Created and administered by William Severini Kowinski
Showing posts with label 1940s. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1940s. Show all posts

Monday, October 18, 2021

1940s: World's Fair to World War

 


In 1939 or 1940, Flora Severini traveled to The World of Tomorrow: the New York World’s Fair.

 She visited the Severini cousins in Newark, New Jersey—Giuseppina and her daughter Antoinetta—the relatives with whom she and her mother had traveled on the steamship America from Italy to New York Harbor in 1922.  She was two years old then, and Antoinetta was eight.  Now she was 19 and Antoinetta was 25.  

When she made the short trip from Newark to New York with Antoinetta, probably by train, Flora almost certainly was within that city’s borders for the first time since her voyage from Italy. A train from the Penn Station in Newark would likely stop at the Penn Station in Manhattan, and a subway on a new line, or a special train, could take from there to the Worlds Fair in the New York City borough of Queens.

 Spread over more than a thousand acres, the Worlds Fair opened in April 1939, and closed in October before reopening in April 1940. With its theme of “The World of Tomorrow,” this remains among the most celebrated World Fairs in history, but even at the time it was a famous event.  (New York would host another World’s Fair in 1964 on the same grounds; I would attend that one.)

 This Fair was big news. It was the cover story in Life Magazine the month before it opened, with a 16-page preview inside. It was on Life’s cover again the month after it opened, in May 1939. Collier’s and the Saturday Evening Post, as well as specialized publications from Household Magazine to Mechanix Illustrated had cover stories. 

The Fair’s symbols—outlines of the Trylon and Perisphere buildings—were seen on postage stamps and posters, roadmaps and brochures, tie clasps and rings, children’s games and women’s dresses, carpet sweepers and typewriters.  So it is little wonder that a pollster found that 90% of Americans surveyed wanted to visit it.  In its two seasons, a total of some 44 million people did. (The total U.S. population in 1940 was 132 million.)

 In the anxious drabness of the late Depression years, the Fair was a burst of light. “See the sun through the gray/It’s the dawn of a new day,” went lyrics to the World of Tomorrow song, as belted out by Ethel Merman. President Franklin D. Roosevelt opened the Fair, promising those who came that “they will find that the eyes of the United States are fixed on the future.” Among the opening day speakers was Albert Einstein.

 All that survives of Flora’s visit is a photograph of her  in front of the Lagoon of All Nations. So it isn’t known what attractions she experienced.  But we do know what was there.

 The Fair was centered on the slender Pylon, soaring 50 feet taller than the Washington Monument, and the balancing Perisphere, a globe with space enough inside for two Radio City Music Halls. Chrome doors at the foot of the Trylon opened to the longest escalator in the world, made of shining stainless steel and nearly silent, that moved upwards into the gleaming white interior of the Perisphere.

 Hundreds of buildings, thousands of exhibits fanned out from this dramatic center, in organized sections subtly marked with changing colors. Inside the Perisphere, under the tall blue dome, visitors stood on balconies to look down to a dramatic model of a landscape a hundred years in the future, in 2039.  A city of elegant tall buildings stood near a flowing river. Rolling countryside radiated out from it, dotted with towns and parks where people lived in bright modern homes, connected to the city and to factories by white ribbons of superhighway. A recorded voice told the story of Democricity, and projected faces floated over the scene as the music swelled.

 After Democricity, the most popular show at the Fair was Futurama in the streamlined General Motors Building. In its theatre, visitors sat in plush chairs, each with its own sound system. The chairs moved along a track flying over another vision of the future—this time depicting the much nearer future of 1960: Superhighways linked the entire nation. Cars were faster, more affordable and more comfortable. Superhighway travel was safe—lanes were banked and separated, lit at night by radiant strips, while traffic was controlled automatically to (as the narrator said) “make automobile collisions impossible and to eliminate completely traffic congestion.”

 Because of technology and efficiency, the narration said, most of America would be forest again.  Everyone would be well educated, there would be little disease, and the average lifespan would be seventy-five years.


As they left this exhibit, visitors were given a white button with dark blue lettering that said simply, “I Have Seen the Future.”

 This vision of the future was presented when almost half of American families did not own a car. There was not a single four-lane highway without crossings or traffic lights anywhere in America. The first would be a 160 mile stretch of what became the Pennsylvania Turnpike that opened just as the Fair was closing in 1940. It began in Irwin, less than 20 miles from Flora’s home in Youngwood.

 Among the innovations introduced at the Fair were air-conditioning, television, FM radio, florescent light, nylon stockings and the View-Master system for looking at 3D images at home.

 The current reality of the Depression was not totally forgotten. One government sponsored exhibit admitted that 90% of Americans were below the minimum income for a “good life,” and a third of the nation was living in poverty.  But with “modern technology and power production” a good life for all was possible. “We need now to discover a workable formula for its distribution to ‘Three-Thirds of a Nation.”

  The New Deal 1930s had already built parts of the future—from the TVA dams and rural electrical power to the Golden Gate Bridge, from highways to airports and national parks. America had the know-how, the factories, the creative spirit. “The tools for building the world of tomorrow are already in our hands,” said the Fair’s science director. “Action is our slogan...If the world is awry we can change it.” 

There was also plenty of standard entertainment at the Fair, including free dances to swing bands every night, and fireworks over the Lagoon of Nations.  A narrow gauge train wound through the Fair (it would end up at Pittsburgh’s Kennywood Park in 1945, and has been there ever since.)

 It must have been magic. At night, the futuristic buildings arrayed around a lagoon and a lake were dramatically lit with pastel colors, as were the fountains and sculptures, while ethereal music floated on the air. These were new sights and sounds: this kind of outdoor lighting and this ambient sound were unknown elsewhere.

 But from the start, the 1939 World’s Fair was haunted by portentous events in Europe and Asia.  Germany occupied Czechoslovakia, and shortly before the Fair closed for the winter, Germany invaded Poland and divided it with the USSR. France and England declared war on the Axis powers of Germany, Italy and Japan.  So when the Fair reopened in the spring of 1940, the Poland and Czechoslovakia pavilions remained closed. The USSR pavilion had been torn down.

  By the time the Fair ended in October 1940, France was occupied by German troops, while German bombers and British fighters were battling over the English Channel. Many Europeans working at the Fair could not return to their home countries. The cooking staff of the French pavilion went into the restaurant business in Manhattan. But many of the cooks at the Italian pavilion were sent to an internment camp as enemy aliens.  Once the war started, and Italy was allied with Germany and Japan, Italian nationals faced internment.  In certain parts of the country, Italian Americans were restricted in their movements.  But unlike Japanese Americans, naturalized Italian Americans and their families were not sent to internment camps.

 The rise of Hitler and the Nazis in Germany had gradually come into the American consciousness in the 1930s.  In the midst of the crisis involving Czechoslovakia, and with all of Europe preparing for war, the major U.S. radio networks broadcast Hitler’s speech before a Nazi Party gathering in Nuremberg in 1938.  The listening audience was huge.  “Millions of Americans, hearing Hitler for the first time,” wrote historian William Manchester, “ were shaken by the depth of his hatred.”

 In the spring of 1940, Antoinette Severini graduated from Youngwood High School. She’d had a busy four years: Secretary of the freshman class, four years in the Glee Club, and three years in the Dramatic Club, (members attended the opening night of George M. Cohan’s new play, “Return of the Vagabond,” at the Nixon Theatre in Pittsburgh, earlier that spring.  If she was among them, she got to see Cohan himself in the lead and a young Celeste Holm in the cast, but after this pre-Broadway tryout, the play lasted only three performances in New York.)  She also worked on the junior operetta, and served as the librarian her senior year, plus Class Editor of the Youngwood High yearbook, the Maroon and White.

 

Called either “Ant” or “Toni” (the yearbook said), her great ambition was to write and direct great plays.  She named as her hobby making scrapbooks of stage plays and stars.  She selected a motto: “To witness duty, not to show my wit.”  Ant entered Seton Hill College the following fall: the first in her family to begin higher education.







London in the Blitz

 Meanwhile, the swift march of the German military overwhelmed western Europe. Known as “the blitzkrieg,” it cut its path of destruction and occupation through Belgium, Holland and finally France.  

The Nazis bombed London for 57 consecutive nights in 1940. They continued bombing London and other British cities by airplane for 8 months, and later by V-1 and V-2 missiles.  Together these became known in England and to history as “the Blitz.”

In 1940 and 1941, Americans knew from radio and newspapers that the U.S. was providing military aid to England, and defending U.S. shipping against German U-boats.  Many also knew that the armed forces and major industries were preparing for the possibility of war.  In 1940, African American pilots were being trained at the Greensburg-Pittsburgh airport southwest of the city.  In early 1941, members of the National Guard in Greensburg were placed in active service.

 In a surprise attack on Sunday, December 7, 1941 (First Communion Sunday in many western Pennsylvania Catholic churches), Japanese airplanes bombed American warships anchored at the Pearl Harbor naval base in Hawaii. Reports on the radio began in the afternoon.  There were 45 million radios in the U.S. for a population of 143 million, so this is how many people learned of it. The next day, 81% of the U.S. population was listening to the live radio broadcast of President Roosevelt seeking and receiving a vote from Congress to declare war.  Within days, the U.S. was at war with the Axis Powers of Germany and Italy as well as Japan.

At the Greensburg train station, thousands gathered
to witness the first contingent of local soldiers to
leave for the war in 1942.
 Flora and Antoinette Severini knew young men their age who soon joined up or were drafted. Like other young women, they wrote letters to soldiers and sent packages.  On Sundays they prayed.  Soon there was a hymn to sing, addressed to Mary: "Mother help our valiant fighters/ Guard them all on land and sea/Keep them ever near to Jesus/And sweet Mother, close to thee./ Mary help them, help we pray/ Help our heroes, night and day,/ Bring us peace and, dearest Mother/Bring our boys home safe, we pray."                         



While Antoinette was in college, Seton Hill planted a Victory Garden.  In 1942, Carl Severini was ten years old.  For the next couple of years, he recalled, he participated in the “Scrap Drives,” collecting scrap metal such as cans, old nails etc. and carrying it in his wagon to Holy Cross School. Eventually all the collected scrap would be loaded onto railroad cars in Youngwood and sent off to be used in making weapons and other items for “the war effort.”

 The war years on the homefront involved many shortages and some rationing (gasoline and tires, for example).  Carl recalled playing touch football in his Youngwood neighborhood without a football.  He and his friends used an evaporated milk can, sealed at both ends.  But before war’s end, his sister Flora bought him a real football for his street games.  “We wore that football out!”

 Boys in various neighborhoods would also get together to buy and put up a basketball hoop in alleys or lesser- used streets, which gave them first dibs on pickup games at that court.  Carl’s group had a hoop on First Street near the railroad tracks.  “We played all winter.  I remember how our hands hurt in the cold.” 

Antoinette Severini 1941
 During the war years, Carl also got a bicycle “when they were hard to find,” but had it only a short time before a car ran over it, reducing it to rubble.  He had better luck with his Flexible Flyer sled, which lasted long enough for it to be handed down to me.

 Flora’s New Year’s 1939 diary mentions a piano in the Severini living room.  It was a player piano then: the keys played a song governed by holes in a paper piano roll, when someone pumped the large pedals.  In a few years, Carl Severini began learning to play the piano without the rolls.  He took lessons from Emma Roberts on 4th Street in Youngwood, for “about six or seven years,” probably beginning in 1942.  At some point, the piano roll mechanism was taken out. 


Carl scrunched down front row 3rd from right
among St. Vincent Prep honor students
Carl was only twelve when he began attending 9th grade at St. Vincent Preparatory Academy, known colloquially as St. Vincent Prep, at the St. Vincent College campus near Latrobe.  He was a “day hop,” or non-resident student who lived at home and traveled to campus each day.  He took the streetcar from Youngwood to Greensburg, and a bus from Greensburg to campus, although he also hitch-hiked rides. 

 The DePaul family had continued close ties with the Severinis.  By now they had three sons:  Oswald or Ozzie (1925), Mario (1926) and John (1933.)  Ozzie eventually became a violinist with the Pittsburgh Symphony, and Mario worked for the federal government. However, John DePaul and Carl Severini were nearest in age, and became particular friends in the 1940s. John later worked for an advertising agency.  

Gioconda and Ignazio Severini 1942
in a pose similar to their wedding
photo.

At some point in the 1940s, Gioconda Severini began contributing to the family income by selling dresses from home for the Maisonette Company of Chicago.  She went door to door with the sample books showing the dresses, took the orders and delivered the dresses.  But she often cinched the deal by doing free alterations herself, so the dresses fit right.  She was so successful that a Maisonette representative from Chicago presented her with an award at a company dinner.

 According to the family’s 1940 Census report, Flora had worked briefly as a secretary for the FSA, a New Deal program to address rural poverty called the Farm Security Administration (although the FSA’s most memorable accomplishment was a small photography project that hired photographers Walker Evans, Gordon Parks and Dorothea Lange, and produced some of the most famous images of the Great Depression.)  Since this was a program administered by the Agriculture Department, Flora may have worked upstairs in the Greensburg Post Office building, newly expanded to include federal offices, including the Agriculture Department.

Carl, Flora and Gioconda in front of 200 Depot
Street Youngwood
 Meanwhile, young men that Flora knew were going off to war.  John Mari from Depot Street would be in the South Pacific with the Army. Jimmy Falcon from Greensburg was in the Navy, and his brother Julie was leading the Army Band in New Guinea.  And many others.

 With men joining or being drafted into the armed forces, civilian life had to make adjustments.  Some places—like Idlewild Park—simply closed for the duration in 1943.  But the greatest impact was the resulting manpower shortages in businesses and particularly industries that largely retooled to supply the war effort. 


Robertshaws in 1940
The Robertshaw Thermostat company in Youngwood was a prime example.  From 1941 to 1945, all of its facilities were converted to manufacture war materials.  For example, the Youngwood plant made air position indicators and actuators for the U.S. Air Force.  But at the same time, the company lost some 800 men to the armed services.

 So industries like Robertshaw needed women workers, like Flora Severini. It may not have been Flora’s first factory job of the war.  She may have worked at the Walworth valve plant in South Greensburg, or the Pennsylvania Rubber Works in Jeannette, or both.  But in 1944 she was working as an inspector at Robertshaw’s, just down Second Street from home.  Her friend from Depot Street, Lena Mari, was likely working for Robertshaw’s at this point, as a secretary to the general managers. 

Flora Severini 1944
It was there at the Youngwood Robertshaw’s that Flora met a fellow worker, a skinny young man with blue eyes and dark hair who always seemed to forget his lunch.  She shared hers, and began packing extra.  It couldn’t have been long before they were going out, because they were engaged to be married in 1945.  His name was Walt: Walter Kowinski.


Sunday, October 17, 2021

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 hurried 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 is not unusual, as New York immigration records from the 1850s to 1897 were destroyed in a massive fire at the Ellis Island facility.  Many Polish immigrants of this era docked in Baltimore, and some of those records also 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 19th 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 19th 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 19th 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 19th 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 19th 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 (known as Sundy Place and also as Camp Lorenzo Pryor) 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 40th 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 might 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 was 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--especially those from coal mining areas.  Walt's brother Bugs also failed his physical.  

Walt either inquired about or unsuccessfully applied to join the Merchant Marines. The Merchant Marines were a vital component of the war effort, transporting cargo and passengers.  Under the direction of the US Navy, their ships were a vital supply line, especially across the Atlantic and later the Pacific to war zones.  Members of the Merchant Marines traveled on armed vessels, but Navy personnel manned the guns.  It was a dangerous assignment aboard these ships, which were prime targets for German U-Boats and other enemy warships: Merchant Marines casualties had the highest rates of all US services during World War II. (Being denied because of color blindness is also a plausible reason for this service.) 

 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 20th 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