Flora lived there with Ignazio’s sister and her family for about a year. Their second child was born in Greensburg, on July 28, 1923.  She was baptized Antoinette Marie Severini.  Shortly after her birth, the family moved to a house on nearby Vannear Avenue, which was close to the Westmoreland Hospital on Pittsburgh Street.

 Though they were in a new country with a new language to learn, and they faced the possibility of some hostility and prejudice against immigrants and Italians, they were also surrounded by relatives and friends, and generally people from Manoppello who spoke the same language, the same dialect, with each other.  There were also Italian clubs and lodges organized for social events, education and mutual support, and their numbers were growing. 

Picnic 1957 of lifelong friends: Carmen DePaul,
G., Mrs Armelia De Paul, Vince Di Pasquale,
Mary Di Pasquale.  Ignazio taking the photo.

The relatives and friends from Manoppello saw each other frequently.  They were working and starting families but they were still young.  When G. arrived in Greensburg she was 26.  Ignazio was 29. Years later Vince DiPasquale recalled the fun they all had, on picnics and outings and in each other’s homes.  Often their get-togethers would include playing musical instruments, singing and dancing.  Ignazio—Natz to his friends—played guitar and mandolino.

 Besides Vince Di Pasquale and his wife Mary, they remained close for years to several other families including Carmen and Armelia DePaul, and Rocco and Chiarina (Clara) Mazzaferro.  

Armelia De Paul was born in Manoppello, and her maiden name was Gloria—the same last name as Ignazio Severini’s mother—so there was likely a blood relationship.  She was born in 1896, and arrived in the U.S. in February 1924.  Carmen--originally Carmine DiPaolo-- came from Polla in southwest Italy in 1913. 

 Rocco Mazzaferro was born in Manoppello in 1893, and arrived in Greensburg in 1910.  Chiarina (Clara) Mariani came from Manoppello in 1919, aboard the Dante Alighieri.  They married and had a daughter in 1934, Angelina, who would often be in the Severini home.  Gioconda Severini may have been her godmother.  Rocco was a tailor who eventually had a shop on Otterman Street in Greensburg.

  The Severini family was probably still living on Vannear Avenue when G.’s father Carlo Iezzi suddenly appeared.  He stayed with them while he opened a shoemaker shop in a little village nearby called Red Dog (probably the village of Edna in Hempfield Township), where there was a coal mine. Many Italians lived there.  It was called Red Dog because its streets were paved with the crushed stones that came out of the fires the miners made to purify the coal.  The stones were pink and black and red.  They were used to pave other roads, and even to make bocce ball courts.

 One day in 1927 Carlo returned and said that he had sold his shop and had lots of money, and he wanted to take Antoinette to the movies. She was four. But G. didn’t trust his drinking.  So he went out alone and didn’t come home that night, or the next. 

Then Ignazio read in the paper that a man named Charlie Nezzi had been found badly injured on the railroad tracks under one of the bridges in Greensburg—the Main Street or Maple Avenue bridges.  He thought it might be Carlo and called the hospital. 

 The hospital said that the man had died. Another man had been with him, but they didn’t know if Carlo fell from the railroad bridge, jumped or was pushed. They knew he had been drinking. He had lived for a while after he’d been brought in, but no one could understand him, to find out where he lived.  Sometimes he spoke English, sometimes Italian, sometimes French.  Carlo had been back and forth to Quebec, and some of his friends called him Frenchy. 

 Natz told G., and she called her sister Prosperina, who lived in Greensburg.  She was married to Giuseppe—now Joseph—Romasco.  They had three girls: Mary (1922), Jenny (1924) and Stella (1926). They would have a boy, Louis, in 1929, and another daughter, Joann, in 1931.  Prosperina called herself Pearl now, but G. continued to use her Italian name.

 G. wanted Prosperina to go with her to the hospital, to identify their father’s body.  Prosperina refused until G. got angry, and finally she agreed.  They went together but when it came time to go down to the morgue, G. had to go alone. 

They went down flights of stairs to the hospital’s basement.  G. was taken to a body that was under a white sheet, with one arm dangling down.  She knew immediately it was Carlo.  She knew it was her father’s hand.

 But the doctor and another man there insisted she could not identify him officially unless she looked at his face.  Finally she allowed them to pull back the sheet.  The next thing she knew she was sitting on the floor, with the doctor looking at her as the other man held her up.  She had passed out and swallowed her tongue.

 Despite the uncertainty about how he died, Carlo Iezzi was buried in the Catholic Cemetery in Greensburg.

 In 1928 Ignazio Severini was able to buy a small house at 637 Stone Street, not far away on the western side of Greensburg, with a $100 down payment.  It was valued at $3,000.

 Stone Street was a short, quiet street of houses.  Across a large field was Grove Street, which shortly intersected with Hamilton Avenue, but this was some distance south from where they had first lived with Ignazio’s sister.  At Grove and Hamilton, looking west just beyond the new Sacred Heart School (it opened in 1922), there was a creek and a steep hill with nothing on it but dandelions and trees.  It was where the city of Greensburg ended.  G. would take Flora and Antoinette up that hill to pick dandelions for salads. 

Flora Severini, First Communion

Flora was around eight years old when they moved to Stone Street and just beginning school. It’s likely that she attended the Fifth Ward public school on Spring Street, just a few blocks away, at the corner of Grove St.  Antoinette would be of grade school age before they moved again, so she may have gone there briefly.

 But within a few years from their move to Stone Street, there would be new challenges arising from events and forces far beyond Greensburg.  After the New York stock market crash in the fall of 1929, the American economy began to weaken until by 1931 President Herbert Hoover was talking about “a great depression” taking hold.  When corporations lost stock value they invested less, stopped expanding and eventually cut production.  Families cut their spending, to ride out the temporary downturn.  But it only kept getting worse.  Banks failed (over 5,000 of them by 1932) so people lost their savings, and businesses could not get loans.  People lost their jobs. Businesses closed.  Some people lost their homes, and some went hungry. 

Johnstown 1934

In the early 1930s, all this was in plain view for everyone to see.  But the numbers remain staggering. In just three years, the US went from a 3.2% unemployment rate in 1929 to nearly 25% in 1932. Pennsylvania was hit especially hard, with an unemployment rate at 37% in 1933.  In places like Johnstown it was closer to 50%.

 Every kind of job was hit. One of the first was construction, which dropped nearly a third in 1930, and nearly another third in 1931.  Manufacturing was not far behind: US Steel cut wages in September 1931, and cut them again in the spring of 1932.  Between 1927 and 1933, Pennsylvania lost 270,000 manufacturing jobs.

 Westmoreland County had a diversified economy, but parts of it were troubled even before the Depression took hold.  Coal and coke production had been declining in the 1920s, so a combination of played-out mines, resistance to unions and then a drop in demand in the 1930s saw 40% of the remaining mines close.

 Much of Westmoreland County was farm country, and that included Hempfield Township, which completely surrounded Greensburg.  But farm income generally had been falling for years. The Depression made it worse.  There was plenty of food, and no money to buy it.  Farmers couldn’t sell overseas—there was Depression in Europe, too, and by 1931 the European banking system had collapsed.  

Unemployment line Pittsburgh
1933

The result was human suffering and uncertainty. In Sept 1932 Fortune magazine estimated that there were 34 million American men, women and children without any income at all, 28% of the population, and this study did not include 11 million farm families. By 1932 some 270,000 families had been evicted from their homes. In 1932, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania was trying to respond to some 324,000 families seeking relief—the highest number in the US. 

Those with the least income—and the last workers hired, like the black steelworkers of Pittsburgh—suffered first, and worst.  But the middle class was not exempt: across the US, teachers, nurses, ministers, engineers and middle managers were among those sleeping in parks, or living in tents with their families. 

A million men were jumping onto to trains, piling into boxcars, and riding the rails back and forth across the country in permanent transit.

 People were desperate, and some did desperate things, adding to the sense of a world spinning out of control. There were many instances of people organizing to fight back, regardless of legality.  Farmers in every part of the country stopped bank auctions of their neighbors’ farm equipment. In the Allegheny County borough of Rankin, members of the Unemployed Council halted a sheriff’s sale of the furniture of an unemployed man and his daughter by disarming a police officer, keeping out bidders while they themselves bought all the furniture for a total of 24 cents, and then returned it to the owner.  In Wilkinsburg, adjacent to Pittsburgh, another Unemployed Council seized a Duquesne Light truck to prevent it from shutting off power to an apartment building.

 1932 is considered one of the worst years of the Great Depression, if not the very worst.  So it was not an ideal time to be starting a business.  Yet it is likely that 1932 was the year in which Ignazio Severini started his.

 It is true however that the Depression also provided opportunities.  Such an opportunity arose for Ignazio when, in nearby Youngwood, the town’s only tailor went out of business.  

Gioconda Severini

According to Gioconda Severini, the person who talked to him about it was Domenick Gelfo.  It’s not clear how the two men met, though it was likely through one Italian-American organization or another.  Gelfo had arrived in America in 1907 from his birthplace of Vilarosa in Sicily. 

 By 1930 (and probably earlier), he and his wife Carmilla were living in Youngwood. Carmilla would become one of Gioconda’s close friends. They had three sons: Samuel, Joseph and Eugene. Their first child had been Angelina, born in 1916, who died six months later.  On October 3, 1920 they had another daughter they named Angeline.  She would become Flora’s best friend.  They’d been born 20 days apart. 

 In the early 1930s, Domenick was moving his barber shop from his home at 207 Depot Street in Youngwood, to a building he bought in the middle of the next block at 313 Depot Street.  There was room in the building on the ground floor for a tailor shop as well.   Domenick would even give Ignazio free rent for awhile. 

 The Sons of Columbus had established their A & B Club in Youngwood as both a social club and a mutual support (the initials stood for either Americanization and Beneficial or Association and Beneficial, depending on who you asked.)  Domenick suggested that they would probably provide Ignazio with a loan to buy the equipment the previous tailor left behind.  The price would likely be low.

 Youngwood was a much smaller place than Greensburg, just six miles away.  Only about 3,000 people lived there, while 16,000 or so lived in Greensburg.  But still, Youngwood needed a tailor, and Italians in nearby places might be attracted to a tailor who speaks their home language. 

 At that time Ignazio may have lost his job in Greensburg when the tailor shop closed, partly because the owner died.  Though the 1930 Census confirms that in that year he owned their home on Stone Street, he subsequently may have lost that as well.

  G. recalled that he was riding streetcars to McKeesport to work in a tailor shop there. But at least he was working, so starting his own shop would be taking a risk. Ignazio talked it over with G. They’d always planned that he would have his own tailor shop, and here it was.  

There is a photograph of Ignazio in his shop published in Youngwood many years later that dates the photo at 1929.   This so far is the only evidence that he’d opened the shop by then, and there is more evidence to the contrary.  According to the U.S. Census, Ignazio was a tailor working as a “wage or salary worker” in 1930 rather than self-employed or a business owner.  That suggests he hadn’t opened his shop yet, especially since his 1940 Census form said that by then he was “working on his own account,” which was Census code for self-employed. 

  The more plausible date for the opening of the Severini tailor shop in Youngwood is 1932 (give or take a year), since according to Domenick’s daughter, her father opened his new barber shop in that building in 1932.

 It’s not a quibble, because the difference is that most of 1929 was before the Depression, but 1932 was in the thick of it, and Ignazio was taking a bigger chance.  In any case, he was certainly in business during the worst years of the Depression.

     One important event in the Severini family definitely took place that year of 1932: the birth of Ignazio and G.’s son Carl on January 27.  He was their third and last child.

 A few important national events in 1932 might also be mentioned.  That spring, thousands of American World War I veterans gathered in Washington, D.C. to petition Congress to pay them now the war bonus they’d been promised for 1945, because they were in desperate straits.  They remained there in makeshift encampments, many with their families, through the summer.  The press covered the story extensively, dubbing them the Bonus Army.  This may have attracted Ignazio’s attention.  As a World War I veteran himself,  he may have been interested in the fate of his American counterparts.

 Things were at an impasse in late July, with Congress failing to provide the bonus and with President Hoover opposed to it. It was then that a police officer trying to clear away a crowd from the entrance to the Treasury Department panicked and shot a veteran dead.  Hoover called out the Army to settle things down.  Instead, General Douglas MacArthur decided to make war on the Bonus Army. 

MacArthur, with his officers including Major Dwight D. Eisenhower and Major George Patton, deployed tanks and tear gas, routing the veterans and burning down their camps with gasoline.  Patton led a cavalry charge with drawn sabers against unarmed men, women and children.  In a deadly irony pointed out by historian William Manchester, among those that Patton’s attack routed was a World War I veteran decorated for saving the life of Patton himself.  Though newspaper stories of the day tended to support the government line that the Army had thwarted dangerous criminals and radicals, Hoover never recovered his political reputation.

 After the rout, the Army rounded up Bonus Army participants and their families, put them into trucks and drove them west on the Lincoln Highway, Route 30, with an undetermined destination.  But the Mayor of Johnstown, Pennsylvania, offered the marchers a park where they could set up a new encampment.  So just beyond Jennerstown, where Route 30 climbs steeply up Laurel Hill and trucks slowed in low gear, hundreds jumped off the back of the trucks.  Many made their way to Johnstown, while others presumably straggled into Ligonier and Latrobe and other western Pennsylvania towns.  Those who remained on the trucks would pass through Greensburg (where there was more opportunity to jump off) on the way to Ohio and points west.

 Also in 1932, the baby boy of aviators Charles Lindbergh and Anne Morrow Lindbergh was kidnapped from his crib in an upper floor of their estate.  A ransom note was found, a ransom was paid, but two months after the kidnapping, the boy’s body was discovered.  The story was covered extensively in newspapers and magazines and on radio. With her own infant son asleep in his crib, this may have attracted G’s attention.  But for certain, among those who followed it avidly was 12 year old Flora Severini, who never forgot it.  

Then in November came the historic 1932 presidential election, with President Hoover the Republican candidate for re-election, and New York Governor Franklin D. Roosevelt the Democratic candidate.   In local elections, newly naturalized Italians often voted with the ruling majority of their time and place, or for the candidates supported by their employers (usually Republican), because (as was often the case in the coal patches) their jobs might depend on it.

 In presidential elections, Italians had generally supported the Republican candidate until things began to change in 1928, when the Democrats ran Al Smith, the first Catholic to be nominated by a major party. His campaign was met in Oklahoma by the anti-Catholic Ku Klux Klan.  But among primarily Catholic Italians that 1928 candidacy began their move to the Democrats that became a majority in 1932 for FDR. Nevertheless, when FDR won the presidency in a landslide in 1932, Pennsylvania was one of only six states he didn’t win.

 President Roosevelt took office in March 1933. By the end of the year the new administration made many changes. Price supports began improving farmers’ incomes.  Rules for businesses and industries, a minimum wage and protections for workers (including a ban on child labor) were increasing profitability and incomes.  The federal government started projects to get electrical power to rural areas.

 The government supported relief efforts in all the states and began public works on what today is called infrastructure.  An early example was probably the Greensburg Post Office building on Pennsylvania Avenue, erected in 1911, which was essentially doubled in size and modernized in 1934-5.  It later become the Greensburg-Hempfield Public Library.

 Also by the end of the year the federal government increased confidence in the banking system by guaranteeing deposits for the first time.  Even by the spring the banking system was stabilized and working again while the country began moving away from the gold standard (I recall G. telling me that when the government called in the last gold dollars, Ignazio kept a few as souvenirs.  To my knowledge, they never turned up.  But I do remember that for gifts he often gave silver dollars.)

 So by the end of 1933, even though the Depression still gripped the nation, things were looking up.  But there were other changes as well.  The growth from immigration that had characterized Italian communities in the U.S. since the late 19^th century came to a dead stop in the 1930s.  The ships carrying thousands of Italians no longer sailed.  In fact, more people were leaving the U.S. than entering it.  That included Italians who returned home, where the money they earned in the U.S. would go farther, and family and social structures were better adapted to making do.

 But those who stayed were establishing themselves and their children in their communities.  Still, the support within the Italian community remained important, as did organizations like the A&B Society in Youngwood.

 According to G., for awhile after he’d opened his shop, Ignazio Severini supplemented his earnings by taking several streetcars into Pittsburgh a few days a week to do tailoring work there.  Otherwise, he was commuting by streetcar from Greensburg to his shop in Youngwood.  G. remembered meeting him at the streetcar stop at 5:30 each day, with her baby Carl in her arms, or later, holding his hand beside her.  They were followed both ways by their cat.

 But Ignazio worried about the snowy mornings when the streetcar tracks might be blocked and he couldn’t get to the shop.  Soon he began to look around for a place for them to live in Youngwood.  G. didn’t want to leave Greensburg but finally agreed when a house became available a short block from the tailor shop, across the street from the Gelfo residence. It was available because the store on the first floor facing the street had gone out of business. (This may or may not have been Jake Rueben's fruit market, which according to what Angeline Gelfo Miller remembered, was on this block but closed during the Depression.) The owner agreed to rent the house to them for $10 a month.

 Perhaps after a brief return to living with Ignazio’s sister’s family in their house on Hamilton Avenue (which had since been expanded), the Severini family moved in 1933 or 1934 for the last time, to 200 Depot Street in Youngwood. 

Walter Kowinski and His Family

 

Walter Kowinski 1944

According to Walter Kowinski and his brother William C. Kowinski, their family in America began with their grandfather, John Kowinsky.

 At least he was known to them as John Kowinsky, and their father calls him that in his 1942 draft registration, in naming him next of kin.  But there are various spellings in a trail of documents—not too unusual in reference to immigrants with long names, especially when customs agents and even Census workers were less than sympathetic.  There’s also the problem of translating names from another language.

 But judging by facts and relationships in common, he is probably the “John Kowicusky” in the 1920 Census, “John Korvensky” in the 1930 Census, and John Kowensk (or John Kowensky) in the 1940 Census.  He is even John Kowinski in an Ohio marriage record, and John Kolacinski on his death certificate.

 In these records, various facts—including birth date and year of immigration—also change slightly.  But based on extensive cross-referencing, supported by facts recollected by his grandson, William C. Kowinski, this is the best profile I can construct:

 He probably came to America, recorded as John Kolacinski, in the late 1880s, though I could find no record of his entry.  This also is not unusual, as many Polish immigrants of this era docked in Baltimore, and some of those records haven’t survived.   He may have been born as early at 1863 but at the time of his death his family settled on the date June 17, 1870.  So he was perhaps 18 when he arrived.

 He may have gone directly to the coal mines and coke ovens of Scottdale, Pennsylvania.  He may even have been recruited, as so many eastern Europeans were in the late 19^th century. American industries advertised for workers in Poland, and paid their fare to the U.S.  Western Pennsylvania was a major destination.  Pennsylvania as a whole had a higher number of Polish immigrant coal miners than any other state.

Frick Coal & Coke workers and families in Scottdale 1890

 In any case, he was in Scottdale by 1891, for the birth of his first child, John Joseph Kowinsky on May 12.  (He was probably calling himself John Kowinsky by then.)  He was working in the coke-making process in 1920, so he may have started here. Scottdale at that time was headquarters for the H.C. Frick Coke Company.  Coke was a prime substance used in manufacturing steel, made by heating bituminous coal in very hot ovens.  The process was pioneered in Fayette County, and the western Pennsylvania coal fields produced the most coke in the world, beginning in the late 19^th century. 

Mammoth Memorial in Mt. Pleasant PA

 John may well have been in Scottdale when an explosion in the nearby Mammoth mines in 1891 killed more than a hundred miners, mostly Polish, Hungarian and Italian immigrants.  It was one of the worst mining accidents in American history. Mammoth also included coke ovens, though not yet owned by Frick. 

 In March 1894, his daughter Anna (also called Anna Stacia or Anastasia) Kowinsky was born.  Her birthplace was either Scottdale or the nearby town of Everson, or in the Frick coal and coke company town of Mutual, Pa.   Her mother was Madeline Vishnovsky, listed as John Kowinsky’s spouse.

 John’s son, Frank Edward Kowinsky, was born on May 4, 1899—he would become Walter (and William C.) Kowinski’s father.  I could find no direct evidence of the name of Frank’s mother.

 William C.—my Uncle Bill-- believes his grandfather John was married twice.  At some point he married a woman named Josephine (she is attributed several last names, including Vozniak and Lujack) and with her he had at least two children: Agnes Louise in 1905 and Marie Elizabeth in 1906. 

(Josephine’s name of Lujack may explain the family connection my father was told we had to Johnny Lujack, the star quarterback for Notre Dame and the Chicago Bears in the 1940s and 50s, and later a sports announcer. He grew up in Connellsville, PA.)

 The history of John Kowinsky's fatherhood gets more complicated, however.  In 1891, in addition to John Joseph Kowinsky (born in May), he is recorded as the father of Frank Godzinsky (or Gedzinsky), born in August.  He is father to Anna (born March 1894) and Victoria (November 1894.)  Then he is the father to Rose Gedzinsky in 1896.

So either he fathered several of these children by different mothers in the same year, or there are adoptions involved, possibly of the offspring of other family members still in Eastern Europe.

  There is some circumstantial evidence for adoption, at least of Frank Alex Godzinsky, who on several forms claims to have been born in Poland (or Russia) and to have arrived in America in 1892. One document names his father as Joseph Godzinsky.  But at other times he is said to have been born in the U.S. Most forms name August 26, 1891 as his birth date. In any case, John Kowinsky evidently claimed him as a son, and in the newspaper death notice of Frank Godzinsky in 1965, John’s other surviving children were listed as his sisters and brothers. The same was true of Victoria's obituary; her married name was Rosky.

 However, William C. believes that Rose Gedenski-- born in August 1896 in Connellsville--was John’s daughter, and his father Frank Kowinsky’s half-sister.  

   

John’s 1920 Census form states he was a coke drawer (the person who draws the coke out of the ovens) at the Frick Coke Company’s coke works in United, Pa., and lived in rented company housing.  He is a naturalized U.S. citizen, able to read and write.  His native tongue is Polish.  By this time, he is married to Josephine. 

 By the 1930 Census he is in his 60s and essentially retired, living with his wife in the household of his son-in-law Mike Kochis, and daughter Marie.  They had married in 1910. (Rose married Mike’s brother, Steve Kochis, a miner.)  The Mike Kochis home was in United, Pennsylvania, a coal patch company town near Mt. Pleasant. John and Josephine are still in the Kochis home in 1940.  Their census form adds that John can speak English and that he had a partial elementary school education.

 John Kowinsky died at home in United in January 1949, leaving 26 grandchildren and 19 great grandchildren, of which I am one.  His death certificate called him John Kolacinski, age 79. He had been a member of the nearby St. Stanislaus Catholic Church; his funeral Mass was held there, and he was buried in the church cemetery.  His wife Josephine had died in 1941.

 But where was John born?  As our Severini family came from Manoppello, where did our Kowinski family come from?

 John spoke Polish, and on most forms, Poland is designated as his birthplace.  But where in Poland?  The question is complicated by the fact that in the late 19^th century, in the midst of large-scale immigration to the U.S., there was no actual nation of Poland anymore.  Its lands had been divided by more powerful nations and empires, namely Austria, Prussia and Germany. Eventually some of Poland was absorbed by Russia as well.  Even when Poland became a country again, borders kept changing, so that cities and towns could have been within different countries at different times. 

Many Poles who fled to North America in these decades came from the region of Galacia in the Austrian partition of what is now southern Poland, where poverty and oppression were particularly severe.  An estimated 800,000 Poles from this region came to the United States.  (U.S. Census records show a different John Kowinski, who emigrated in 1913 from Galicia, and was a laborer in the Chicago stock yards.)

 But the few clues in available records point in a different direction.  John’s birthplace in the 1920 Census is named as “Germany, Poland.”  John gave that same answer to the birthplaces of his parents (elsewhere he indicates that his father’s name was also John.)  Several of his children provide that same combination of Germany/Poland when asked about their father’s origins.

 The German Empire in the late 19^th century included East Prussia in northern Poland, with its Polish population.  The German Empire also encompassed the Prussian Province of Silesia in southern Poland, which had been (and is again) part of Poland. German-controlled Silesia produced the earliest mass emigration.  Prussia had gone to war with France, and the Poles supported the French.  In retaliation, Prussia began “Germanization” of the region.  Poles were being deliberately driven out, while there was widespread poverty and starvation among the Polish peasants. Large-scale emigration from Silesia began in the 1870s.  

Darker area is Silesia in today's Poland

Silesia also is notable for its coal industry, first exploited by the German occupiers.  The oppression continued and even worsened in the region’s later history.  Polish Silesia was the first area entered by Nazi German troops that began World War II, and it was where the Nazis began their program of genocide, targeting Jews and ethnic Poles, all of whom they considered inferior.

 There are a few other tantalizing clues that suggest either Silesia or East Prussia as the origin point. One is the inclusion on John’s 1920 Census form of “Johan Kawiecki” as an alternate name.  The name Johann Kawicki turns up as a resident of the “Eastern Prussian Province, Germany (Poland.)”  There may be no direct connection, but it is suggestive.

 Then there’s John’s daughter, Anna (Anna Stacia, Anastacia) Kowinsky, who filled out a Social Security form (when she was married to Andy Sulkowsky after 1911) using the name “Annastacia Cowiinsky.” It could  be a misspelling, but the Ancestry robot brings up another name:  Casmira Anastasia Cywinski, of East Prussia.  That in turn could be a coincidence, but if Anastasia is an old family name—and first names tend to get repeated within families through these years—it could suggest another possible origin point, especially as Anna was John’s eldest daughter, perhaps with more knowledge of family history.

 These speculations don’t narrow things down very much, especially since East Prussia in the north (with its ports and cities) and Silesia in the south of Poland are very different kinds of places.  In historical terms, Silesia seems the more likely origin point, but there may be more to be discovered.

 Regardless of where the Polish ancestors came from,  the family that came to be known as Kowinski began in America in the coal mining communities of western Pennsylvania.  This was true for John Kowinsky’s generation, as it would be for the generation of his son, Frank Edward Kowinsky.

 Many of these mining towns were within what’s called the Connellsville Coal Field in Westmoreland County.  These were “coal patch” towns, worker housing built and owned by the coal company. 

 Coal mining was a brutal occupation, and depended on the vagaries of production, price and demand.  Mines could suddenly cut back or close for a period, and miners were forced to move on to another mine to work.  Eventually mines and coke ovens would close permanently (beginning as early as the 1920s), and that town would lose its major source of livelihood.  So it was not unusual for miners to move from town to town.

 According to William C. Kowinski, his father Frank was born in the coal and coke town of Tarrs, Pennsylvania, an unincorporated coal mining and coke- producing town near Mt. Pleasant in Westmoreland County.   On his 1942 draft registration, Frank named another coal patch—Mutual, Pa.—as his birthplace.  He also gave his birth year as 1900 (and in the 1940 Census, as around 1901), but on his death certificate, his birth date reads May 2, 1899.

Humphreys

 For both the 1930 and 1940 Census, Frank named his occupation as miner.  In his 1942 draft registration he wrote that he was employed by the Humphreys Coal and Coke Company.  His older brother, John Joseph Kowinsky, also worked at the Humphreys mine, and lived in the mining town of Marguerite.

 Back in 1920, on December 29, Frank Kowinsky had married Catherine Cecilia Ellis ( her name was sometimes spelled Katharine or Kathyrn.)  She was Walter’s mother, and the mother of his siblings.  Thanks to the research compiled by William W. Smith (an Ellis descendant), a little more is known about Catherine’s prior family than is known about her husband’s.

 Catherine’s father was John Illas, born in 1867 somewhere in the Austria-Hungary empire.   He married a woman from Romania named Mary Tkracz in 1891. (The Tkracz family name “can be traced back many centuries,” Smith wrote, “to its origin in the city of L’vov, in Western Ukraine.”  The Illas name is more elusive, but it may be a variation of other Slovak or Hungarian names.) According to a granddaughter, John Illas could speak Hungarian, Slovak and Polish, at least well enough to teach her to count in each language. 

John Illas arrived in America through the port of Baltimore in 1893, probably on a ship from a German port. He also may have been approached by a coal company recruiter, either in Europe or upon arrival.  In any case, he soon began work at a Hecla mine in Trauger, which is in Mt Pleasant Township, Pennsylvania. The Hecla mines were operated by the Thaw and Dorsey Coal and Coke Company until 1906, when they were taken over by the H.C. Frick Coal and Coke Company.

  By 1896, he had made enough money to send for his wife and two children, John and Christine. Their subsequent four children were born in the US, including Catherine Cecilia, who was born in Trauger on March 21, 1902.  By this time the family had changed its name to Ellis.

 (This would not be the last time John Illas/Ellis changed his name.  After his wife Mary died in 1928, John answered an advertisement for a handyman at a Michigan farm, and started a new life, complete with a new name.  In 1930 he married the daughter of the farm’s owner, Johanna Kutney, using the name of John Aller.  His last child, Antonia, was born in 1931, when he was 64.  He died three years later, as John Aller.)

  But in 1918, John Ellis was working at the nearby Calumet mine. The family was listed in the 1920 census as living in the United District of Mt. Pleasant Township. The Calumet and United, PA mines were working in conjunction. 

Though coal and coke dominated this landscape, the area also had an earlier history. Indian paths crisscrossed Pennsylvania by the 1700s, and the town of Mt. Pleasant grew at the crossroads of two of them: Glades Path (which later became Route 31) and Nemacolin’s Path (widened and extended by the Delaware Nation chief Nemacolin and then used by British General Braddock to build the Braddock Road during the French and Indian War of 1755.)  This early history is probably reflected in the name of Calumet, which is a French word that came to denote the Indian peace pipe.

 This also was the area visited by the preeminent geologist Charles Lyle from England in 1826 to examine fossils found on a farm near Marguerite, proving that air-breathing reptiles had existed much earlier than previously believed.

 Frank and Catherine’s 1920 marriage was officially registered in Cumberland, Maryland.  Walter, their first child, was born on December 10, 1921 in Boswell, PA, a coal town in Somerset County, now part of the Johnstown metropolitan area.  His official name was given as Walter Xavier Kowinski.  He was baptized at St. Stanislaus church in Boswell as Ladislaus Kowinski on December 18 by Rev. W. Finke, with J. Kridasik and Elizabeth Dedyk listed as sponsors. “Laudislaus” is a Slavic name, used in Hungary, Poland and Austria, for example.

 Walter’s birth and baptism in Boswell suggests the family was living there at the time, and the nature of the town suggests that Frank Kowinsky was employed there.  The mine at Boswell, Orenda Mine #1, was large and productive at the time.  In 1920, it had the largest coal tipple (a structure used to load coal onto railroad cars) in the world.

  Frank Kowinsky, his wife and son were likely in Boswell during the coal strikes of 1922.  With harsh conditions, long hours, bad pay, no benefits, and miners forced to rent company housing and buy from the company store, unionization and strikes had previously occurred in separate mining areas throughout in the country since the late 19^th century. 

The Westmoreland County coal strike of 1910-1911—also known as the Slovak Strike because more than two-thirds of the miners were Slovak—involved 65 mines and 15,000 coal miners.  As would happen again, mine owners used private police and thugs as well as the state and local police and courts to break the strike, which they did, with defeat for the miners. Sixteen miners or members of their family were killed.

 The miners were more successful when the United Mine Workers called a national strike in 1919, in which approximately 100,000 Pennsylvania miners participated.  The strike resulted in a 14% wage increase for miners.

 When owners threatened to reduce wages in 1922, United Mine Workers called for strikes by union members on April 1.  Non-union mines continued to operate, but miners in Jerome in Somerset County also went on strike, to unionize.  This strike spread to Boswell on April 17, and lasted for 16 months.

strikers in Scranton PA 1922

 Meanwhile, John Illas/Ellis was working in the Hecla Number 3 mine, apparently a union mine when the United Mine Workers 1922 strike was called.  William Smith interviewed members of Catherine Ellis’ family who recalled this strike, or heard stories from their parents.  When the strike began, miners families—including theirs—were evicted from their company-owned homes.  The union supplied tents and some financial support.  They subsisted on garden vegetables, soup and noodles.  When winter came and the tents were too cold, the Ellis family moved into an abandoned pool room, which they shared with another family. 

 Violence also accompanied this strike.  Company towns were considered private property, and company police prevented residents from leaving, and screened others who wanted to get in.  The union settled in the spring, but this only prevented wages from being cut.

 In that spring of 1923, John Ellis found work at the Calumet mine, and the family moved there.  Also in 1923, the Frank Kowinsky family moved to United, PA,  another coal patch town in Mt. Pleasant Township near the Calumet mine.  The United mine had been opened and the worker housing and general store built by the United Coal and Coke Company, formed by a group of Greensburg businessmen in 1881.  By 1895, the H.C. Frick company had taken control of the operations at United, as it did in Calumet and elsewhere in the Connellsville Coalfield.  Walter grew up in United.

 Also in 1923, Frank and Catherine Kowinsky had their second child, son Frank Edward Kowinski Jr., born in United.  He became known there by the nickname “Bugs.” Their third son, William Charles Kowinski, was born in United in 1925, and their fourth child and only daughter, Beatrice, was born in 1928.  They all grew up in United.

 The 1930 U.S. Census lists Frank Kowinsky as a coal miner, living in a rented house with his wife (listed as Kathyrn) and four children: Walter, Frank, William and Beatrice. 

Post Office at United, PA 1935

The Depression years of the 1930s were particularly harsh in the coal patches of western PA.  A study by the American Friends Service Committee estimated that in “mining counties” of Pennsylvania, almost everyone suffered from malnutrition--nearly 90%.  The hardships were compounded by many of the Connellsville Coalfields mines closing in the years just before and during the Depression (Hecla mines in 1925, United in 1930 and the Calumet mines in the early 1930s.) 

 I know of only one aspect of Walter’s childhood: he built a crystal radio set using an old cigar box, although this might have been later, when he was a young man.  Building radios and otherwise tinkering with electronics remained a keen interest for much of his life. (The 1930 Census asked whether the household had a radio, and the answer was yes.) 

Walt is top row, second from left

Walter Kowinsky became one of 222 first year students at Hurst High School in September 1935.  He is pictured with the 1936-37 sophomore class in the 1937 Colophon yearbook.  This makes it likely that he graduated in 1939, the first in his family to finish high school.

 Shortly after that, Walt joined the Civil Conservation Corps, the CCCs: one of the first of FDR’s New Deal programs, eventually sending hundreds of thousands of young men (and some young women) to work in forests and parks, and on projects to stop soil erosion and prevent floods.  As governor of New York, President Roosevelt had instituted a similar but smaller-scaled program, and the federal program appears to have been his own idea.

 The first CCC camps opened in the spring of 1933. They were supervised by the Labor Department, but because of the need to organize and equip them in a short time, they were run by the U.S. Army.  Eventually there were some 300,000 CCC workers each year, for a total over 9 years of some three million participants in some 4,000 camps.

 Single young men between the ages of 18 and 25 (later expanded to 17-28) were eligible to be selected. (Later there were provisions for women, and as customary at the time, separate camps for Black members.  Contrary to some war movies, the U.S. Armed Forces were also segregated throughout World War II.)  Each member was provided with free food, clothing, shelter and medical care, and a monthly wage, most of which was sent home to their families.  Members served six month terms, and could re-enroll for up to a total of two years.

 Walt’s CCC unit worked in the Big Spring state park in central Pennsylvania, but it’s not clear how much he participated in the outdoor toil.  His 1940 Census form notes that his area of occupation is “reforestation,” but his job is “clerk.” 

Walt at his CCC camp 1940

Three surviving letters to Walter at his camp—two from his mother in United, one from a buddy in another CCC camp in the Laurel Highlands—tell us that he was near the end of a term in the spring of 1940.  He was posted near Blain in Perry County, central Pennsylvania.  His camp was designated as Company1382 S-111. This CCC camp of 200 young men opened in 1933, and closed in July 1941.

 Like other CCC camps, S-111 had its own baseball and basketball teams that played teams from other camps or local communities.  There was a camp newspaper.  Typically CCC camps offered an array of classes and instruction, ranging from basic literacy and math skills to forestry, bookkeeping and mechanical drafting.  Social skills and job-hunting skills were also taught. 

 Walter’s friend, evidently from United, was at Kooser Camp, S-99 in Somerset, PA.  His letter was mostly about young women he met and dated in Somerset, where he was careful to appear only in “civilian” clothes as there evidently some prejudice against CCC members. “You know ‘woodpeckers’ don’t rate in Somerset,” he wrote.  He mentions that his camp was hosting monthly dances, and that the camp had a lot of visitors, some to use their recreation hall.  He asks Walt if there had been forest fires in his area. He said they had six in one day, and he was one of the camp’s volunteers to fight one of them.

 Judging from his mother’s first letter in April, Walt was due to come home for a six day leave, and had to decide if he was remaining in Blain for the summer. His father said they would miss the money, which they were saving.  He was working (evidently at the Humphreys mine), but there were layoffs because of “dirty coal.”  “He’s so proud of you,” she wrote.  

Big Spring State Park

The second letter in May suggests Walt had made up his mind and was returning.  (The letter also says Walt’s father Frank was celebrating his 40^th birthday on May 4, which would make his year of birth 1900 rather than 1899.)

 Catherine’s affectionate letters had news of people they knew in United.  She mentions a “Crolick boy,” evidently also in the CCCs, who came home and visited the Humphreys mine in Unity Township, which was one of the few still operating (it closed in 1946.)  She writes that her husband Frank saw him there. 

She also passes along the address of “Uncle Steve” Ellis (her brother) in Holidays Cove, West Virginia. 

But much of the news in her letters is about housing. Evidently the homes in United owned by the company were being sold.  She names those buying their own house or the house of neighbors.  She worries that they may have to move out if someone buys their house.

 There are also references to “daddy’s dad”—John Kowinsky-- buying his house, though this is likely the house of his son-in-law Mike Kochis, with whom he had been living since at least 1930.  There’s also a reference to “Mother,” who must have been John’s wife Josephine. 

 Catherine also mentions “the homestead” and the houses there up for sale.  This is the nearby New Deal project originally called the Westmoreland Homestead.  In 1934 the federal government bought up about 1500 acres of farmland and built a small community of  homes with attached land, a cooperative dairy, a building for a small factory that made clothing, and farmland held in common. Local families, usually with an unemployed head of household, applied for one of these homes. Some 250 were accepted, broadly representing the diversity of the area.  They got a house with a garden and chicken coop, and a job, often at the cooperative farm or their garment factory.

 In 1937, when Eleanor Roosevelt visited, this had become the largest of 92 subsistence homesteads created by the New Deal.  Mrs. Roosevelt was reputedly a strong supporter who insisted that the homes include running water and indoor toilets, which the nearby coal patch housing didn’t have.  After her visit the community voted to name itself after her, combining the last syllables of her first and last names to create Norvelt.

 The homesteaders paid a small rent, and apparently beginning in 1940 were given the opportunity to buy their homes.  Eventually most of them did.  The name of Norvelt still exists as an official community for the U.S. Census, alongside its neighbor Calumet. 

 After federal support was withdrawn, the garment factory at Norvelt continued in business for some years.  When it closed, other businesses moved into the building, including one that employed Deborah Kowinski Boice, one of Frank Kowinsky’s granddaughters.

 Had Frank Kowinsky unsuccessfully applied for a place in the Westmoreland Homestead? This is another unanswered question.  Eventually however, the family did buy their house in United.

 In the 1940 Census form, Frank listed his occupation as “miner,” but he had worked only 13 weeks in 1939. 

 If Walter did leave the CCCs in 1940 when he was 19, he was soon accepted into another but lesser-known New Deal program, a work experience project under the National Youth Administration. Some 155,000 young men and women got job training and paid work.

 Walter was assigned to a project in South Charleston, West Virginia called Armor City.  The work and training were evidently more for industrial jobs than work in the woods.  The name itself suggests that it became work in national defense.  At the time, South Charleston had a large naval munitions plant, once visited by President Roosevelt.

 (Also living in Charleston at the time was his father’s older sister, Anna.  She was married to Alex Squirts, and according to my Uncle Bill Kowinski, they ran the Edwards Hotel there.) 

 A group photo shows Walt in an army-style uniform, with his tie tucked into his shirt, similar to his CCC photo. Like the CCC camp, Armor City had its own newspaper, the Armonian, but this time Walter Kowinski was its editor. 

One mimeographed and stapled edition survived. It described Armor City as a “self-governing community.” The newspaper had news, sports and humor, with pen and ink illustrations and cartoons.  In the news was the fund drive held by the Youth Government of Armor City to benefit the British War Relief Society. They collected enough money to buy a hospital bed and all its equipment, including blankets, water and instrument sterilizers, bedpans, wash basins, ether blankets, towels and medicine glasses. 

 On Flag Day in June 1941, the young people at Armor City heard a group of debaters from nearby Marshall college hold a panel discussion on the topic, "Shall We Enter the War?"  Six months later, they had an answer.  Japanese forces attacked the American naval base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii on December 7, destroying much of the Pacific fleet, and the US was shortly at war with the Axis powers of Japan, Germany and Italy.

 Walter registered for the draft in February of 1942.  By then he was living in Maryland, and working at the Middle River Aircraft plant in Baltimore.  He listed Glenn Martin as his employer.  Martin began the plant and is famous as the founder of Martin Aviation.  At the height of World War II, this aircraft manufacturer had 53,000 employees.

 Walt may have been called up at some point but failed the physical. The family story is it was because of color blindness.  But he also may have had a spinal deformity related to a bad fall as an infant. After growing up in the Depression, many young men failed the physical because of the effects of malnutrition or lack of needed medical care.  His brother Bugs also failed his physical.  Walt either inquired about or unsuccessfully applied to join the Merchant Marines.

 Walter was not alone in registering for the draft in early 1942: all American males ages 18-64 were required to do so by an Act of Congress on December 19,1941. Walt’s brother Bugs (Frank, Jr.) registered on June 30, 1942, when he was living in Braddock, PA, and working at the Edgar Thompson works, a steel mill owned by Carnegie Illinois Steel. Even Walter’s father Frank Kowinsky registered on February 10 in United.  

Kowinski family in 1943. Top left 2nd row is Catherine Ellis Kowinsky.  Squatting lower right in 
white shirt is her husband Frank Kowinsky.  Their son Walter Kowinski is sprawled at bottom.  His
sister Beatty is directly down from Catherine, in a similar dress.  Next to her with arms around
youngsters is their brother Bugs (Frank, Jr.).  Others in the photo include Catherine's brother
Charles and sister Ann next to her, and Margerie Ellis.

Walter was in Maryland in August 1943, when he was called home for the funeral of his mother. She had received treatments at Pittsburgh Women's Hospital for cancer resulting from poor medical care during childbirth.  Catherine Ellis Kowinsky died at home at the age of 41.  I recall my Uncle Bugs  saying that it hit Walter particularly hard.  But it would be Bugs who years later would fondly remember the aroma of his mother’s pies cooling in the window.

Walt's brother Bill suggests that it was Walt as a young adult who began spelling his last name with an "i" at the end instead of a "y."  His brothers then did the same. Bill didn't recall why, and when I had asked my father about the reason for this difference in spelling, his answer was vague and possibly evasive.  But from then on, it was Kowinski.   

 

Bill Kowinski, Seaman

Earlier in 1943, Walter’s youngest brother Bill Kowinski finished his second year of high school and joined the Navy in July, at the age of 17.   Bill told me that since both of his older brothers were found medically unfit for the armed services, he felt it was up to him.  He wanted to serve his country.

 After basic training at Great Lakes Naval Training Station in Illinois and further training at Pearl Harbor, he joined the crew of 2700 aboard the battleship USS Pennsylvania in September 1943. The Pennsylvania was classified as a super-dreadnought battleship, built in the first decade of the 20^th century.  It was too advanced to see action in World War I (it ran on scarce diesel fuel instead of coal) and by the time World War II began, it was limited by older technology, particularly radar.  But the Pennsylvania was used heavily to support troop landings, recon and other activities in the war in the Pacific with suppressing fire. It’s probably why, as Bill told me, this ship fired more rounds than any other in the history of war.  

Walt wasn't the only Kowinski boy interested in radios.  Bill had learned to fix radio sets, and on weekends in high school he made some extra cash repairing radios.  When he passed on this information to his superiors in the Navy, they put him to work fixing radio equipment on the Pennsylvania.

Bill had barely a month to get used to the ship when the Pennsylvania began shelling Makin Atoll, where it was under fire from Japanese planes, and shaken by an explosion on a smaller vessel nearby.  In January and February 1944, the Pennsylvania bombarded several of the Marshall Islands. After a memorable liberty in Australia in April, the ship began weeks of shelling various targets in Guam and other islands.

 In October 1944, the Pennsylvania was tasked with providing covering fire for activities in preparation for the assault on Leyte in the Phillippines. It was there, in the Suriago Strait, that the Pennsylvania was present and tangentially involved (chiefly anti- aircraft) in one of the decisive naval battles of the war, where US forces defeated and mostly destroyed the remnants of the Imperial Japanese Navy.

 The Pennsylvania returned to San Francisco in February for overhaul and training, probably preparing for the expected final assault on Japan itself, and didn’t leave again until July 1945.  After bombarding Wake Island, the ship arrived at Okinawa on August 12, as the flagship of Task Force 95.  Fighting had been going on for that island just 400 miles from Japan since April.  However, by the time the Pennsylvania arrived, the first atomic bomb had destroyed the city of Hiroshima in Japan on August 6, and another atom bomb obliterated Nagasaki on August 8.  Afterwards the US had communicated its terms for Japan’s surrender. 

 But the war was not officially over when a torpedo from a Japanese airplane ripped into the Pennsylvania at about 8 p.m. on its first night at Okinawa.  The explosions awoke seaman Bill Kowinski, catching a few hours of sleep before his midnight watch.  “From that moment on it was chaos,” he told a newspaper reporter in 2020.  He followed his orders—“You just wanted to do what you could to save the ship.” 

 There was a huge hole in the ship’s side, but that area was sealed off (at the cost of 20 lives, including those killed in the explosion) and the ship survived. Three days later, the war was officially over, so the Pennsylvania became the last major ship to be damaged by enemy fire in World War II.

 Temporary repairs began there and later in Guam, before the ship sailed for port in the state of Washington, USA. Meanwhile, a young communications officer was tasked with organizing the burial at sea of those who’d died.  His name was Johnny Carson, known until then for doing magic tricks and telling jokes to entertain the crew.  He was a funny guy, who claimed he once pranked an admiral.

 Bill was honorably discharged in February 1946.  That summer, the Pennsylvania was back in the Pacific (without him) as a floating guinea pig in the first postwar atomic bomb tests called Operation Crossroads, which began on the day I was born.

 Other members of both the extended Severini and Kowinski families were involved in the war effort.  For example, Jenny Romasco, daughter of Gioconda’s sister Pearl, was a secretary for the Quartermaster General at the Pentagon.  And as factory workers at Robershaw, Walter Kowinski and Flora Severini were doing war work.

 It was probably after his mother’s death in 1943 that Walter found a job at the Robertshaw plant in Youngwood, and met the dark haired Italian girl who shared her lunch with him.  

Walter Kowinski and Flora Severini 1945