American Historical Society of Germans From Russia

Transcription

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2 On the cover: Certificates of death can be requested by immediate descendants of a citizen of the former Soviet Union from the regional ZAGS (Bureau of Registry of Civilian Acts) in which the person lived/died. This death certificate is for David Andreyevich Fischer, father of Friedrich Davidovich, whose story is found pages 1-4. A translation of the certificate reads as follows: CERTIFICATE OF DEATH Citizen Fischer David Andreyevich died on 10 November 1937 [in letters and figures] at the age of 66 according to the registry book of deaths, [Extract #12 made] 26 September Cause of death: shot Place of death: Engels Region: Engels Oblast/krai: Saratov Republic: Russian S.F.S.R. Place of registration: Marxstadt, bureau of ZAGS Saratov Oblast Date of issuance: 26 September 1990 Signed and sealed by bureau director III RU No Published by American Historical Society of Germans From Russia 631 D Street Lincoln, Nebraska Phone Edited by Jo Ann Kuhr Copyright 1992 by the American Historical Society of Germans From Russia. AH rights reserved. 1SSN The Society does not assume responsibility for statements made by its contributors.

3 CONTENTS UNFORGETTABLE ENCOUNTERS... 1 Nikolai V. Titov Translated by Elena Petrovna Mikhailova and Lawrence A. Weigel EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT... 5 Nina Berend Translated by David Bagby UNCLE JACOB'S WILD RIDES... 8 Alexander Dupper VOLHYNIAN GERMAN BAPTISTS IN ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA Richard Benert THE MATRON WHO WOULDN'T BE A MAID Ralph G. Bennett UPDATE: THE UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON'S FAMILIAL ALZHEIMER'S DISEASE PROJECT Thomas D. Bird, M.D. WE FULFILL OUR LIFE-LONG DREAM! Esther Beltz Trekell, et al. NEW ADDITIONS TO THE AHSGR LIBRARY Michael Ronn Members of the American Historical Society of Germans from Russia receive the Journal quarterly in addition to a quarterly Newsletter and an annual genealogical publication, Clues. Members qualify for discounts on materials available for purchase from AHSGR. Membership categories: Student, $20.00; Individual, $30.00; Family, $30.00; Contributing, $50.00; Sustaining, $100.00; Life, $ (may be paid in five annual installments). Memberships are based on a calendar year, due each January 1. Dues in excess of $30.00 are tax deductible. Applications for membership should be addressed to: AHSGR, 631 D Street, Lincoln, NE Telephone (402) FAX: (402)

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5 UNFORGETTABLE ENCOUNTERS: People from the Past and Thoughts on the Future Nikolai V. Titov Cultural and Historical Museum, Marks, Russia Translated from Russian to German by Elena Petrovna Mikhailova and from German to English by Lawrence A. Weigel. Edited by Fr. Blaine Burkey, O.F.M.Cap. In Down the Volga (HarperCollins, 1991}, the fascinating report of a 1990 journey down Russia's greatest river, Marq de Villiers devoted a marvelous chapter to Saratov and Marks {formerly Katharinenstadt), in the course of which he wrote, "...the prospect of Germans returning to Saratov had set off widespread racist hysteria in the region." [p. 251] The present story, which gives a different perspective to the return of the Volga Germans, was written by 65-year-old Nikolai Vasilevich Titov, an ethnic Russian, historian, and former regional newspaper editor who directs the museum in Marks. Bishop Joseph Werth of Novosibirsk, Siberia, son of a native Volga German, helped Titov contact the Volga- German Society of Ellis and Rush Counties, Kansas, for assistance in restoring the Marks museum's coverage of Volga German culture and history. Titov wrote in February 1991, "About 5,000 Germans live in our city and region. Their relations with those of other nationalities are good and peaceful. Yet the city officials are agitating an antiautonomy state of mind. I believe the re-establishment of the Volga Republic would improve the lives of the entire population of the region. " Fr. Burkey A person's mind is a vessel one can neither see nor hold in one's hands. One can only stir up recollections, excite them, and thus bring to light things hidden for decades, yet preserved in the corner of the mind. These recollections have indeed faded, have been blotted out, and have been pushed backwards by various events; but from generation to generation they shall endure. Once in a while one meets a person, a complete stranger; after spending time with him, one touches a tense string of his soul, and a lively picture escapes, bringing the past so close as if it had just happened yesterday. One even feels like a participant in such events. Such an encounter occurred at our museum in the summer of It was an ordinary sunny morning, with few visitors, when a man of medium height entered. His appearance differed little from any other person's a pleasant, sunburned face, eyes faded by time, and silvergray hair. He offered me a sultry hand that had once held an ax, a crowbar, and a hatchet, as well as tweezers and a surgeon's knife. "Friedrich Fischer," he said gently, "I come from Shakhtinsk (near Karanganda, Kazakhstan). Here, I brought something along." Carefully he laid the contents of his briefcase on the table. There were various papers, an inkwell, a penholder with a "Rondo" pen, a note holder, a horn knife for cutting paper, a cast-iron ashtray shaped like an oak leaf, an unexplained match box, photos, various documents, and a photo album from early-day Marxstadt. "These all belonged to my father. My children don't want to give them away because they are all that is left of their grandfather. Believe me, it isn't easy for me to part with such relics; but I want the people to know what it was like then." At first I couldn't understand what this was all about, but gradually Friedrich Davidovich unfolded a vast facet of the past in a tragic story of the older generation. This is a heretofore untold story of the suffering of those who disappeared as well as those still living today. It is impossible to measure the suffering, the sorrow, and the grief of such destiny. No, people can't comprehend it. Time alone will judge it all, and then on its own merits. The large Fischer family always lived in Katharinenstadt. One of them was Friedrich Davidovich's father, David Andreyevich, who was born in From childhood on he had learned the

6 2 UNFORGETTABLE ENCOUNTERS: story of religion. For twenty-one years he assisted the sexton-schoolmaster at Unterwalden. Soon thereafter he was allowed to lecture on the word of God in the school. Within two years, the young, hardworking schoolmaster had become the sexton-schoolmaster, organist, and church choir leader at the Lutheran church in Katharinenstadt. He also kept the church books, and from 1924 until 1930 he was schoolmaster in Rosenheim (Podstepnoye). In his later years, David Fischer served as schoolmaster in his hometown. When the new authorities closed the church, he held services in his home, and the people joined him. It was forbidden, but he continued to hold religious services. He carried his cross and was convinced that he had to help the people lighten their suffering and do good. Many inhabitants of the city can remember how nicely the choir sang with his direction and organ playing. While he was relating the tragic fate of his father, Friedrich Davidovich sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. It was very difficult for him to speak about this. He showed a photo of the house he lived in before they were deported and said softly, "They took our father away on August 5, The Chekists (forerunners of the KGB) said no more than they had to. He knew he would never return and would never see his dear ones again. He was tried by a tribunal and judged to be an enemy of the people. What happened to him, none of us knew until the end." Friedrich Davidovich was quiet. We looked at the documents by which his father had at various times been distinguished. These time-yellowed papers thanked him for good service. A document of the Moskow Evangelical Lutheran Consistory said in part, "Dear Schoolmaster. For twenty-five years you served our congregation and led the singing by playing the organ. The congregation members thank you... You conducted the services faithfully and full of devotion. We hope the Lord will always give you spiritual strength." This wish was fulfilled throughout his life, until the very last hour. Even in his most difficult moment of his life, his spirit wasn't broken. This photo of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Katharinenstadt was taken prior to the Revolution. Photo courtesy of Mrs. Friedrich Zitzer. This photo of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Katharinenstadt (now Marks) was taken in August The building is now being used as a recreation center. The Catholic Church in Katharinenstadt was blown up in 1983 or 1984 to make way for a rose garden and statue of Lenin. Photo courtesy of Marion F. Wasinger.

7 Years passed, and no news was received concerning the fate of David Andreyevich. Relatives of an "enemy of the people" didn't try to look for him. Only after many years, when it was possible to speak freely, did Friedrich Davidovich finally begin writing. This past year, after fiftythree years, he received a communication from the governor of the Saratov Oblast. This document said, "By a public decision of the N.K.V.D. Tribunal of the Autonomous Socialist Soviet Republic of the Volga Germans on November 8, 1937, your father, David Andreyevich Fischer, bom 1871, was condemned to be shot because of anti-soviet agitation. The sentence of the Tribunal was carried out on November 10, 1937." His place of burial wasn't given. Enclosed with this announcement was a copy of a document of rehabilitation, which noted that D. A. Fischer, aged 66, had been shot in Engels on November 10, One could have ended this sad story of the religious leader if the suffering of the Fischer family had only ended. But fate had terrible trials in store for them. The clouds gathered, and the storm fell on the second of the Fischer brothers. Andrei Andreyevich was fifty-four and had been a teacher in the Katharinenstadt classical high school most of his life. Later he worked as a tour guide in the cultural and historical museum, where he arranged many items from the world of plants. He was the author of a botany textbook used in the secondary schools of the Volga German Republic. He is said to have had an extraordinary ability to learn foreign languages, such as Greek, Italian, Hebrew, and Latin. He was well known and highly respected throughout the republic. In his last years, Andrei Andreyevich was a businessman and served as an interpreter for the People's Committee for Social Assistance. The arrest of his brother was very hard for him; he knew that his turn also would soon come. On the night of January 30, 1938, he was arrested. As was customary, he was accused of anti-soviet propaganda and condemned to be shot. The sentence was carried out May 22, 1938, in Saratov. Thus ended the career of this talented teacher, but this fact was revealed only fifty years later. How much strength one needed to survive this! But this wasn't all; the work of the bloody villains continued. Now it was the youngest brother's turn. Johannes Andreyevich was fifty-three years old. His life story was little different from that of his older contemporaries. After twenty-five years of service, he was given a pension but continued to work, teaching night school, and was known by everyone in the city. The Chekists took him in the night of February 13, The accusation was the same: anti- Soviet propaganda. The sentence was also the same: shooting. On August 21, 1938, the sentence was carried out. Where he is buried is unknown. This is how the lives of the three Fischer brothers came to an end. In the course of ten months, the lives of a religious leader and two teachers, all of peaceful professions, were offered up by the lawless. Thus the dragon of the totalitarian system crushed the fate of several generations. We sat silently and paged through the papers. Both head and heart ached. The mind searched for an answer to the question: Of what were they guilty? Why were they tried? Who shall answer for this? What did the children have to do then? How to survive? How to leave the parents? There were many questions, but no answers. The documents of rehabilitation who needs them? Are they only so the relatives can be convinced of the innocence of their father and grandfather? They knew that without documents. It was not only the Fischer family which suffered because of this injustice, and it was not only Germans who were carried away during the night. Ukrainians, Russians, Cossacks, Tartars, etc., were also shot. These events surely empowered the lawless, but they in no way lightened the fate of the unfortunate. The memory of the innocent dead burns in the hearts of the living. Their descendants must always remember their story and these times. For a long while we visited and recalled the old names of the streets, the houses, and the families, but Friedrich Davidovich told nothing about his own life. I didn't feel like I should ask him. Before his departure he came to say good-bye and promised to come again next year. Later we learned that he visited the cemeteries in Engels and Saratov. He knelt before strange graves and placed a bunch of flowers on the first graves he came to. He didn't find the graves of his relatives. He knew he would never find them, but he had some hope in his heart that he would. Not AHSGR Journal/ Winter 1992

8 4 UNFORGETTABLE ENCOUNTERS: without good reason is it said: "Hope is the last thing to die." After a while I wrote to him in Shakhtinsk and soon received an answer. He wrote that he was taking up a collection in order to help restore our destroyed museum in his hometown. Here is a person who thinks of future generations, one who wrote only few words of his own life. He was born in 1915 in Katharinenstodt, studied in the "Red School," then in the model school. In 1936 he entered the Saratov University of Medicine, He was unable to complete his studies there, however, as he was evacuated with his elders to Tomsk Oblast where he finished his education. In January 1942 the young doctor-therapist was mobilized to help build the Abakan-Askiz Railroad, in the Krasnoyarsk territory. Active at first as a doctor, he was taken in November 1942 with a work gang to the Ozarevka labor camp in Tula Oblast, where he was forced to work as a miner. An accident there left him a second-class invalid, and by the fall of 1943 he was again active as a physician. Once the decree which lifted the restriction of the German people became known, he returned to the Volga Region and lived at Nishnaya Dobrinka. Then he went to Kazakhstan; he didn't say why. He has served forty-six years in health care, is a veteran of the medical profession, and has possession of documents which he retained, regarding it as his duty. His family is well, and he has two daughters and four grandchildren. The reason for all our letters and conversation is his longing for a home. He was deported but didn't have enough money to buy a house. To obtain one, a person has to wait many years but his age makes this impossible. I can understand this person's sorrow very well. He has suffered much violence but doesn't complain about his fate. It was the fate of all peoples and nations, and time will heal all. Dear Friedrich Davidovich, it is easy to understand that a person has only one homeland. It is where the parents and grandparents were born and buried. Your homeland is here on the Volga; your harbor on the shore of this mighty river. Nikolai Titov and his wife in the backyard of their home in Marks (Katharinenstadt). Photo courtesy of Marion E Wasinger.

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10 "EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT... Present-day German Russians in Mannheim, Germany Nina Berend Translated by David Bagby "Whom I have met, no one speaks High German correctly, for them it is also difficult. They say we speak like literature, but I have never yet heard." For Mannheim residents also, not only for German Russians, learning the standard language of High German is difficult. This is the conclusion reached by a German- Russian worker who has lived in Rheinau-Sued (Rheinau South, near Mannheim) for two years and who works in one of the factories of the firm Mannheimer Werke. His conclusion addresses one of the most important problems with which these people must come to grips in their "new old homeland": learning standard German. In Mannheim at least, they have come up against an unexpected difficulty; "No one speaks High German correctly." German Russians came to the Federal Republic, however, with the intention of learning "correct" German. Better to Go to North Germany Language researchers may debate the questions of whether dialects in Germany are still alive and whether they still hold any relevancy in society. For the German-Russian worker who has "dropped" into the language environment of a large, southern German city, there is no doubt: He experiences directly how strongly the city dialect influences his "language fate" [sprachliches Schicksal], and he has Nina Berend is a researcher with the Institute for the German Language (Institut fuer deutsche Sprache) in Mannheim, Germany. This article first appeared in the newsletter Sprach Report (Language Report), from which this article was translated. Sprach Report, 3 (1991): 1-3) Institut fuer deutsche Sprache. Photos by B. U. Biere. Used with permission. come to believe that it would have been better if he had landed not in Mannheim, but in some other area of Germany where in his opinion "there is no dialect," for example in northern Germany. I have been surprised by two observations made in the course of studying the language integration of German Russians [into German society]; one, by their language consciousness, which grows astoundingly quickly, and two, by the "language confusion" which prevails among them. These two occurrences seem at first glance to be mutually exclusive but are factors in the language behavior of German Russians which have developed in the course of their relatively short time in Germany and which are intensified by the extreme situation of German Russians. Language Consciousness, Language Confusion German Russians in the Soviet Union developed gradually but continually in the direction of Russification: they had to make the Russian language ever more their own, at the cost of their German dialect. This development had progressed so far that it was already accepted as a matter of course. The language policy of the Soviet Union was not the least of the factors accelerating this development. What expectations concerning language do the German Russians have as they enter their new language community? In my opinion, the answer to this question reveals one of the most important contradictions created by their language consciousness and language confusion: the contradiction between their expectations and the reality of spoken language which they find here, a contradiction which ultimately calls forth a radical change in the attitudes toward language and in the language behavior of German Russians.

11 The First Disappointment... German Russians learn that their expectations don't match their reality through a series of frustrating experiences. The first disappointment concerns the dialect they bring with them; they discover very quickly that their native dialect is of little use to them here. This discovery is a painful one for most German Russians, for it was their native German dialect which in Russia strengthened their feeling of belonging to Germany. The reasons for these false language expectations probably lie in the nature of the "island" dialect itself. When surrounded by a foreign language environment, the German dialect (as the only available variety of German) represents the German language itself (which leads to the lack of differentiation between High German and dialect). This has far-reaching consequences for German Russians in their new language environment. Every German Russian in the Soviet Union who has an active competency in a German dialect knows that he can speak "German." True, he is aware that his German is not entirely "correct," but that does nothing to change his belief that he will quickly be able to learn "correct" German. German Russians do have a certain, if somewhat nebulous, understanding that they speak a dialect and of what that means. However, it's not until they are faced with the appearance in Germany of High German and the German dialects as concrete variations of language that they fully realize the implications. Their mistaken belief is that they can simply "add" to their dialect. This is obviously not the case: their dialect is not an aid but rather a hindrance to learning High German. This is revealed more clearly with German Russians but also in different ways than with native-born dialect speakers. ness to leam. None of them had figured that a new dialect in Germany would stand in the way of learning High German. At first, the presence of a dialect is not experienced as an obstacle. Quite the opposite: the first emotions when one discovers that a dialect is spoken in Mannheim are very pleasant; the experience is almost one of joy, combined with the hope that one will be able to settle into a new life more quickly and easily through this level of "almost-likehome" dialect. "I was so happy!" said a beaming, enthusiastic young German-Russian woman from the village of Baden in the Ukraine when I asked her about her first impressions in Mannheim. Interestingly, the first thing that German Russians discover are the similarities between the Mannheim dialect and their own. This leads them to the thought that their ancestors emigrated long ago from Mannheim or the surrounding region to Russia. This gives them a feeling of belonging and strengthens [the feeling that they have] the right to live here something for which they have a great need in daily life while building up their new existence. Not the least among these feelings is the idea that dialect is something comfortable, gemuetlich, and especially against And the Second... The second disappointment faced by German Russians comes in connection with [the contrast between] High German and the Mannheim dialect. After they have discovered first disappointment that the German dialect they brought with them is not useful as a means of communication in the new language community, and after they have accepted and prepared themselves to learn High German, they are confronted with the Mannheim dialect. This confrontation saps their readi- Tim and Arthur; They still speak Russian with their father and a German-Russian dialect with their mother but already with a Mannheim accent,

12 the background of High German, which they still have to learn familiar and understandable. Very quickly, however, they make the sobering discovery that is the basis for their negative appraisal of the Mannheim dialect: They don't understand it. This is apparent in all statements by German Russians about the Mannheim dialect. The radical nature of their attempts to develop clear conceptual [language] structures is remarkable: High German is the correct German, the pure German. The language is "cleaner," i.e., prettier and easier to understand; High German is better understood than dialect; High German is understood by all in Germany, regardless of which dialect they speak. High German is therefore consciously chosen by German Russians over the Mannheim dialect. The dialect at least so far doesn't stand a chance with them. Fourth Variety: Russian The language situation of German Russians in Mannheim is further complicated by the fact that to the three German varieties they must deal with High German, their native German dialect, and the Mannheim dialect there is added still a fourth language variety, Russian, of which as a practical matter they have the best command. The language confusion which prevails among German Russians is particularly evident in this statement: Everything is different: there we spoke Russian on the street and German at home; now we speak German on the street and Russian at home. German Russians are certainly not overjoyed that many of the new people they speak with do not speak High German in most communicative situations but rather the Mannheim dialect: My husband understands almost nothing of the Mannheim dialect, and he's always frustrated at work when someone doesn't speak High German. [The German-Russian immigrants] are unable to imagine what must be done: since fate has already sent them to Mannheim, they will just have to learn to live with it. Learning High German is not the only task they will face (as may seem to be suggested in the many language courses offered). They will also have to learn which varieties of language in their new home have which social significance and meaning. Above all, they will have to learn to use and evaluate the standard language and the varieties to fit the communicative situation. Victor M. from Kazakhstan with his wife Emma in temporary housing quarters Rheinau South: "Language is the most important thing. " AHSGR Journal/Winter 1992

13 UNCLE JACOB'S WILD RIDES Alexander Dupper During the First World War, and in the turbulent years of the Russian Civil War after the October Revolution, we lived in the German village Friedenheim (Vygoda) in the Odessa Region of the Ukraine. It was the birthplace of my father, and his parents my grandparents lived there. My father, having been drafted into the military like most of the Russian-German men, was in the army and stationed at the Russian-Turkish front in the southern Caucasus. My mother, with the help of one maid, took care of our little household and in addition tried to carry on my father's business, the sale of farm machinery and spare parts for the International Harvester Company. This became almost impossible since at this time of war and internal unrest almost no one had money for anything but the barest necessities and of course didn't want to pay. Often Mother was verbally abused and even driven from farmhouses where she had gone to collect bills long overdue. I was at that time just four or five years old and liked to play around our yard all day. Every morning I watched with great interest as the cowherd and the shepherd gathered the cattle, the calves, and the sheep in the village and drove them to the pasture. Shortly thereafter the farmers could be seen driving to their fields. Almost every wagon carried a barrel of water and, depending on the season, all sorts of tools and farm implements, such as shovels, hoes, rakes, harrows, and scythes. Attached to the rear there was either a plow or a reaping machine. After the farmers had gone to their fields, it became more quiet on the street. Now the chickens, geese, and dogs ventured forth. The tranquil mood was only occasionally interrupted by a meat or fruit peddler or another kind of itinerant salesman who would loudly advertise his wares. The dogs greeted every stranger with loud barking, so that everyone knew right away when an outsider arrived. At sunset the herders brought their herds back into the village, and the farmers, their day's work accomplished, returned to their Alex Dupper lives in Lodi, California, and is a frequent contributor to the Journal with humorous tales of his childhood in South Russia as well as with scholarly articles of life in the German colonies in South Russia. farmhouses. As a small boy, all the activity on the village street was of great interest to me. In Vygoda there lived across the street from our house a farmer by the name of Jacob, one of the most industrious and richest farmers in the village. Uncle Jacob, as I called him, had two farmsteads next to each other, one for each of his two sons. The one where he lived included a large residential building, stables, barns, summer kitchen, and other smaller farm buildings. The other lot, for the time being, was planted with vegetables. Uncle Jacob had over 100 dessiatine (270 plus acres) of land; he owned six to eight horses and many cows, sheep, hogs, chickens, and geese. Together with his wife, sons, daughters, a manservant and a maidservant he managed an exemplary farming establishment. He himself always worked in the fields with his farm hands, and his farmstead was always swept clean and in excellent order. Those were restless times. The Communist watchword, "Take everything from the rich and give it to the poor" ["From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs." Karl Marx, Critique of the Gotha Program, 1875] was, of course, not received with great enthusiasm by the landowning farmers. These farmers understandably felt insecure, were intimidated, and became quite fearful, not knowing what the future would hold in store for them. Many reached for the bottle to drown their worries and fears. Uncle Jacob, too, was dissatisfied and worried about the political and economic situation. Things in his fanning establishment no longer went the way he wanted them to. Often work on the farm came to a standstill or had to be interrupted for several days. Like so many other farmers, he, too, sought consolation with a glass of vodka at the buffet in the railway station. One glass sometimes became two or even three glasses of vodka. Washing down political frustration with liquor became ever more difficult. After imbibing liquor, Uncle Jacob had a red face, new-found courage, and restored strength to resume once more the struggle against a hostile world. Already on the way from the train station to the village, he would begin to grumble loudly, scold, rail, and swear. Once arrived at his farm, he became abusive to

14 everyone his wife, sons, daughters, maidservant and manservant. They all knew him well and tried to get out of his way as quickly as possible, since he sometimes became violent. His wife would shout, "Get out of here, everyone; the old man's gone crazy again!" She would then lock herself in the bedroom, or she would run across the street in order to hide herself in our house. Maidservant and manservant would run out of the backyard; his daughters jumped over the yard wall to seek protection with the neighbors, and his sons would hide in the hayloft or behind the straw- or haystack. When Uncle Jacob realized that there was no one left at the farm to listen to him, he went in front of his gate onto the street. Here, with a loud voice which could be heard all over the village, he let everyone know that, in his opinion, they were nothing more than "dumme Esel und faule Huende (stupid asses and lazy mutts)," spiced with several unprintable German and Russian expletives. Those who heard him hurried as quickly as they could into their houses from where they could observe the spectacle from behind drawn curtains. Even the dogs immediately grew silent; they knew that a powerful kick delivered by Uncle Jacob did not exactly come across as a caress. Chickens ceased their cackling and quickly sought backyards. After he had once more yelled his opinion at the lower and upper village (with by now an almost hoarse voice) and all was quiet in the village, he discovered me. Here I stood in our front gate with my little wheelbarrow and wooden hobby horse and listened with great pleasure to all the yelling and shouting. For me, five years old, Uncle Jacob with his loud voice was a hero. In my eyes he was a great man who could outyell the whole village. When he looked at me, I smiled at him joyfully. As he now saw that I was his only listener, he called to me, "Come, Sasha (Russian nickname for Alexander), let's go for a drive!" I didn't need to be told twice; immediately I left my toys where they were and ran barefoot across the street to him. He caught me in his arms, lifted me up, and carried me to his brichka (light carriage), where he set me on the front seat. Then he got his two best horses and hitched them to the carriage. The brown stallion with the white star on his forehead and the mare just as brown were a beautiful team of horses. These horses understood each other, and they understood and obeyed every call and whistle of Uncle Jacob's. He had probably the most handsome horses in the whole village, definitely the fastest ones. In his opinion they were the most gorgeous in the whole area. The horses and the splendid harness with its gleaming metalwork and the handsome brichka painted black were really something to see! Riding in the brichka was always an adventurous delight, and our Black Sea Germans liked to show off with it. The horses pulling the brichka ran a race with the wind. After the horses had been hitched to the carriage, Uncle Jacob vaulted onto the seat, put his left arm around me, and with a "jaeh! (go!)" and the crack of the whip, the team galloped out of the gate, trailing a rooster tail of dust. We tore hell-for-leather through the lower village. Chickens, dogs, and whoever else was on the street got out of the way and sought refuge. At the southern end of the village we took a sharp turn to the right. Only two wheels touched the roadbed; the other two flew through the air. Galloping wildly, we progressed farther toward the railway line. The railroad crossing was passed with a loud racket, whistling, and whip-cracking, horses and carriage more airborne than on the road. With my little child's voice I tried with much enthusiasm to support Uncle Jacob's yelling and shouting. We circled around the railway station in a great curve and approached the village's north end once more. The horses were now cantering, and Uncle Jacob's rage had by now pretty well spent itself. Yes, he even let me hold the reins. This was, of course, the high point of the whole wild ride for me to be allowed to hold the horses' reins. With a more moderate pace, we now returned to Uncle Jacob's farm. On our arrival he lifted me down from the carriage, and I immediately ran home. My mother was waiting already in front of our house. Full of joyous excitement, I bubbled forth my enthusiasm over the ride. Mother wanted to scold me, but she couldn't get a word in. Above all, I was proud to have held the horses' reins. She now tried to have a few serious words with Uncle Jacob, for him not to take me along on his wild and reckless drives. But he, with his nerves now cooled off, only replied, "The little one should learn something, after all, and also have some fun." The following day I would play again in our yard with my hobbyhorse and my wheelbarrow. Sometimes I stopped in the middle of the yard and tried to imitate Uncle Jacob's loud words about the stupid asses and lazy

15 mutts. Things became unpleasant for me, however, when I also tried to repeat his unprintable words. My mother, who had no understanding for that, quickly gave me a spanking and had me kneeling in the comer for five minutes. Those five minutes seemed like five hours to me. But my joy at the brichka ride with Uncle Jacob lasted for days. I, of course, participated in only a few of Uncle Jacob's wild rides. One day he drove without me to the train station Dachnaya (Villa Area), only twelve kilometers southeast of Vygoda. He waited at the station's water tower until the mail/passenger train from Odessa to Kiev arrived. This train made a stop at each railroad station to deliver and pick up mail. It was not exactly the fastest train but was always on time. Some farmers even set their watches by the train whistle. Uncle Jacob signaled the locomotive engineer as the train came to a halt and the locomotive stood at the water tower. With much yelling and gesticulating he tried to get the engineer to understand that he wanted to race him. The engineer understood and pointed in the direction of Vygoda. As soon as the locomotive whistled and started rolling, Uncle Jacob, without looking back, cracked his whip, yelled like a madman, and his horses took off like greased lightning. It took the old engine a while to accelerate, but the horses ran for their lives, for the smoking monster the train puffed, hissed, and rattled after them; it seemed as though all the infernal demons of hell were chasing them. At the train station Vygoda's water tower, Uncle Jacob suddenly halted his team. The horses were wet with perspiration and breathing heavily. Uncle Jacob, too, had to wipe off his sweat. But now the train arrived. A shrill whistle heralded its coming, then there was the squealing of brakes, and the locomotive stood at the water tower beside the brichka. The engineer waved at Uncle Jacob and respectfully doffed his cap in acknowledgement of Uncle Jacob's victory. Uncle Jacob waved back and happily drove his team toward the village. The next day the whole village was agog with the news that Uncle Jacob's team had beaten the mail/passenger train and was therefore faster than the train. His victory over the train gave Uncle Jacob enormous satisfaction and great joy in this restless, unsettled time. Uncle Jacob continued drinking his liquor at the train station buffet, complaining loudly, and driving his team like the devil to calm his nerves and to keep from going mad. After every ride he would reward his horses generously with oats. In Vygoda people were talking for a long time about another wild drive Uncle Jacob took without me. One day he had once again had enough of everything, so he spurred on his horses and raced like the wind to the village of Freudental, where his parents lived. It was shortly before noon, and his mother was just setting the table, which on this warm day stood under the acacia tree in front of the house. Uncle Jacob rushed into the yard, shouted his opinion at everyone loudly, that they were all nothing more than "Stupid asses and lazy curs!", turned around and, becoming aware of the half-set table, halted abruptly, leaped down from his brichka, seized the table by its legs, and overturned it while shouting, "That's all the lazy devils do eat the whole day!" His mother screamed, and his father, who saw what was going on, ran into the house and got his shotgun from the wall, inserting a cartridge immediately. The old man could be just as wild tempered as his son, But when the old man came out of the house, his son had already left in a cloud of dust and was by now in the upper part of Freudental. The old man, whose wrath had been thoroughly kindled, nevertheless took aim and fired a shot. Fortunately, he didn't hit anything. Uncle Jacob had long since gone beyond the range of the old shotgun. He only smiled: his horses, which could outrun a train, could also outrun a shotgun. Yippee! Returning into his house, the old man was foaming and swearing that he would shoot Jacubchik (Jacob) the next time he came to his house. So, for a while, there was no visiting between father and son. In the spring of 1920, the Red Army overran the Black Sea area and occupied the city of Odessa. Our family suddenly had to leave Vygoda, and for a long time I heard nothing more of Uncle Jacob. Not until the early 1930s, when we again lived in Odessa, did Yasha, Uncle Jacob's oldest son, visit us and tell us of his father's sad fate. Having been branded a kulak, he became like so many others a victim of Stalin's Collectivization of Agriculture. In the spring of 1930 he and his wife along with other formerly well-to-do farmers of Vygoda were exiled and transported in cattle cars to Siberia. None of them was ever heard from again. Did he starve to death, freeze to death, or was he beaten to death in the cold North? Siberia swallowed him, as it has millions of others, without a trace. But in my memory he lives forever as a great man who owned the swiftest horses in Vygoda and who taught me to hold the reins and guide a team of horses.

16 VOLHYNIAN GERMAN BAPTISTS IN ST. PAUL MINNESOTA Richard Benert Germans from Russia, like other immigrant groups in the New World, often settled in nearly homogeneous communities where they could preserve many of the folkways of the old country and, consequently, their unique identity. Churches, cemeteries, folklore and folksongs, names of towns, and countless traditions provided evidence of their need for continuity through the harsh transition their lives had undergone. Immigrants who merged into larger communities not A native of St. Paul, Richard Benert attended Bethel College there and earned a doctorate in European history at the University of Minnesota. He then taught history at Lafayette College in Easton, Pennsylvania. Since 1975 he has been employed as a harpsichord builder at Martin Harpsichords of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. This article is dedicated especially to the memory of Mr. Emil John. only lost much of their cultural identity in the process but also made themselves less accessible to the curiosity of later generations. Their tracks are harder to find. Leaving behind no distinguishing artifacts as a community, they are chiefly remembered as individuals, and their memories are preserved, if at all, chiefly by their families. The following pages will commemorate a small group of Germans from Russia, most of them Baptists, who left their homes in a relatively circumscribed region of Volhynia and settled in the Dayton's Bluff area on the east side of St. Paul. There they became members of what was then the Erste Deutsche Baptisten-Gemeinde, a church that had been founded in For about thirty-five years, its membership consisted primarily of immigrants from Germany, but in the The First German Baptist Church of St. Paul, photographed shortly after its 1891 construction.

17 12 VOLHYNIAN GERMAN BAPTISTS years just before the outbreak of WW I, it became a targeted destination for newcomers from Volhynia, among whom were my father, Rudolph Benert, and the parents of my mother, Alma (Bartel) Benert. The story concerns about two dozen families and an area of Volhynia scarcely more than 25 kilometers in breadth, stretching from Nowa Rudnia in the west to Solodyri in the east (4-D on the Karte der deutschen Siedlungen in ukrainisch Wolhynien of Dr. Karl Stumpp [AHSGR Map No. 3]). A few of the families came from such outlying villages as Zeleznica (a few kilometers west of Korec 4-B and about 70 kilometers west of Nowa Rudnia) and Kapetulezyn (about the same distance southwest of Nowa Rudnia 5-B). What drew them to St. Paul, once the first of them had arrived, was the typical network of family ties and friendships already established in Volhynia, strengthened in this case by their contacts within the Baptist community there. Some of the story has been preserved by individual family members who have taken upon themselves the preservation of their own families' histories, but we owe a great debt to the amazing memory of Mr. Emil Jahn, who celebrated his 101st birthday on February 15, 1992, but passed away the following October 5. Until recently he lived in his own apartment about a mile from the old church (now converted, alas, into apartments). His patient answers to my questions got my research started several years ago, and further information has come largely from leads which he furnished. It is now possible to identify what I hope is all of the individuals who made the journey from Volhynia to the First German Baptist Church of St. Paul; to observe, in some instances, their lives in Russia and the circumstances surrounding their emigration; to note, in roughly chronological order, their arrival in St. Paul; and to describe in broad outline their adjustment to life in a midwestern American city. Emil Jahn was bom in Kapetulczyn (5-B) in 1891, the fourth child of Michael and Amelia (Marquardt) Jahn, His older siblings were Juliana (bom in nearby Marianovka in 1881 or 1882), Rudolph (1885) and Reinhold (1888). August (1894) and Arnold (1901) were his younger brothers. Emil attended school in nearby Michaloczka. His father was the leader of a small group of Baptists who met in the home of Emil's grandparents, Karl and Mathilda (Rosien) Marquardt, in Kapetulczyn. The Marquardt family owned a substantial amount of land and had donated a portion of it to be a cemetery for the German community. Emil also remembered occasionally attending the local Lutheran church or visiting the large Baptist church in Nowa Rudnia, a brick structure with stained glass windows, having about 200 members. The pastor of the Nowa Rudnia church regularly visited the Emil John in Kapetulezyn church, a branch of his own, four times each year. After Michael Jahn died in 1906, Amelia married an older man (Eduard Bansmer) who was unable to maintain the Jahn's large farm. Therefore the family moved to Nowa Rudnia in From there Emil immigrated to St. Paul through the port of Hamburg in 1910, aided by ten rubles he handed to a border guard in lieu of appropriate papers. His coming to St. Paul was directly related to the fact that a few years earlier his brother-in-law, Wilhelm Wiesner, had temporarily settled there. Wilhelm's brother August (born in 1876) had married Juliana Jahn, Emil's sister, in Wilhelm and August were sons of Friedrich Wilhelm and Katherine (Sorge) Wiesner, both of whom had been born in Poland in the 1850s. Their other children included Emil, Heinrich, Adolf, Julius, Wilhelmina, and Karoline. The family lived on what Emil Jahn remembered as a large farm in Zeleznica. They had

18 come to Volhynia as Lutherans but became Baptists about 1894 and must have begun attending a Baptist church in nearby Luczinow where August was baptized in 1896 by a Rev. M. Jeske. Three years later Rev. Jeske also officiated at August and Juliana's wedding. The Wiesners also worshipped occasionally with the Baptists in Kapetulczyn and had contacts with the church in Nowa Rudnia, where August became a member. The Wiesners were a prosperous family. Emil remembered their large house and barn, sheds for the animals, fields of wheat, oats, rye, barley, flax, potatoes, rutabagas and cucumbers, apple and cherry orchards, oak and willow woods, swamps, six or seven cows and about as many horses. In spite of this, This is possibly a photograph taken at the wedding of August Wiesner and Juliana John in 1899 in Kapetulczyn. Positive identification can be made of Michael and Amelia John at the far left. Juliana and August would be the couple standing in the center, with possibly Wilhelmina Wiesner at the right. Seated in the middle is possibly Karl Marquardt, and seated at the right, possibly, is Friedrich Wilhelm Wiesner (or Karl Sorge?). Unfortunately, failing eyesight prevented Emil John from identifying these people. Friedrich Wilhelm and Katherine, with their daughter Wilhelmina and her husband, Karl Sorge, moved to Drueckenhof, Kreis Briesen, West Prussia, in about In this formerly Polish area, the German government was offering land to German farmers, hoping to Germanize the area and make it more productive. The sons of the family had more distant horizons in mind. Wilhelm had apparently immigrated to Winnipeg, perhaps as early as 1903, and moved to St. Paul a few years later with his wife Natalia of Winnipeg. She joined the church in 1909, but a few years later (perhaps 1912) this couple returned to Canada, lived in Saskatchewan, and retired eventually in Vancouver, B.C. While in St. Paul, however, Wilhelm urged his brother August to join him. To do so, August had to leave his blacksmith shop in Kapetulczyn. Blacksmithing was a trade he had learned from his uncle, Mr. Pershal, in the village of as Emil Jahn remembered it Wowze. August's shop had also provided employment for Emil. August duly arrived in 1910, transferred his church membership from Nowa Rudnia, found work at the Northern Cooperage Company, and sent for his wife. Juliana came the following year with their son Rudolph, bom six years earlier in Marianovka. August later found employment in North St. Paul and purchased a 10-acre farm near that community. He quickly became active in the church, teaching Sunday school for a number of years and serving as a deacon throughout his life. In this role he remains etched in my childhood memories, reverently serving the elements of Communion to the congregation. Two other brothers, Emil and Adolf, also sojourned in St. Paul for a time. Wilhelm Wiesner's advertisements about life in St. Paul acted even more quickly on other people than on his brother. Emil Jahn was one of them, and when he came, he was accompanied by the family of Friedrich and Pauline (Jahn) Gutzman. Pauline was Emil's aunt, and Friedrich came from the village of Michaloczka. They joined the church in July 1910 but stayed only a short time before moving to Madison, South Dakota, where there was also a German Baptist Church. Emil lived with them briefly before being '7 offered a room by August Wiesner's family. Wilhelm Wiesner may have exerted influence on another young man, John Roller, who also arrived in St. Paul in His parents, Wilhelm and Pauline Roller, had lived near Zeleznica and were friends of the Wiesner and Jahn families. As the Wiesners had left Russia for land in Drueckenhof, the Rollers became their neighbors again in the nearby village of Treuhausen in It was apparently from there that John Roller came to St. Paul. He attended the church until his marriage, when he joined his wife's Lutheran church. Two brothers, Fred and Emil, also came. Fred taught Sunday school in 1914 and Both were

19 still on the membership list in 1927, although Emil had by that time moved to Chicago. The Wiesners and Rollers were only two Volhynian families who divided their migratory energies between Prussia and the United States. Several members of four families which had come to Volhynia from the Kalisz district in western Poland also left for West Prussia around The Kalisz district was not far from the Warta River district where the Wiesners came from. A Sorge family settled in or near Zeleznica, and one of its sons was the Karl Sorge who married Wilhelmina Wiesner and accompanied her and her parents to Drueckenhof. Whether this family was related to Katherine Sorge, the wife of Friedrich Wilhelm Wiesner, no one seems to know. Three other families Krebs, Freigang, and Riske settled in Nowa Rudnia, from where Heinrich and Luise (Heise) Krebs, Johann and Justine (Richter) Freigang, and Johann's daughter Lydia with her husband, Emil Riske, also departed for West Prussia, settling in various villages in Graudenz and Rosenberg. None of them was far from Drueckenhof, and contacts among the families were maintained. The details of their intermarriages and subsequent movements from place to place within Germany and between there and the United States (chiefly Milwaukee) make an interesting story but lie beyond our immediate purpose. We will encounter their names again, however, in connection with later immigrants to St. Paul. While the immigrants from the Zeleznica-Kapetulczyn- Nowa Rudnia triangle were coming to St. Paul, another group was arriving from the Neudorf-Solodyri area. Neudorf is not on Stumpp's map but appears as "Kol. Nowa" on maps of the Wojskowy Geographical Institute, lying 3 to 5 kilometers northwest of Solodyri. It was the site of a fairly large Baptist church, a smaller branch of which was situated in Solodyri. According to my father, churches in Wiazowiec (5-D) and Horoszki (Wolodarsk, 4- D) were also branches of the Neudorf church, as the Baptist church in Pulin was an offshoot of a church in Iwanowice. About half the population of Solodyri was Baptist. Mrs, Alice (Deblitz) Baumbach of Wauwatosa, Wisconsin, who was bom there in 1920, has identified 48 of her list of 89 families as Baptist. In the 1920s the Solodyri congregation had two deacons, she remembers, Gottlieb Driesner and Karl Deblitz. Three Sundays each month, the "brothers" led the services, and once a month it was common to visit the church in Neudorf, whose last pastor, until its closing in 1934, was Rev. Schmidgall. (In that year it became, thanks to the government, a granary. The previous year, the government allegedly turned the church in Solodyri into a veterinary clinic.) Emil Jahn recalled that a previous pastor (Rev. Wuerch?) visited St. Paul, possibly around 1918, on what must have been a joyous occasion for his former parishioners who then lived there. I have not been able to discover what led the first immigrants from Neudorf to St. Paul, nor is it apparent in what order they arrived. There may, of course, have been communication with the Nowa Rudnia church, but I am not aware of any specific contacts. Emil Jahn believed that about 1908 Mr. and Mrs. John Litz arrived from somewhere near Neudorf, possibly the first from that area. By 1920 this family had grown to include a daughter Esther and four sons: Arthur, Herman, Harold, and Rubin. They remained members of the church at least through the 1920s. Also in St. Paul before 1910 were two Silke brothers, Wilhelm and Albert. Emil Jahn thought that Albert might have worked for my grandfather, Wilhelm Karl Boehnert, in Solodyri. They soon returned to Russia, but while they lived in St. Paul, they lived in a rooming house on East 4th Street (the church was on East 5th) with Gustav Timm and Robert Ittermann of Neudorf. Gustav Timm and his brother August were, I believe, sons of a cabinetmaker in Neudorf. Neither of them became members of the First German Baptist Church, but August remained a lifelong resident of St. Paul. The Timms were well acquainted with the Ittermann family in Neudorf. Gustav Timm married one of their daughters, Regina; one of their sons, Albert, learned cabinetmaking from the elder Mr. Timm. In 1981 at the age of 96, this Albert Ittermann wrote a brief story of his life after a long career as a Baptist preacher in places as far apart as Pleasant Valley, North Dakota, and South Africa. According to his autobiography, his father Peter had been a Lutheran pastor, apparently in the vicinity of Kiev. After Peter and his wife, Karoline (Henkel), became Baptists in 1883, they were ostensibly "persecuted by the Synod" which had "decided to kill him"(!). 11 Apparently, after narrowly escaping death, he found safety in Neudorf where he became a teacher of Russian and German and took up the study of law in AHSGR Journal/ Winter 1992