Zakelj Diary Home Page: http://bbhhs96.dyndns.org/~zakeljdiary/

7/10/99

STARTING OVER IN CLEVELAND

Working in the Factories

By Anton Zakelj, translated and edited by John Zakelj

Photographs by Anton Zakelj

Two years ago, Ameriška Domovina published "Starting Over in America," the story of our family's first six months in America on a farm in Wisconsin. Wisconsin's Slovenian farmers did all they could to help our family but, with their small farms, they barely had enough income to support themselves. We heard there were jobs in Cleveland, so we reluctantly left the friendly people and beautiful countryside of Wisconsin. This is the story of our first years in Cleveland. Most of this story is directly from my diary, with a few missing parts filled in from memory.

I arrived in Cleveland on my 43rd birthday, June 13, 1950, with my wife Cilka and my two-year old son Johnny. Mr. Frank Rihtar had moved from Wisconsin a few months earlier. He obtained a good job and, with the help of his storekeeper friend, Mr. Sušnik, he bought a small house and agreed to let us use the attic until we could find better housing. The Rihtar family was already pretty large, but in the refugee camps, we had become used to having many families living together in one room.

The entrance to our attic apartment was through the Rihtar's kitchen. The walls of the attic were made of overlaid boards like the outside walls of a house. The apartment, if you can call it that, had two electric light bulbs, no toilet, no bathtub, no water, no gas for cooking or heating, and no furniture. Since the attic had been unused for a long time, it was covered with dust and soot. This was not surprising, since the nearby factories were emitting at least one kilogram of soot per square meter per year. A factory across the street made horrible noises night and day. They manufactured automobile hubcaps, and large stacks of hubcaps would often come crashing down. Further down the street was a factory with a heavy metal stamping machine. When that machine was pounding, glasses in cupboards would shake -- wherever people had glasses and cupboards.

But if we think about our life in the refugee camps the previous four and a half years, this was enormous progress. We had moved from the tents in Vetrinje to the barracks in Judenburg and Trofaich to a house with a roof that did not leak streams of water whenever it rained. We now had a church and school nearby, a streetcar stop even closer, and stores with people who understood us, so we could buy whatever we needed.

At that time, there were so many refugees coming from Europe that the sponsors didn't have places to put them all. Mr. Joseph Grdina sponsored many of them and sent them to Mrs. Ana Hudoklin, who had a small house on E. 61st Street. She was willing to take in many refugees on a temporary basis and so, her house was called the "D.P. Hotel." That's what everybody called us - "D.P.'s" - "Displaced Persons." If Mr. Rihtar had not agreed to let us use his attic, we would have stayed at the D.P. Hotel.

June 13, 1950

Today is my 43rd birthday. Yesterday at 2:30, I left Wisconsin with my wife Cilka and my two-year old son Johnny. In Chicago at 11 last night, we transferred from the Soo Line to the New York Central train and arrived in Cleveland at 7 this morning. Mr. Rihtar was waiting for us at the Terminal Tower station. We took a taxi to his house at 990 East 63rd St.

The Rihtar's house only has 2 bedrooms, and already has two families living in it, but they have agreed to let us live in the attic until we can find better housing.

The attic consists of two rooms with overlaid wooden boards on the walls. It doesn't have water or a bathroom and, since it hasn't been cleaned for a long time, is hopelessly dusty. Mr. Rihtar said he will install a water pipe; for the time being, we'll carry water from downstairs. We'll use their bathroom and their refrigerator. Someone gave us an old gas stove, though there is no gas pipe. We'll use our travel crate for a dining table. Someone also gave us part of an old bed. The only entrance to our apartment is from the kitchen below. The entire apartment has two light bulbs. We need water and gas, so we can do our own cooking.

In the afternoon I washed the walls and the floor -- everything was so black! Oh, Wisconsin was much more beautiful! But at least this apartment is better than the tent in Vetrinje (where we spent our first nights as refugees.)

When we were in Wisconsin, Karl Erznoznik, who had left before us, had agreed to write and tell us about Cleveland. Now I know why he wrote so little: he didn't want to say anything bad, and didn't have anything good to say. This is not the America we imagined when we were in Europe.

Mrs. Hudoklin invited us to supper today, and the Rihtar family invited us to lunch.

The Zupans, Sršens and Erznozniks all came to visit us. Jerry Zupan brought us an old mattress so we would not have to sleep on the bare floor.

They say that no tent is big enough for two women, but Mrs. Rihtar will have to be patient with us as we use her water, her washing machine, bathroom, stove and refrigerator. When Mr. Rihtar installs water and gas and hopefully a bathroom for us, it will feel like a deluxe hotel.

Wednesday, June 14, 1950

This morning I went to the nearby Tanko grocery store to buy some essentials: a loaf of bread, one stick of butter, the smallest container of milk, the smallest container of flour and a few other things. I didn't know what to say when the storekeeper asked me what kind of bread I wanted - Vienna or Italian. I also didn't know what she meant when she asked if I wanted regular milk or homogenized - that sounded like a very dirty word to me. I didn't know that American stores give you a shopping bag if you buy something, so I went to the store with the only container I had - a large suitcase. There was lots of room left in the suitcase after I put in my groceries. People laughed.

This afternoon, I went to see Father Godina and asked where I could get work. He said there are many people unemployed and few jobs.

I visited Jerry Zupan and Karl Erznoznik. They offered beer, whisky and ice cream, but nobody knew about any jobs. Nobody even knew where I should start looking. They gave me some clothes for my son Johnny.

Thursday, June 15, 1950

This morning I went to see Mr. Varšek, who delivers furniture for Mr. Sušnik. He drove his small truck to the train station so we could pick up our crates from Wisconsin. Everything was in order.

Friday, June 16, 1950

This afternoon we all went to the Zupans', where they gave us window curtains, beer and fish. Then Mr. Rihtar and I carried various furniture from Tanko's to our apartment.

I went with Tone Kocjan to Fisher Body on Euclid to ask about jobs. Many of our acquaintances have jobs there. An office worker there made some jokes, but he didn't have any work for us.

I got my Social Security card in an office downtown, near Public Square, but I wasn't able to apply for citizenship because I didn't have the required photos. So Mr. Kocjan and I got our pictures taken - 6 photos for $2.06.

Kocjan and I also went to the "Slovenian" factory Z&W Machine Co. on E. 53rd St. and St. Clair. Again, the jobs had all been taken.

I saw an ad in the Domovina for jobs on a farm, but I had tried that in Wisconsin and didn't like it.

Saturday, June 17, 1950

At 8 this morning, Karl came by and said there were jobs at Z&W. I went there immediately, but there was nothing.

At 9, Cilka, Johnny and I took the streetcar downtown to apply for citizenship. The office workers were all very friendly. One of them gave Johnny crayons. Then we visited the New Market. They had many things for sale, but the prices were about the same as our corner store. We bought lettuce, oranges and eggs.

In the evening, Rudi Drmota and Karl Erznoznik visited - they both have good-paying jobs at Fisher Body.

Sunday, June 18, 1950

At 11, we went to our first Mass at St. Vitus.

In the evening, Miha Sršen and Tone Zupancic visited till 10:30. All the people who had been in refugee camps with us are our friends, as if we had all come from the same village.

Tuesday, June 20, 1950

Yesterday evening, someone came by and told me that two workers had left their jobs at Z&W. I went there immediately at 8 this morning and went right back out with a paper authorizing a physical exam at the "fabrik hospital." (The Slovenians here refer to a factory as "fabrika.") A doctor examined me right away and determined I was in "average" health. I went home, got some breakfast, and put on work clothes. At 9:15, I began my job at Z&W. I unloaded 10-feet long steel bars from a truck, and then helped in various areas. Lunch was at noon to 12:30, and at 3:30 we were done. All day I was soaked through with sweat, not really tired, but my back hurt.

And so my dream became a reality. I got a job in a Slovenian factory, close to home. I don't have to take the streetcar, which costs money and which I don't like. A neighbor told me that Z&W is a good factory; and they must be good - after all, they do play the radio during lunch time. But the work is exhausting. Will I be able to endure?

In the evening, Kocjan, Sršen and Zupancic visited. Kocjan wasn't able to get a job because he doesn't know any English at all. They said a war started today in Korea. Soon all the factories will have plenty of jobs.

Wednesday, June 21, 1950

I didn't fall asleep till 4 this morning, but I got up at 7, went to work and had a good day. They had a coffee break at 8:30 (8 cents a cup). I helped wherever I was needed.

Tony, the foreman, asked me to clean hundreds of small steel bars. When I got done cleaning them, he asked me to put them in boxes. When I got that done, he asked me if I had counted the bars. I said, "No, you didn't ask me to count them." "But you should known that yourself!" He considered asking me to take them out to make sure there were a hundred in each box, but he decided it was cheaper to just leave the extra bars in each box. He was mad and just said, "Leave it!"

At 4 p.m., I came home, ate supper and fell asleep. I woke up at 7 in the evening and, thinking it was morning, got up quickly and got ready to go back to work. My wife pointed out that it was still evening and suggested I go back to sleep.

Friday, June 23, 1950

Hot today. In the morning I carried long heavy steel bars from the warehouse to the factory. I set them next to 8 long machines that are called Automatic Screw Machines. The machines are designed for automatic production of small pieces in large quantities.

In the afternoon, I was cleaning the machines until Tony gave me some easier work for the last hour: sorting aluminum bars, which are much lighter than steel. Except for that last hour, I was soaked with sweat. The heat and the heavy work completely exhausted me.

Z&W is owned by three brothers named Zicherl. Two work in the office, and Tony is the foreman in the production area. He doesn't allow any running in the factory, but he knows how to make people work fast; that's why they call him "let's go." The other workers told me there was also a fourth brother who worked so hard in the factory that his wife left him. When he came home one evening, there was a note from his wife saying that she was filing for divorce. This shook him up so badly that he left the factory.

I think all the workers are Slovenian refugees, most of whom do not know English well. Among them I know Albin Longar, Ivan Vidergar, Joseph Klamer, Viktor Tominc, the writer Ludvet Potokar and others.

On my first day at Z&W, an older Slovenian warned me,"You don't belong here! This place is for crazy men! Get a job someplace else while you're still young enough!" I'm beginning to wonder if he might be right, but if the others can stand it, I can, too. I have responsibilities to my family and I might not find work elsewhere. When I was looking for a job with Kocjan, we went to at least three companies every day. One of them told me that American factories don't hire anyone over 45 (and I'm 43.) I would have taken any job except at the Bolt and Screw Co. in Newburgh. The noise there was so intense that I was sure I would lose my hearing in a couple of days.

Some of the other workers are willing to take more risks. Mike Vrenko started at Z&W the day before I did, and didn't show up the next day. I was hired because Mike didn't show up. The boss gave me a letter for Mike and sent me to his home, to tell him he had to come to work right away. Mike had moved, but I found him in the evening. He says this isn't the right work for him, since he has a bad heart. Now he's found easier and better paying work in a mittens factory in Collinwood. The new job is easier and the pay 30% higher. When I told our boss, Tony, about this, he was mad. "You made all that up, tell him he must come to work tomorrow," he said.

Saturday, June 24, 1950

It was so hot in our attic apartment that I slept poorly. When I awoke, I dressed quickly and went to 1053 E. 61st St, where I had heard there was an apartment for rent. Unfortunately, I arrived too late. A nice room for $20 a month was already taken. The landlady gave Johnny a chocolate and invited us to come back.

Then all three of us went shopping. I bought our first meat - a pound of veal for 49 cents - and a bottle of lemonade for 15 cents.

In the evening, it started raining and continued all night. But the rain didn't cool the air much, and I slept poorly again.

Sunday, June 25, 1950

Nice weather. At 10 a.m., we went to Mass. Johnny was so fidgety I had to take him outside twice. At home I told Cilka that children don't belong in church. She feels a family should always stay together.

In the afternoon, we walked to the lake. East 55th Street from the railroad to the lake goes through a deep valley between mountains of all sorts of garbage and debris.

I've always liked rowing, so we went to a harbor which had many small boats. At the harbor entrance, a worker stopped us and asked for our membership card. What kind of American democracy is this, where you need a membership card to enter a harbor? Disappointed, we walked back home.

Tuesday, June 27, 1950

Z&W has a night shift with a few workers. They don't have a "chipman," a worker who carries away the metal chips or shavings produced by the machines. When I arrived at 7 a.m., all the machines were full of these chips. I thought, if I hurry and clean these up, I'll get some rest later. I carried away the chips, cleaned the oil basins and brought a new barrel of cooling oil for each machine. After a half hour of this work, the sweat was just pouring from me, even though I drink little and usually don't sweat much.

When this was done, there was no time for rest. Tony asked me to clean the aluminum and bronze chips. They sell those, and give away the steel chips.

This is what I've been doing, day to day, for a dollar an hour. In my last job in Slovenia, I was the assistant manager for a shoemaker's cooperative with over 40 employees. Here I'm doing hard physical labor. I'm exhausted and hot, the steel chips cut my hands, and my clothes get soaked with oil.

I talked to a man who is a writer; his job at Z&W is to cut long bronze bars into short ones. He asked me how much I made. When I told him I make a dollar an hour, he said, "You're lucky. I get paid by the piece, and I don't make that much." (After inflation, a 1950 dollar is worth about $6 in 1998.)

Thursday, June 29, 1950

I received my first paycheck: $29.70 for four days. After deducting $2.90 for taxes and other things, the net is $26. I had hoped for more. That's too little for such heavy labor.

I went to Sušnik's and bought an electric clock for $4.47, and then to Belaj's for two shirts for $5.16. Everywhere I went I sold some bobbin lace that Cilka had made. I think they bought it more out of sympathy, since there is no appreciation here for anything hand-made.

Friday, June 30, 1950

I heard about an apartment on Norwood and went to ask for my friend Klamer. Cilka was angry and said, "Why don't you take care of your own family first?" "But at least we have a roof over our heads!" "Yes, but for how long?"

Saturday, July 1, 1950

For most of the morning, Mike Sršen and I searched for an orthopedist who would be willing to have Sršen make shoes for his patients.

In the afternoon, Mr. Jalovec brought a gas stove that Mrs. Hace had found for us. Blaz and Mary Hace help us wherever they can. Blaz finds old children's toys and fixes them, and Mary finds children's clothes and other things. I mailed some of the clothes to my relatives back home in Slovenia. I sent them an almost new girl's dress that had lost its buttons in the washing machine, and they wrote back immediately and said they hope the washing machines tear off many more buttons.

Cilka cleaned the stove thoroughly. Now we have a place to cook, but no gas yet.

Sunday, July 2, 1950

Cilka went to church at 8, and I went at 10, so Johnny didn't stay at home alone.

In the evening, we had many visitors, including Mr. Jesenko from the Westside. He said he wrote to his relatives and asked about us. They told him that we had to leave because we didn't support the communist criminals. His family suffered because of this as well.

Monday, July 3, 1950

All day Tony had me breaking up a concrete floor in the factory. Last week, he promised me easier work. I am completely exhausted from this "easier" work.

Tuesday, July 4, 1950

Independence Day. In the afternoon, Mr. Rihtar and I installed gas pipes from the basement to our kitchen. We were all black from the pipes and the dirt.

In the evening, we watched fireworks over the lake and heard explosions from all directions. The last time we heard and saw explosions like that was the night we fled on foot across the Ljubelj mountain pass from Slovenia to Austria.

Saturday, July 8, 1950

We worked today to make up for the July 4 holiday. I was tired and thirsty and followed my co-worker John to a nearby saloon for a beer. Tony soon found us, but he only scolded John.

In the evening, we went to A&P, but they were out of sugar and oil. The stores are running out because people are worried about the war in Korea and buying more than they need.

Wednesday, July 12, 1950

Hot. All day I'm soaked with sweat from the work and the heat.

Thursday, July 13, 1950

Though it rained, I still sweat from 8 a.m. to 3:30. I have to work like never before. Even so, if Ana Maria Bevc (a partisan communist in Slovenia) were to come here now and point her revolver at my chest (as she did on Monday evening, November 29, 1943), and if she said, "Damn you! Will you come back to Slovenia now?", I would tell her: "No, thank you, Annie. I would rather die here than go back to live in your workers' paradise."

In the afternoon, I cleaned aluminum chips. As usual, they were covered with the oil that the machines use during the cutting to prevent overheating. We used a centrifuge to remove the oil so the clean chips could be sold. This time I was in a hurry and forgot to close the inner lid before I started the centrifuge. Oil squirted in all directions and chips flew with such a force that they could have caused serious injury if they hit someone. Tony saw what was happening; he took the end of a broom and tried to reach the switch on the centrifuge without getting too close. But he hit the wrong switch and suddenly all the machines in the factory stopped.

Tony wasn't mad, but I assumed the moment had come which I had long expected, that I would be fired sooner or later. So I blurted out: "The devil! I have to do the work of three people, and I don't even get paid enough for one!" But even now, Tony didn't say anything, except: "Clean the centrifuge." I worked for a good half hour to clean up the mess. Tony had promised me once that I would get a raise if I did good work. Now it would be silly if he gave me a raise.

After work I was terribly thirsty and so, for my first time in America, I bought myself a bottle of beer.

Friday, July 14, 1950

I was tired and worked slower today. It doesn't pay to hurry. The machines work all night and every morning the bins are full of metal chips to remove and clean. If I hurry in the morning, they just give me more work in the afternoon.

Sunday, July 16, 1950

Jakob Jesenko and his daughter Ruth came to visit us. They drove us back to their home on the Westside. We had a good dinner and then looked at their home and their garden. Then Jakob took us to visit his daughter Ani Lekan, then to Mary Oblak, and then John Kolenc. These are all people from our home town, Ziri. We had much to talk about, and it was after 8 when Jakob brought us home.

Thursday, July 20, 1950

I slept well last night and felt good today. But at work I was frightened when I saw five large bins full of aluminum chips to clean. Tony had promised to get me some help, but it didn't come till 10 and then only for 10 minutes.

I received my pay for 6 days, including overtime: $48.27. There is no raise.

Friday, July 21, 1950

Today I worked for the first time on the second shift, from 3:30 p.m. to midnight. The time went by quickly. When I went home, the bars on St. Clair were full of people. The war is providing work for lots of people, so they have money to spend.

Saturday, July 22, 1950

I sent $55 to the Marshfield Clinic in Wisconsin to pay our debts to them for care they provided to Cilka.

I bought a pair of pants for $5.13 and got my first haircut in Cleveland (50 cents).

Sunday, July 23, 1950

I paid Mr. Rihtar our rent of $15 for July, including water and electric. The first 14 days were free.

Monday, July 24, 1950

I was afraid to go to work, but today I was amazed how easy it seemed.

Tuesday, July 25, 1950

Today the work seemed so exhausting that I decided to stop while I was still alive. I felt I only had two choices - go home or to the hospital. So I went home, but I'm so tired I can't sleep.

Before I went to work, I saw Rev. Godina, who told me there was a good job on Lakeland. He called Karel Janez on the phone, and told him I would come see him tomorrow in my work clothes. The job pays $1.30 an hour - I can't believe it.

In the afternoon at Z&W, I asked Tony to give me some lighter work, but his brother Frank said, "In America, hard work is all there is." "Then I'll have to go look for work elsewhere," I said, - and I left.

Wednesday, July 26, 1950

I slept better than I have for a long time. In the morning I took a package for my mother to Kollander's to be mailed. I paid him $7.23 for the postage and 30 cents for the box. The large package had clothes and other things that are scarce in Slovenia.

After lunch I took the St. Clair streetcar to Nottingham. There was only one other passenger on the streetcar: Ivan Krmavner, the former international gymnastics champion, who was going to his job in a factory. He said the international situation is getting much better for us. He said, "And day now we'll get word that it's safe for us to go back home to Slovenia. I'll leave in a minute." (Later I met many others who felt the same way, especially married men who had left their families in Slovenia. I didn't believe them. I had read about the French Revolution, where the refugees died in foreign countries and never came back home.)

After the streetcar, I took the bus to Passnow Avenue and then walked to the address I had been given, 20601 Arbor Ave. There I found Karel Janez at home. I had never met him before, but he was very friendly and said, "Wait a little, I'll change clothes and then we'll go."

We both rode on his bicycle to the machine shop. The ride seemed to take forever. I often asked him if we would be there soon, and he always said it would be soon. I asked him to let me go back home, since I would never want to travel this far to work every day. We finally reached the shop.

The co-owner, engineer Humphrey, greeted us warmly. He was very patient, but my English went very poorly, since I don't know any of the technical terms. He said the foreman, Al, was on vacation. Al is German and I should be able to understand him better.

Then he showed me how to smooth out a rough weld with an old lathe machine, and he put me to work. I broke a number of cutting tips on the lathe, because I pushed the machine too much. Another worker had to sharpen the cutting tip for me.

I learned there are 8 employees in this shop: 2 Slovenians (Karel Janez and Joseph Zlate), 1 German, 1 Romanian, 1 Hungarian, and 1 American. The main owner is Irish - Bill Risher, the technical boss is engineer Humphrey. Humphrey has the brains and Risher has the money - or so they told me.

Mr. Humphrey told me he's half Scottish and half Indian. I believed the Indian part - I had never seen anyone with redder skin. And he was proud of that. He told me how he was coming out of a bar once and a child asked him: "Mr. Red, how are you?" So he asked the child: "Why do you call me Red?", to which the child replied: "Because you are red!" Back in Slovenia, being called "red" was considered an insult.

So we call Mr. Humphrey "Mr. Red." He's down to earth and friendly with everyone. Sometimes he does the dirtiest work himself. He respects Slovenians as the best workers; he knows that we're hard-working, trustworthy and honest. He acknowledges that he's a Republican, but still voted for Lausche, who was a Democrat. And he respects Slovenian women as the hardest workers and most faithful wives.

Mr. Red started the business in a basement with an old machine. His first employee worked part-time. Since the business went well, Mr. Red gradually bought more old machines and hired more part-time workers. His brother-in-law, Bill Risher, joined him in the business. (Mr. Red had been married to Bill's sister, but she died.) They built a shop for 20 - 30 workers and now produce parts for hydraulic fittings for tractors, bulldozers and similar equipment for lifting heavy loads, building roads and such.

When it came time for lunch, I took out my little suitcase. (This is a distinguishing characteristic for a "DP," since Americans bring their lunches in a lunch box which has a place in the bottom part for a sandwich, and a secure place in the top for a thermos bottle.)

When I opened my little suitcase, I saw a bottle swimming in coffee. In her haste this morning, my wife had forgotten to shut the bottle tightly. I was lucky that I wasn't as thirsty as I had been at Z&W.

After lunch, another worker showed me how to run some of the other machines. My first day on the new job was soon over. Such easy work, and for $1.30 an hour? I just couldn't believe it.

After work, Mr. Bill Risher drove me to the last streetcar stop at Euclid Beach, where we caught the last car for the night. He told the streetcar driver that I didn't know any English, and told him exactly where to drop me off. I was the only passenger. After Bill left, the driver asked me in Slovenian, "Si ti Kranjec?" And so we talked all the way home in the kranjsko dialect of Slovenian.

Friday, July 28, 1950

This morning I officially quit my five week job at Z&W. The personnel director asked my why I hadn't asked for easier work. He said, "You could have been a machine operator, you know English better than the others." I answered him, "You mean so I could earn even less?" He asked me to refer other workers to him, but I told him I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemies. So I left and went to buy an Ameriška Domovina.

In the afternoon, I took the streetcar to Euclid Beach, then the bus to E. 200th St., then walked all the way to E. 250, far from Lakeshore Blvd.

At the shop, I did the same work as yesterday till 7:30, after which I drilled holes in housings for hydraulic pumps.

Monday, July 31, 1950

It's so hot in our attic apartment that I slept very poorly last night. It's as if we were inside an oven. Johnny cried till 1 a.m.

Tuesday, August 1, 1950

This morning I went to see Rev. Godina at the request of our foreman, Al, who is back from vacation. Al wants me to tell everyone I know to come work at Risher's shop. "Wir haben Arbeit genug für jederman, nur für diesen schwarzen Teufel nicht!" he said. ("We have enough work for everyone, but not for those black devils!")

Friday, August 4, 1950

Our friends Milica and Rafko Zonta moved to Cleveland from a farm in Missouri. The farm has plenty of work, but no pay.

In the shop, I made my first big mistake. I drilled right through the steel jig that holds the piece I should be drilling.

Saturday, August 5, 1950

I bought a Frigidaire at Sušnik's for $236. I paid $136 today and will pay the rest in one or two months. A refrigerator is among the most important items we need. (A week or so later, I noticed the same refrigerator with a much lower price in Sušnik's display window. I asked him why he didn't tell me the price would drop, to which he replied, "A storekeeper shouldn't recognize his own brother!" If that's so, I thought, from now on we'll buy wherever the price is lowest.)

My sister Julka writes from Slovenia that my brother Ciril is finally free after 13 months in a labor camp. The authorities never said why they sent him there.

Tuesday, August 8, 1950

At the shop, I was smoothing out rough welds on some pieces of metal. Foreman Al Sebold looked at me and asked why I was stopping so often. He tried it himself and had to do the same thing. Finally he just threw the piece away. "Bad welding," he said in German.

Although the foreman has been harassing me, I'm happy because I got a check for $71.71.

Friday, August 11, 1950

Al gave me 120 steel pieces to drill and asked if I had enough. I got them done at 10:30 p.m. He asked me to come back tomorrow morning, Saturday, 7 a.m.

Saturday, August 12, 1950

After five hours of sleep, I went to work. I asked Al how many pieces a good worker would have done in the time that I did 120 last night. "A good worker would have done 30," he said, "Why don't you work slower?"

In the evening, we watched television at Hace's. They were mostly interested in their granddaughter, who was on a dance program.

Sunday, August 13, 1950

Albin Klamer brought me half a gallon of wine to thank me for getting him a job at Risher's.

Monday, August 14, 1950

Mike Jeretin and another man came with me to work today. They both got jobs.

Tuesday, August 15, 1950

Frank Šega started working with us. He's a quick learner and good at smoothing out the rough welds.

Wednesday, August 16, 1950

It's very hot today, and it's Johnny's second birthday. I bought 6 bottles of Coca-Cola for 25 cents. "Uncle" Brezic and the Lamovec family wrote to Johnny from Wisconsin, and each sent him a dollar. Cilka bought him an ice cream, and he was very happy.

Thursday, August 17, 1950

It was so hot that everyone in the shop was dripping with sweat, even those who sit while they work. Some of the workers cut off their sleeves and pulled their pants up to their knees to get at least some air on their skin. The thermometer said it was 100°F.

Frank Lorber and his son Bozo got jobs with us. Frank did poorly on his medical exam, but Bill hired him, on the condition that his son work with us. His son is a trained machinist. Back in Slovenia, Frank had studied to be a teacher, but became the manager of a factory that made stockings. After the war, the communists at first confined him to a labor camp, and then let him go. I met him in a refugee camp in Austria and knew him as a hard worker who was ready to take on any job.

I received my second full paycheck for 14 days: $105.02.

Saturday, August 26, 1950

I paid $23 for packages of food to be sent to my brothers Ciril and Stanko. Back home in Slovenia, there are still shortages.

I visited Jerry Zupan and wished him a happy birthday. He just bought a "new" car (his first) for $140.

Monday, August 28, 1950

There's a group of us that go to work together now. As we walk from the last bus stop to the shop, people recognize us by the briefcases we use for our lunches instead of proper lunchboxes. Some people greet us with a raised arm Hitler salute. They mistakenly think we had to leave Slovenia because we collaborated with the Nazis. We return their salute with the communist raised fist.

Saturday, September 16, 1950

All day I helped Rihtar and Klancar install a toilet in our apartment. At 10 p.m. it was done.

Monday, September 18, 1950

Joseph Grdina brought two new workers for our shop - professor Ovsenek and Blaz Vavpotic. They were both hired. Prof. Ovsenek is 60, but looks younger. I lied and said he was 50. Prof. Ovsenek was the director of a "gimnazium" (a combined high school and college) in Ljubljana. He taught Latin, Greek, German, Serbo-croatian, and Slovenian. The communists deported him, his wife and daughter to Hungary just before Christmas 1945, when he was close to retirement. From Hungary they had to go through deep snow to Austria. His crime was that his wife's mother was German, and that he had a house and some land which the communists wanted. In America, prof. Ovsenek wanted to continue his profession. He visited Cathedral Latin and sat in their Latin classes for a few hours. He told me, "I can not teach Latin that way!" He particularly disliked the American rules for Latin pronunciation. This, plus the higher earnings in the machine shop, led him to become a machinist. He made nice progress and he was soon able to announce that he increased production on his machine by 50%.

Blaz Vavpotic worked at the university in Ljubljana as a chimney sweep - he joked that his job was higher than the president's.

Tuesday, September 19, 1950

Partly due to my recruiting, we now have 25 workers instead of the 8 when I started. One of my co-workers asked me to stop recruiting; he's worried there won't be enough work left for the rest of us.

Sunday, September 24, 1950

At 1:30 in the afternoon, the day turned to night for about an hour. The sky was cloudy and the horizon was beautiful like a sunset. Lights came on everywhere.

At 4:30 we attended a concert of Slovenian, Croatian and American songs in the Slovenian National Home on St. Clair. The hall was full and the singing was beautiful. Governor Lausche made a speech.

Friday, September 29, 1950

Albin Klamer bought an old Chrysler for $500 and drove me to work, even though he doesn't have his license yet.

Earlier in the week, I had to clean some parts in chlorine. I've had a headache ever since. I'm deathly afraid of that chlorine - it's worse than the Gestapo.

Sunday, October 1, 1950

I had back pains last night and couldn't fall asleep till early this morning. I was still sleeping when Cilka went to the 8 a.m. Mass and left Johnny with me, as she usually did on Sundays.

Johnny, who is only 2, got out of the house by himself and walked to St. Clair, wearing nothing but a shirt. A man found him on the streetcar island in the middle of St. Clair. Somehow Johnny had walked across the traffic to get there. It looked like he wanted to catch a streetcar. Luckily, the man found out where we lived, and brought Johnny home to me.

In the afternoon, we walked to 1058 E. 74th St. to visit a family from our home town in Slovenia. In an amazing coincidence, their landlord turned out to be the man who had rescued Johnny this morning.

Monday, October 2, 1950

This afternoon I went to see Dr. Kern to determine whether I was healthy enough to get health insurance through the Slovenska Dobrodelna Zveza (S.D.Z.) I am 5'7", weigh 140 lbs., and have too much sugar in my urine. The doctor asked me to come back tomorrow. He also took some fluid out of a swollen elbow which I must have injured on the job. The whole visit cost $2.

Tuesday, October 3, 1950

Dr. Kern determined my blood sugar was acceptable: what a relief!

At work, the foreman suggested I go thank Mr. Risher for giving me a raise of 10 cents an hour, but I couldn't find the right English words. I'm making $1.40 an hour now, but paying twice as much income tax as I did at Z&W.

Mrs. Jereb brought winter clothes for Johnny.

Sunday, October 8, 1950

The American Stamping Co., across the street from Rihtar's, is working night and day, and for the first time today, on Sunday as well. Their noise makes it impossible to sleep and reminds me of our trip to America as refugees on a military transport ship. We hit a terrible storm in the Mediterranean. The ship was tossing so heavily that the porcelain dishes came crashing down with such a noise that we thought we had hit a mine.

Thursday, October 12, 1950

The pain in my elbow has made work difficult. I saw Dr. Kern, who took out more fluid and again charged $2.

Saturday, October 14, 1950

A car hit 10-year old Frank Rihtar and his brother Milan. We took them to the old Glenville Hospital on E. 106th St. Frank has a dangerous head injury and Milan has shoulder pains. The police put the driver in jail.

Saturday, October 21, 1950

Four more Slovenians got jobs at our shop: Balantic, Meglic, Skubic and Boh. The owners are building a warehouse and starting three shifts. I received my paycheck: $128.50, plus a 3-month bonus of $23.68.

Monday, October 30, 1950

The Ameriška Domovina says this was the hottest year in 80 years.

Wednesday, November 1, 1950

Our foreman, Al, has been harassing me, the professor and the other Slovenians whenever he can. The evening foreman, Joe Zlate, is much better.

Thursday, November 2, 1950

Al asked me to teach Frank Bizjak how to use the machines. Frank got mad when Al tried to teach him. Bizjak is studying to be an engineer and knows more than Al.

Thursday, November 9, 1950

I sent $45 to the League of Catholic Slovenian Americans for food for poor people back in Slovenia. And I sent $43 to the New York-Dalmatia group for two sacks of flour and two packages for my mother.

Sunday, November 12, 1950

This afternoon we celebrated the 40th anniversary of S.D.Z at the Slovenian National Home.

The Rihtar's celebrated the baptism of their new son, Stan.

Tuesday, November 14, 1950

Al taught me and Bizjak how to read a micrometer. He proudly pointed to the words Made in Germany. "Amerikaner sind zu dumm um so etwas zu tun" ("Americans are too dumb to make anything like this"), he said. But he was zu dumm to answer the question, how many threads per inch does the micrometer need if one turn is 25/1000 of an inch? He boasts about being on the engineering faculty of Western Reserve University, which he never was. If anything goes wrong for him, he blames it on "my Slovenian wife."

Wednesday, November 15, 1950

Another hour and a half of instruction about micrometers and plans. The foreman has become suspiciously friendly to me. He asked me to influence the other workers to not produce scrap.

My pay was increased again, from $1.40 to $1.50.

A tall thin Hungarian sells lunches at noon and works in our shop for 4 hours each evenings. He told me he was an American "mosquito" pilot during the war. Mosquitoes were small planes armed with bombs and heavy machine guns. He was shot down and captured during an attack on the oil refinery at Ploesti. I showed him a picture of a warplane attack on my hometown of Ziri. Bullets from a warplane's machine gun ripped through the walls of my family's home, but luckily nobody was hurt. He said it's possible he was the pilot of that warplane.

Wednesday, November 22, 1950

It's my wife Cilka's nameday. She was 36 on November 4. (We usually have a person's nameday in the same month as their birthday, and celebrate the nameday the way Americans celebrate a birthday.)

I decided to look for a radio for Cilka. Our friend Milica had recommended shopping at a store named "Rola". I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find that store. Then I went down E. 55th St. to Economic Furniture and finally found a Philco for $21.63. I liked the Zenith with the alarm better, but at $43, it seemed too expensive. I brought the Philco home, gave it to Cilka and wished her a happy nameday. Both she and Johnny are very happy with it.

Thursday, November 23, 1950

It's Thanksgiving and no work today. The workers had expected to receive turkeys at the shop, but we didn't get any.

Saturday, November 25, 1950

We worked two shifts in a row - from 2 p.m. yesterday until 5 a.m. this morning to make up for the Thanksgiving holiday. Heavy snow. At 5 a.m., Mr. Red offered to drive all eleven Slovenians to the streetcar stop, but his car was stuck in the snow. After some pushing, we got it moving. Seven of us rode inside the car, and the rest sat on the outside. We were lucky we took shovels, because we got stuck again and again. Finally he dropped us off at the "Five Points" streetcar stop on E. 152nd St. We waited there in the blizzard in light clothing for 30 minutes, freezing and shaking. When the streetcar finally came, it took an hour to get to E. 63rd St. We were soaked through and chilled. There was a yard of snow on the ground and many cars stalled on the road. (That streetcar we took home turned out to be last one for a number of days.)

Sunday, November 26, 1950

I went to the 9 a.m. Mass and saw only one car moving on the way. There were soldiers driving tanks on St. Clair.

Sunday, December 3, 1950

It rained last night and melted most of the snow, except for some large piles along St. Clair.

St. Nicholas came to the Rihtar's house this evening. The other children were very afraid, but the only time Johnny cried was when a devil tried to take me away. Johnny got two packages, including a car, a book and a piggy bank. He was very happy.

Thursday, December 14, 1950

I returned Machine Shop I to the Public Library and took out Volume II.

At work I got a bonus of $39.20 (10 cents an hour for the last two months). They're promising another raise of 10 cents an hour, if President Truman doesn't freeze wages.

Tuesday, December 19, 1950

The handle on the drilling machine hit me in the forehead and caused a bleeding wound.

Wednesday, December 20, 1950

I bought a pair of dress shoes at Mandel's Shoes for $13, and then went to Sam's, where I bought a little Christmas tree for $1.25 and 7 Christmas lights for $2.

Friday, December 22, 1950

There was a Christmas party in the shop this morning, with whiskey, ginger ale and fish. Mr. Risher served canned sardines on a large platter, probably a whole can for each worker. Some of us tried them, but most didn't. Mr. Risher also handed out cigars, but only Mr. Erdani smokes cigars. He asked each of us to take two cigars and give them to him. Mr. Risher saw what was happening and finally just gave the whole box to Mr. Erdani. We sang Slovenian songs and got turkeys.

In the evening, we set up our Christmas tree with the 7 lights and a nativity scene without a stable. Johnny couldn't stop having fun moving the nativity figures around.

Sunday, December 24, 1950

It's a year since we arrived in America. It seems we wasted the first 6 months on the farm in Wisconsin, but now we're starting to put down roots in our new homeland.

This morning, Cilka prepared the turkey I got in the shop. It was our first time eating a turkey and it was delicious! We also had soup, potatoes, lettuce, cherries, wine and potica.

Monday, December 25, 1950

Today is our second Christmas in America. Last night I went to midnight Mass at St. Vitus. In the last 9 years, I've been to Christmas midnight Mass in 8 different churches. They were all beautiful, but the best one was at home in Ziri.

Thursday, December 28, 1950

Ruth and Annie Jesenko brought Christmas presents - a handkerchief, clock, crayons and coloring book for Johnny, and wine, salami and jelly for Cilka and me.

Sunday, December 31, 1950

We had visitors from 2 - 11 p.m: Karel Erznoznik and his family, Rudi Drmota and Tone Zupancic. At midnight I went to Mass. The sirens are wailing, firecrackers are bursting, and the new year is coming ...

This year I earned $226.90 at Z&W and $1,400.08 at Risher's.

1951

Tuesday, January 2, 1951

At Belaj's men's shop I bought two shirts and sent them to my father back home. The postage cost as much as the shirts.

Wednesday, January 3, 1951

Johnny had such vivid dreams about a "kitty" that it took more than hour before we could convince him we don't have one. He kept on seeing it everywhere.

Thursday, January 18, 1951

I started learning tapcutting (cutting threads inside a drilled hole in metal) on a newer machine.

I have to wear rubber boots all the time because the machine drips so much oil, it would ruin normal shoes. (The oil keeps the drill bit from getting too hot as it cuts into the metal.)

Friday, January 19, 1951

My German foreman is angry because I produced too much yesterday. Today he set my machine on Slow, so I finished only 59 pieces, with 5 holes each.

Thursday, January 25, 1951

This morning, Cilka, Johnny and I took the streetcar to the Cuyahoga County courthouse downtown, where we filed our first citizenship papers. Then we went to 626 Huron R., where I filled out my income tax return and learned that I will get a refund of $104.

At the shop, both tapping machines are running all day. We make some mistakes almost every day, but I don't produce scrap (unusable pieces).

Sunday, January 28, 1951

Karl helped me bring home a large, old, hand-winding Edison gramophone with a number of old records. Mr. Belaj gave it to us because it was in the way.

Tuesday, January 30, 1951

Cilka went shopping today and sold $20 of her homemade lace to the stores. But lace is generally not appreciated here and is very hard to sell. Cilka told Mrs. Smrekar how little she earned from her lacework. Mrs. Smrekar said, "If it's only a penny an hour, it's better than nothing."

I saw a large tablecloth at the market for $3. It was plastic, but it looked so good I could have mistaken it for real lace.

Mr. Red stopped at my machine and made friendly conversation for at least half an hour. Mr. Risher is completely different: very dry and unapproachable. Once I stepped away from my machine to clean a piece I had been working on. I said a few words to my co-worker Albin Klamer. Mr. Risher came out from his office and said, "If I ever see you talking with anybody, you'll get your last paycheck."

Friday, March 23, 1951

I deposited $100 in Mr. Grdina's North American Bank, and sent $30 to my friend Tomaz Pivk for the camera he bought for me in Austria.

Wednesday, April 11, 1951

We went to 1165 E. 58th St. We had heard there was an apartment there for rent at $12 a month, but it was already taken when we got there.

I was worried about Johnny's illness, but today he seems healthy. His dreams must not mean anything.

Friday, April 20, 1951

At Kollander's I ordered one package of food to be sent to my father, and one to Cilka's mother.

Thursday, April 26, 1951

Because of the large number of bad pieces being produced in the shop, each of us have been assigned our own number, which we have to use to mark every piece we produce. Constantly more harassment.

New York Central laid off 50 workers, Fisher Body laid off 600. Our friend Milica is only working three days a week. We have less work, too.

Sunday, April 29, 1951

We all went to church and then to the playground. In the evening we went with Rafko Zonta to see a Tarzan movie.

Saturday, May 12, 1951

For Mother's Day, I bought Cilka a ladies' hat for $15.

Sunday, May 13, 1951

This afternoon we saw a play at the Slovenian National Home. Bishop Gregory Rozman and Dr. Krek were also there.

Thursday, May 17, 1951

Our friend Mrs. Rose Zupan gave birth to a 10 pound baby boy.

My paycheck is only $116.48 for 14 days. We haven't worked on Saturdays for a few months. I wish we could work more hours! About 10 of our workers have left for work elsewhere. I'll stay as long as I can.

Saturday, May 26, 1951

Joe Cerar bought a new Ford for $1,100.

Wednesday, May 30, 1951, Memorial Day

The Erznoznik family joined us for our first visit to Euclid Beach Park. We were there for 6 hours, and enjoyed it.

Rihtar's 5-year old son John fell off a roof and had a brain concussion. He sounds confused; they say he'll need to rest for 6 weeks.

Saturday, June 2, 1951

We worked 8 hours in the shop today, to make up for the Memorial Day holiday

Tuesday, June 12, 1951

Today at the shop I completed 600 heavy pieces on the tapping machine. That means I lifted about 80 heavy steel parts per hour onto the machine, threaded the holes, and set them back down on the floor. I'm tired.

Wednesday, June 13, 1951

It's my birthday. Cilka and 3-year old Johnny gave me a cake and a new shirt with a tie. Johnny d