That's the Way It's Done in Hungary: Pioneer Tales of Arkansas' German Immigrants

Arkansas Echo

January 5, 1894

THAT'S THE WAY ITS DONE IN HUNGARY

-or-

A PERSON WHO WILL NOT ACCEPT ADVICE CANNOT BE HELPED

(This story is another pioneer tale published by the German-language newspaper, the Arkansas Echo, in early 1894.  It tells the story of Gottlieb, a German immigrant, who would not accept advice and thus had a difficult time in America. Gottlieb was welcomed by his Arkansas neighbors who helped him and his wife settle onto a farm in Logan County, but were later dismayed to learn that he was an atheist, anarchist, and malcontent; more than that, he would do things only his way then blame others when he failed. They were glad to see him leave the state to try his fortunes in Oklahoma.)

Program for the 1879 Festival of the
German Sengerbund, a Social Organization
for German Immigrants

A German Stranger Arrives and Tells His Story

In the early part of this year, it will be three years ago when a stranger came one evening — it had already grown dark — to our fence and said, "I am a foreigner, a German, and I would like to ask for accommodations for the night."

Since the man seemed to be quite orderly and proper, I took him with me into the house and told him that I would let him stay for the night. After he had eaten and drunk, he began to talk, and in an hour I knew his whole life's story, his plans, hopes, and dreams. Those were, in short, the following:

His name was Gottlieb and his profession was blacksmith. He was actually born a Tiroler, and he had learned the honorable blacksmith trade in his village. After his apprenticeship was finished, he traveled out of his home mountains, going to Vienna. While in this large city, he appears to have soon thrown his religion into the rubbish heap, admittedly something he did not tell me that night, but which he came out with later. He remained in Vienna until he became a soldier. He then went to Hungary, where he served out his time.

During this period, he became acquainted with a German girl whom he later took as his wife. In the meanwhile, he went to work in a large factory and saved 100 Gulden in a short time.  Then he set up his own business in the Romanian region, where the Austrian government had founded a new German colony.  There he worked as a blacksmith for Romanian farmers, and they, in return, worked his land. Gottlieb had nothing good to say for these people; they must have been obnoxious rogues and rascals. In fact, they must have made life there so sour for him that one day he sold out and moved to Bosnia, which Austria had just annexed. Here he settled again in a new German colony and began over again.

It appears that he went from the frying pan into the fire. In his new place, no piece of blacksmith equipment, no pigs in their sty were safe. And, as he had a dispute with a neighbor, and the neighbor wanted to kill him, he thought to himself, “Now is the time.”

He sold out again and intended to go further, into Turkey. In the meanwhile, a few brochures fell into his hands portraying the land and life in America in such alluring terms that our Gottlieb quickly resolved that, instead of migrating to Turkey, he would go to that Promise Land, America.

It certainly must have been his opinion that it was a real paradise where a person only had to reach over to pick up money and, what was most attractive, every new arrival received 160 acres, a complete homestead, entirely free of charge from the government, and the 160 acres he could select anywhere he liked it best.

So, dear Gottlieb, what more do you want? On to America.

Gottlieb Travels to America

He came, after much travel to and fro, at last to America, specifically to Philadelphia. From there he went to the large city of iron, Pittsburgh, where he could not fail, as a proper German blacksmith, to quickly find good, profitable work. There soon came his first disappointment! He could find no suitable work. For a couple of weeks, he had to do all kinds of small jobs in order to earn a little something. Then he tried working under the earth in a coal mine. He was tired of that in eight days, and decided to try things with the 160 acres.

But where would be the best place to do? He considered it carefully with his wife. Then a brochure about Arkansas fell into his hands. And it offered exactly what he wanted and was looking for. Therefore up, shake off the coal dust, and on to Arkansas.

So he came with his Käthe and a small kid to Arkansas, to Little Rock. Here he was sent to the train station of the Fort Smith and Little Rock Railroad, and they advised him to go to Logan County. Thus, again further.  He would soon be on the dreamed-of 160 acres of land. But during his trip his enthusiasm cooled down significantly once he became aware that he had to buy the land there, though at a reasonable price.

He disembarked at Spadra and came over to Morrisons Bluff. From there, he went to St. Benedikt, since the best and cheapest land was supposed to be there. He had left his family for the time being at Morrisons Bluff, and it was on this trip where the night overtook him and he came to our fence.

Settling in Logan County

As he had told me, he intended to buy somewhere around here a piece of acceptable land, since he liked the area well, and there he would operate a blacksmith shop as well as farm. I advised him early in the evening against his plans to buy land, in that, I explained, it would be better for him at first to get to know the land and the people. He certainly could initially rent for a year. But, he didn't want to hear this; he wanted to have his own home. He still had $350 in cash, and expected to get everything he needed. Above all, he quickly developed so many plans that I was already afraid for the man's $350.

We then went to bed, and it suddenly came to me that among our neighbors an American wanted to sell out. So I went the next morning with still another neighbor to the American. Gottlieb liked the place so much that he would have bought it immediately. However, the American had changed his mind and didn’t want to sell. 

Thus, Gottlieb took off again, visited the cloister at St. Benedikt and the area around Paris, and came back more than two days later. He had not liked anything, he said, as much as her in Bummelloch. He wanted to pitch his tent here, either buying or renting. Since we neighbors had sympathy for the man, we decided to help, if possible.

Naturally it was the worst time of the whole year to buy or even rent something decent. But wait, there up the road on a fence, a notice was nailed up: Such and such farm is immediately available for rent very cheaply. That was something. So we went there.

The land was not the very best, it was rather wet, but still more than dry enough for a single man, and the rent was only $20. In addition, it had a house, garden, and small stables. Gottlieb liked it enough that he paid the $20, and had, at least for a year, a home. In addition, he also received the right of first refusal on the place, specifically 52 acres for a $100 payment on $300 total price. That certainly was not too high a price if the land was only halfway worth something. I didn’t know the boundaries of the place any longer, but Gottlieb was able to find them in a short time.

Then I took him and his wife to a store where he wanted to make some purchases. There I had some trouble with these people They liked everything and wanted to buy everything. And I soon had to hold them back by force, otherwise they would have bought out the whole store.

Also, Gottfried bought from an American who was moving all kinds of scrap, old dishes, an old iron; then everything could begin, that is, the farming and blacksmithing. He had in addition purchased blacksmithing tools and had set up a small blacksmith shop.

But first he had to buy a horse or donkey and a cow. We advised him that he should purchase a young donkey or horse. But we wanted to acquire a couple of oxen. We told him that would be bad here because corn and cotton have to be plowed with a horse.

"But what?" he said. In Hungary everything is cultivated with oxen, and I will soon teach the oxen to do that here. So he bought three or four times a pair of oxen, and the next day he was sorry and he didn’t go to pick them up. He did the same with the horses and donkeys until he bought a donkey from a neighbor for $90. The donkey was certainly no longer young, but was strong and gentle.

He bought a beautiful cow for $14, but weaned the calf from it immediately. That’s the way it is done in Hungary. 

The neighbors helped him in setting up the house, and still more.  One gave him an old oven, another molasses, still another meat, and so on.

Troubles for Gottlieb

Now these people could have been off to a good start if they would have taken sound advice. But Mr. Gottlieb knew more that everyone else; he knew how things were done in Hungary, and so it had to be done here also.

As he wanted to plant corn, we told him how he should do it. Instead of planting it crosswise, as it is usually done on rolling lad, he planted it in straight rows: that’s the way it is done in Hungary. As a result, the rows ran so crookedly through each other that afterwards a person could not make out the rows any more.

Then he took the double shovel and ploughed through the field in all directions. The result was that he ploughed up half of the corn or made it dry up. Then came the excuses about the wretched country. Everything dried up. In Hungary, everyone did just like he did, but there beautiful, heavy corn grows everywhere.

Soon the cow was not giving much milk, and the man had to reckon with a bad cow. When it came time to cut the oats, he began to feed his donkey with the green oats despite our frequent warnings that he should not feed it too much. "By no means," was the answer, "the old Krampe can take it alright." Then one morning the old Krampe didn’t want to stand anymore and croaked. Gottlieb was now really in trouble. He cursed and swore about the country, about Arkansas, and about America. He grumbled about God in Heaven, about the devil in hell, which were to him, after all, just empty fairy tales. 

Very specifically the neighbor who sold him old Krampe was targeted, as were the neighbors who had advised him to buy the donkey. Therefore it is not necessary to be surprised that they soon had taken everything back from him, and no one wanted any more to have anything to do with him.

The man was really bad off since his corn and cotton were not yet ready. Therefore many of the neighbors took pity once again and helped him finish the plowing for the two crops. However, the bitching did not stop, but became increasingly worse, and he revealed himself to be a true atheist and the purest anarchist. Therefore, I wanted nothing more to do with him, and forbid him entry into my house. But next day, he was back.

The neighbors, especially the Americans, were amused by the man when they saw him running about as follows: he wore a pair of extremely wide clumsy pants (Plumphosen), like a turtle, and a pair of shoes like dance shoes. Thus so, he ran around in mud and mire, and when cutting grass or mowing oats he had on his side, hanging on a thick belt, a big tin pot filled with water, which he used as a jug. With every step, it went bang, bang.

So slowly the summer passed and he did not know himself what he wanted. One day he would want to buy a new Krampe, the next day he was sorry to be here and wanted to leave this wretched country.

Gottlieb Tries Oklahoma and Returns

He wrote off to all corners of the world and received a mass of circulars and brochures until he came to the decision to go to a part of Oklahoma that was being opened and thus to take 160 acres of land.

One morning, three months before the time of the opening, after he had delivered his wife and children to a neighbor in a small old house, Gottlieb disappeared on his way to Oklahoma. He took seven dollars with him and he made it there soon, partly on foot and partly on a ship as a stowaway, where he insinuated himself with a man located on the border. Here he received board in return for doing housework for the wife.

The day of the land rush came and Gottlieb was, of course, there and took his 160 acres.  However, as he afterwards closely examined the land, he saw it was pure sand, a real desert.

"Thunder," he thought. "You don’t want that! There is better land in Arkansas." Then he left behind his property and again made his way homeward. One day, sick and half starved, he arrived home and was as tame as a dog. Due to our happiness that we again had our friend Gottlieb with us, that evening we gave him a magnificent chivaree or Katzenmusik, something that made him extraordinarily happy and for which he promised another barrel of beer. He could not yet describe everything that he undergone and what he had experienced among the Indians.

One day he wanted to travel a ways with a freight train and gave a Schwab, who wanted to be the brakeman on the train, a half dollar. Tired and fatigued, Gottlieb climbed onto a pile of sacks and slept. He slept comfortably there until the next morning, when he saw to his dismay that the car was at the same place on a side line and his half dollar was done. That d---ed Schwab!

Gottlieb was cured for some time and halfway satisfied; he even went one Sunday to Church. He went so far to say that there must be a God otherwise he would not have made it out of the wild land with his skin. He praised Arkansas and wanted again either to buy or rent.

Again Dissatisfied, Gottlieb Leaves Again for Good

The good intentions didn’t last long. As he again got warm and regained his strength, then the griping and complaining started again worse than ever.  He dawdled around awhile with the idea of inventing a cotton gin. And he soon had the thing finished, except for making it.

One day he took out again to seek work in a city He went to St. Louis. Soon he went on strike and moved on again here briefly, there briefly, until at last he finally returned to St. Louis. He worked there through the winter and sent money to his wife every once in a while. In the meanwhile, the poor wife starved and suffered with the small children from the cold here so badly that the neighbors had to take pity on them. At last our friend Gottlieb returned with the intention to again try the Land Rush in the Cherokee Strip which was supposed to soon take place.

He could still gripe and complain as earlier, but everything that he said at the time about Oklahoma had been forgotten. He waited until March, then sold his crumbs, bought an old wagon and a pair of oxen and took off one day without saying farewell to anyone. We wished to never see him again.

He had left behind another cow with two calves to be sold for him by a neighbor. Therefore he wrote a few times. He had trouble this time also. He had received no land and lay now like so many others, in the dirt.  What the people want to begin this winter, heaven only knows. We here are happy that we are free from the tramp since those who can’t take advice also cannot be helped.

(Translated by Dan Durning)

How Birch Bay Celebrates July 4th

The July 4th holiday is a big deal in Birch Bay. Its importance is magnified by the fact that Canada Day (a national holiday that is equivalent to July 4th) is on July 1st.  So, typically, second home owners and visitors travel from both north and south to come to this resort for the holidays.

Though usually a sleepy hamlet, Birch Bay becomes a full fledged seaside resort during the July 4th holidays. Vacationers flock to the C Shop, water slides and the state park. The walks on the tidal lands -- the low tides go way out -- are part of the fun, but the main attraction of July 4th is a truly anarchic fireworks display on the beaches  along Birch Bay Drive. 

Blaine July 4th Parade

A typical July 4th at Birch Bay includes, after a brisk oceanside or tidal land walk, a visit to Blaine to take part in some of its activities. Blaine is a small border town: from its main street (Peace Portal Drive), you can glance over the border to see what is happening in Canada. Usually a non-descript town with a shaky downtown, Blaine shines on July 4th. You can start the day there with a full pancake breakfast served at the Senior Center. Then you can walk downtown to hear a band play at the city's outdoor venue, visit booths selling local food and crafts, view the antique car display, or visit the library for a book sale. These things are located within a few steps of each other.

In the early afternoon, Blaine has an impressive community parade that, while lacking sophistication, is full of smiling costumed locals and their home-made floats, snazzy pimped out vehicles, and tail-wagging pets.  For some, the main attraction of this surprisingly long parade is the handfuls of candy thrown by parade participants. Kids and older candy aficionados' (such as me) can fill a plastic bag with these cavity-inducing treats.

After the parade, it is time to unload some money on one of the dozen-or-so fireworks stands in and about Birch Bay. These are professionally designed and operated businesses, selling the most sophisticated bangers and boomers allowed under state law.  They have little in common with the rickety wooden firework stands that I built for several years in Fayetteville (usually on 71 South, but a couple of times on Dickson, in a vacant lot next to the Episcopal Church). Then, teenagers dominated the business, earning a few summer bucks selling firecrackers, roman candles, spewing cones, and bottle rockets. Now, fireworks are big business.

It seems on July 4th that darkness will never fall on Birch Bay. The sun sets about 9:20 but dusk remains for a long time after that. On this day, darkness is important and eagerly awaited because hundreds of people have plopped down big bucks for fireworks and are waiting on the beach along Birch Bay Drive to shoot them off.  The shooters and watchers are scatted for two miles along the horseshoe shaped bay waiting for the dark.

Anarchic Fireworks begin along Birch Bay

As darkness comes, I usually am hoping that our neighbors, the herons who dine on the residents of Terrell Creek, know what is coming. Perhaps the older herons have told the youngsters to be prepared for the barrage of explosions and flashes soon to come.  They might say, "Now, I know it will be scary, but don't be afraid. No one is trying to kill us. If is gets too bad, just fly east, but be sure to fly high."

When darkness is almost here, some folks cannot wait a few more minutes and start to shoot off their rockets and candles. It's a bit of a waste because the effects are much less dramatic than they would have been a few minute later.

Finally, dark is here and D-Day is re-enacted as hundreds of people fire their Annihilators, Big Bad Venom Extravaganza, and Great Grizzlys over the Bay. It is truly anarchic: nothing is coordinated or synchronized. The lighting of every fuse is the decision of a person or group of persons, and that decision is unrelated to the decisions to light or not light fuses made by all of the other persons shooting fireworks that night. The effects are either a random, post-modern mess or an unscripted ballet, whichever way you choose to view it.

Fireworks where Terrell Creek flows into Birch Bay

The night is a spectacular mixture of explosions, shrill whistles, spewing fountains, and exploding starbursts, followed by moments of unplanned silence, broken by other rounds of lights and explosions. The randomness of it all creates some tension and excitement: you don't know whether to look north or south, and you don't know, when you looked south if you missed an even better display to the north.

The air fills with smoke. A walk along Birch Bay Drive shows the beach lined with people on blankets and chairs watching the display. The young kids are smiling with big eyes. The teenagers, wanting to get in on the action, are begging their parents for money or, having already shaken them down, are crossing the street to the nearest fireworks stand to buy the loudest, brightest things they can afford.

And so it goes for more than an hour.  By then, it is getting a little tedious.  But some folks don't care and are driven to keep shooting their rockets and making the noises they love.  A brief visit to the C Shop for some toffee, then you seek refuge inside your dwelling. Finally, the exploding fireworks pass the point where you want to stick your head out the window and yell, "Enough already."

Crowds along Birch Bay Drive watch the fireworks

At 5:30 a.m. the next day, when the dawn lights Birch Bay, the aftermath of the firework's orgy can be seen. The trash barrels are overflowing with empty firework's boxes. Most of the birds are gone, and the seagulls who have returned to their nests glare at you.

Remembering the 1962 Babe Ruth League Season in Fayetteville, Arkansas

A few months ago, I decided to write a short history/recollection of the 1962 Fayetteville Babe Ruth League (BRL) season.  I had a few newspaper clippings about the games of the United Commercial Traveler (UCT) team on which I played. However, I didn't recall too much about the season or other teams -- just a scattering of faces, events, and short action clips that would pop into the brain.

1962 Champions of the Fayetteville Babe Ruth League

My research consisted mainly of using my Archives.com account to access the Northwest Arkansas Times newspaper archives. From those archives, I had access to the newspaper stories published by the NWAT in 1962, and I spent too many hours downloading all of the stories written about the BRL games played during the season. The coverage of most games included box scores.

These stories provided a mosaic of the season and were, in many ways, surprising.  The main surprise was how much I did not remember. One of the things I had forgotten was how good an athlete Brad Jenkins was.  I ran into Brad at a high school reunion, probably about ten years ago. He was not in good health, and died a year or so later. In our conversation, he said some nice things about our days playing baseball and how good a pitcher I was. Unfortunately, I recalled Brad mainly as a fast and powerful runner and had forgotten what an outstanding year he had in the 1962 BRL season. The newspaper clippings documented his prowess as a baseball player.

In junior high and high school, I greatly admired Robert Wilks' athletic ability. I saw him in action -- usually as a teammate -- for several years. Yet, I did not recall much about his baseball skills. Thus, I was surprised that I did not remember his remarkable streak in 1962 when, over a four game period,  he was ten for ten, plus had several walks. Quite an accomplishment.

Reading the clippings, I was surprised at what good seasons Bill Cooksey and Sonny Brewer (both on OK & Milady Cleaners) had as pitchers. They helped the OK team, which certainly didn't have the best talent in the league, have an outstanding second half of the season. This team showed great character and tenacity in winning come-from-behind and one-run games. I attribute that, in part, to Kenny Ramey, who was a determined and ferocious competitor.  

Also, when I read the clippings I was saddened when I saw the names of friends and 1962 teammates who died much too young:  Sonny Brewer, Tom Ernest, Martin Butt, Carl Gabbard, and Jerry Burnett.   

The focal point of my history/recollection of the 1962 BRL season is the pitching rivalry between me and Bubba McCord. The games we pitched against each other are what I remember best about the season, and they did have a major impact on determining the league championship.

Bubba and I played both with and against each other for several years. Two summers, after the Fayetteville baseball season was over, we went together to the Big State Baseball Camp in Dallas, Texas. One of those years, we were selected for the Camp all star team and went with the team to play several games in Monterrey, Mexico.

We both were on the University of Arkansas freshman baseball team in 1966, not a pleasant experience. In the summer of 1967, we were the two main umpires for the Fayetteville Babe Ruth League, probably the worst job I ever had.

Bubba was a fine catcher and as good as any baseball player in Fayetteville from 1960 to 1965. He took the game seriously and worked hard to perfect his skills. I enjoyed competing against him, and enjoyed even more having him as a teammate. Since I knew Bubba so well, it was fun to recall the year when I made his baseball life miserable. No doubt he has some stories of the times he contributed to my baseball woes.

The history/recollection of the 1962 BLR season can be found at this address:
 http://www.scribd.com/doc/59006218/Bubba-s-Nemesis-The-Battle-for-the-1962-Championship-of-the-Fayetteville-Babe-Ruth-League
It contains nothing more profound that the results of some games played almost fifty years ago. Nevertheless, for those whose names appeared in the box scores, it should help revive some memories of teammates, coaches, triumphs, failures, and balmy summer nights swatting mosquitoes with a leather glove.

Albania for the Adventurous

Back in 1971 and 1972, sitting in my room in Vienna late at night, I would try to tune in Voice of America on my radio to get some news in English.  Often, I would, instead, stumble upon a strange news program in English, broadcast by the Albanian international service, and listen with fascination to its upside-down view of the world. 

You can get Star Box Coffe in Tirana, Albania

At the time, Albania was one of the most isolated countries in the northern hemisphere.  It was a closed, xenophobic communist nation that had broken with Moscow, whom it viewed as too moderate in its communistic ideology, and it had aligned with Mao and radical Chinese communism.  Its news program was mostly outlandish propaganda, describing a prosperous country beset by enemies whose bad intentions were thwarted by Enver Hoxha, Albania's genius leader.  This Stalinist paradise was successfully battling both the pernicious capitalists and the revisionist communists.

As I listened to these newscasts, I wondered what it would be like to live such a place. Albania was not too far from Vienna, but seemed to be inhabited by aliens.

When I had an opportunity to travel to Albania in 2007 and 2008, I did so with excitement, recalling my impressions of the country from the early 1970s. I wanted to see what this strange country looked like more than fifteen years after it had finally freed itself from the oppressive rule of the Communist party and a megalomaniac leader. 

Barat, with Byzantine Citadel at the top 

The purpose of my trip was to work with the Association of Albanian Municipalities (AAM) to help it develop a strategic plan for its survival in coming years.  The AAM had received support from different countries, including the United States, for several years, and it had helped cities improve their ability to provide services, but the country was still quite poor. The AAM needed to develop revenue sources in order to survive when the external funding ended.

Fortunately, I knew the leadership of AAM and the mayors of several Albanian cities. I had hosted them at the University of Georgia during a training trip to the U.S. a couple of years earlier. The trip had been useful for them and enjoyable for me, so I happy that I would be able to continue to work with them on this project. 

The travel to the capital of Albania, Tirana, is easy enough.  Several airlines go there from major European cities.  I took Austrian Airlines from Vienna, and arrived at a gleaming new airport in Tirana. The exit through passport control and customs was easy.  I stayed at a comfortable, reasonably priced (less than $50 per day) hotel in one of the nicest districts of Tirana, a short walk from the AAM offices and downtown.

 

Fadil Nasufi, Mayor of Barat 

While much of Albania is mountainous, Tirana lies in a valley bordering on steep mountains, a nice setting. It lacks distinctive architecture and has only a few historic buildings. The city is characterized mainly by wide streets and shabby residential high rises that were favored by the communist regimes. Some higher quality new construction has been added to the city in recent years.  A good aspect of the city is that the streets in most areas are tree lined and walker friendly.

Tirana is Albania's largest city; and it is the trade and political center of the nation.  It contains about 600,000 of Albania's 3 million or so residents. It is the obvious place to start a visit to the country, with its museums, government buildings, and cultural life.  It offers an good introduction to the exotic blending of cultures that make up Albania. During its history, Albania was a part of the Roman, Byzantine, Bulgarian, and Ottoman Empires, and remnants of these empires are spread throughout the nation. 

13th Century Church in Barat Citadel

Because of the long rule of the Ottoman Empire, a majority of Albania's population is Muslim, but  significant percentages of Albanians are members of the Albanian Orthodox Church and the Roman Catholic Church.  Perhaps a legacy of the communist era, a substantial majority of Albanians do not regularly participate in religious services. However, ancient mosques and churches are to be found in most of the prominent Albanian cities. 

A good portion of Albania is mountainous, and many of the more isolated areas retain traditional mountain culture and life.  I traveled to Barat, the capital of one of the mountain "counties," whose mayor I knew from his trip to the U.S. (Albania is divided into 12 counties, each with districts, municipalities, cities, and villages.)  It is a spectacular city with old houses built into the sloping mountains along the Osum River. Overlooking the city on the top of a high hill is a Byzantine citadel dating back to the 5th century, with a church first built in the 13th century.  

Beach at Durres on Adriatic Sea

The history of Barat is a story that starts before the Romans occupied it in 200 B.C.  It includes centuries of Byzantine Rule, interrupted by Bulgarian rule, then followed by rule by the Ottoman empire.  A visit to this city provides a great history lesson and a humbling view of the sweep of time and how things change.  This city is one of the most interesting that I have ever visited, and, alone, is worth a trip to Albania.

For those who enjoy the ocean, Albania's long coastline offers places to stay, ranging from isolated villages to developed cities such as Durres, which is located a short (but scary) drive from Tirana. The road is a modern one, recently built and heavily traveled by slightly deranged drivers.  The city of Durres has a huge, unattractive port that seems to contribute vast amounts of pollutants to the Adriatic, but it also contains many large modern sea resorts with sand beaches.  I am not sure that I would want to go into the water there for long, but the views and the beaches are first rate and a fraction of the cost for comparable facilities in Italy.

Unused "Pill Box" Defense Structures on Albanian Coast

On the drive from Durres to Barat, I noticed one strange feature in the countryside.  Along the road, scattered not too far from each other, were hundreds of  "pill box" structures.  These were heavily reinforced metal structures built into the ground, with openings through which observers and shooters could repel attacks. I was told that there were built by the Hoxha regime in the 60s and 70s to fight off enemies  they expected to come by way of the Adriatic sea.  Now, they look like giant, isolated, decaying mushrooms.

I visited the capital of one other mountainous region in the extreme northwest of Albania. The city's name is Shkoder or Shkodra, with a recorded history as the first capital of an Illyrian tribe in the 3rd century B.C. It was captured by the Romans in 168 B.C. Then was part of different empires for the past 2200 years.

The city is located on a large lake (Scutari) and high mountains lie to the northeast and east. It is a short drive from the border with Montenegro.

View from  Fortress near Shkoder toward Lake Scutari and Montenegro

To the southeast of the city, on a high hill overlooking the city, is an ancient fortress.  This hill was an Illyrian strong hold, captured by the Romans and held by successive empires occupying this land. It has spectacular views of the city as well as of the confluence of the Buna and Drini Rivers, Lake Scutari, and high mountains.

Shkoder has long been a center of learning and culture in Albania, and it has maintained many of its historic buildings, including churches and mosques.  It was also home to a great photographic tradition called Marubi.  The name comes from Pjeter Marubi, who began taking pictures in 1858, documenting people and life in the area, and he was followed by others who worked in the studio and took the name "Marubi." The tradition continued until 1950, when the last "Marubi" died.  The "Marubi" photographic library, maintained by the Albania government, has hundreds of thousands of negatives dating from 1858 to 1950. The photos provide an amazing views of life and culture in the Shkoder region for also a century.

View from the Fortress to Shkoder and the Mountains to the Northeast

Based on my experience, I can recommend travel to Albania for people interested in a bit of adventure and who enjoy learning new things about human history and under-explored parts of the world.  When I return on my own, I will make sure to have three things planned in advance. First, I will find a moderately priced hotel -- these can be found and booked on line. Second, I will have transportation from the airport to the hotel arranged by the hotel or some other service in advance. Third, I will contact a local company to arrange for transportation by car within Albania, and plan to use that service to make day trips to Barat, Shkoder, or other areas that seem of interest. 

Famous Photographic School - Shkoder

I might also consider scheduling a few days at a sea resort area, but would do some research to find a place where the Adriatic is relatively unpolluted.  

With such arrangements made in advance, and with flexibility and a sense of adventure, I am sure that any trip Albania will be a memorable one.  

Sand Castle Competition at Birch Bay

A day at the beach running in slow motion through in the pristine white sand. Bikinis for the gals; Euro-speedos for the guys. Hunk-and-babe life savers sitting in their chairs with sun glasses and white noses. Kids splashing in the bright blue water.  Young women floating on water mattresses, looking out for sharks. Everyone soaking up rays in the bright sun shine.  Even better, a chance to win some prizes with a creative, well-executed sand castle.

Yes, that is what yesterday would have been if I lived in Southern California.  But since I live in Northwest Washington, the reality was a little different.  Yes, the annual sea castle competition was held in Birch Bay. But the pristine white sand, bikinis, Euro-speedos, life guards, bright blue water, water mattresses, and sun were missing.  Instead, we celebrated our own brand of competition on the beach:  sea castles made of sandy muck, dressing to keep warm and dry, frigid water, no sun.  It was great fun and the kids of the area had a blast.


    People of all ages entered the sand castle competition. Here are a couple of kids digging around in the sand muck to build their entry in competition. They seems to have dug a nice hole and spread some moss. I think the guy on the right is, like me, trying to figure out what the heck it is supposed to be.



The sand castle entries were judged by some prominent local folks. Here the judges look at a sculpture of some product (maybe a wine cooler) made in the area. The judges included Pete Kremen, Whatcom County  Executive (with the coffee cup in the middle) and the Bill Elfo, Whatcom County sheriff (the man to the left of Kremen, beside the woman in a blue coat).

When the judges came to look at this sculpture, the kids who made it explained the concept of their creation. It involves a monster (at the feet of the pointing girl and boy with orange and black tee shirt) attacking a fort.








This guy took his artistic creation very seriously and devoted lots of time to improving it.  It seems to have an Inca theme.

Here is another artist hard are work on something that seems to be a sand castle with a moat.  I hope the construction helmet protected her from accidents.

Even the youngest got caught up in the spirit of building sand (muck) castles.

Here is a good teen-age effort.  Shark! Shark!

Pirate ship with Birch Bay pirate.

Gruesome:  spider going to eat hapless bug caught in a web.

This hefty lady was oblivious to the cold and mist, and was obviously intent on improving her tan.

OK, maybe the conditions weren't perfect, like you would find in San Diego or La Jolla.  But, never mind, what kid is going to complain about a chance to stomp around in mud and water? Everyone seemed happy except for the guy from Vancouver wearing a Canucks shirt, who, after getting second place in the competition, tried to burn down all the sand castles on the beach.

Ernst's Bad Luck: Pioneer Tales of Arkansas' German Immigrants

PIONEER TALES
December 29, 1893

(This is another story provided by a German immigrant to the Arkansas Echo and published in late 1893. This is about poor Ernest, who enjoys hunting, but is not very good at it. He attributes his hunting failures to "bad luck." Perhaps, more is involved: bad judgement.)

Bad Luck, or How Our Friend Ernst Once Shot a Fat Buck

Deer, Foxes, Salmon (?), Lynx

We shoot with our rifles.

Because it is free,

Hunting is always praised

Such is sung in an old familiar German folk song. Yes, in the old times, when such a song could still truthfully be sung, Arkansas must have been a paradise, at least for such a passionate hunter as our friend Ernst once was.

Wine Label by N. Kupferle,
German Immigrant in Little Rock

Through reading certain novels, such as for example, The Trappers of Arkansas, or The Loyal Heart [by Gustave Aimard, published in 1864] , in which the hunting adventures and experiences of a half wild figure were described in glowing color (and which I also remember having read in my youth),  Ernst got the idea once that he wanted to learn these techniques of hunting and sometime play the lead role in such a novel.

So Ernst then arrived in America -- but only after many criss-cross moves, something he was usually permitted --reaching the land of his hopes and dreams.   And at last he was driven to a small nest that already had the proud name of a city conferred upon it.

Since he was a smart head and had quickly picked up the speech and habits of the Americans, it could not fail him that he won a small office here. This small post brought him, to be sure, only enough that he did not need to starve, but what was most important, he was in the middle of the desired hunting ground and had the time and leisure enough to devote to his favorite pastime. And he honestly took advantage of it, and it did not happen often that he had to take off homeward without some hunting booty.

At that time, besides the above mentioned wildlife, there were also still Buffalo, stags, and even bear here.  He didn't bother with bear much, since once a bear had lovingly embraced him and he, through some type of miracle, escaped its dangerous hug. Since then, he got out of the way of bruin and kept to ducks, turkeys, and also, if it had to be, deer. Thereby at least one's life was safe.

If he did not bag a deer or a fat buck every time, then he could in general complain about too much bad luck in his hunting.  It is, of course, well known that there is no occupation (except perhaps a rogue) that has so much bad luck as hunting. It had even happened to him once that he had with a shot, instead of a raccoon or possum, taken down a consumptive cat. He didn't take this bad luck very much to heart because it could have happened to others also. What got to him more, at least in his pocketbook, was another story, that I want to now relate.

One day a friend told him that he had run across a famous, fat buck at a certain place. That was something of interest for our friend Ernst since deer were becoming rarer with time and he could not let such an opportunity go by.  Therefore he quickly decided to test his luck early the next day, and in his mind he already saw himself weighted down heavily with the slain buck, heading home.

Unfortunately, he was at the time having problems with a sore on his foot that made the march for him much more difficult.  Wait!  A good thought ran through his head. A neighbor of his had an old gray donkey in his stall. If he would loan him the donkey for tomorrow, then he would not have to drag the buck home himself.

The man was willing to agree to loan the gray to him. The next morning even before sunrise, Ernst was up on his feet, meaning really, he was on the feet of the gray, and trotted briskly, full of desire for triumph, well packed with the necessary fodder, whereby he had not neglected to bring a hearty drink for the nearby forest.

After a hard ride, he came upon the designated place, and now Ernst thought: It would be best to dismount from the gray. Here in this thicket an accident could easily occur by which I could hang myself by catching my hair (which appeared to be a little too long) in a branch, like was supposed to have happened to Absalom. Dear God protect me from such a death!

He dismounted and tied the donkey firm and secure behind thick bushes. After he had rested himself, he took off.  But where in heaven was the fellow to be found?  That was now the next question, but it was hard to answer. That meant taking off straight into the forest.

So, he had wandered around already a few hours, but still saw no buck, not even a small sign of it. In the meanwhile it had become wretchedly hot and Ernst sensed in the stomach region a certain feeling that always meant appetite for him.  He decided therefore to rest himself under the shade of a tree to rest and afterwards to resume the hunt. Perhaps the buck was just now having his lunch and will be around afterwards.

 

After he had eaten and drank, he laid down to sleep for a quarter of an hour. As he awoke and looked at his watch, he had slept for two full hours.  Shoot! he shouted, startled. That is what I call sleep. During this time, the buck could have said "good night" to me and made off far away. Go now! I absolutely must find this creature today. But, alas, not a sign of him, and the sun had plainly in the meanwhile sank lower, and gradually, he had to begin making his way back, if he did not want the pleasant pleasure of spending the night in the forest. If only he had at least seen the dang buck at least once, but not even that.

As one can easily imagine, Friend Ernst was not then in the best of humor.  Wait! What did he hear over there? What did he see there? Listening and sharp on the lookout around him, he stood still, and in front of him, not 100 yards distant, he heard a rustling of leaves and turned to look. "Father of my life," really and truly the sought after buck stood in front of him.

Of course, he did not see the head with the majestic antlers, the animal is too careful for that, but he saw an entire side very clearly through the thick bushes. Quickly, he snatched the gun from his back, but cannot get a sure shot because of his happy excitement. All the same, let it explode! And bang, pop, and splat, the buck falls to the ground.

Hurray, Ernst shouts and tosses his hat.  He's down. And with quick steps, he leaps behind the bushes.  Oh, no! Speechless and as if all limbs were paralyzed, he stopped.  Oh horror, instead of the buck, he had hit his own gray which he had tied there. Old gray had been hit solidly. He was riddled on his entire backside with shot. That I call bad luck! shouted Ernst, as he regained his senses. What now? It appeared to be an angry wound from the first instant. And time was short. The sun would soon be setting.

He now tried to get the poor fellow on his feet, something that he succeeded in doing at last after unending effort. Now, of course, he was finished with the riding, packing back the buck, and other beautiful dreams. Ernst had to carry the saddle himself and so he limped along pulling the poor gray with great effort behind him toward home. Truly a beautiful picture. Worthy of being preserved by a capable paint brush.

He arrived at home in the middle of the night, and put the gray carefully in the stall. The neighbor owner of Gray opened his eyes wide in surprise the next morning when Ernst told him of his bad luck.

The doctor. who was quickly called, made a thoughtful face and said: he isn't going todie immediately, but he is crippled and ruined for the rest of his life.  And that's the way it was.

Ernst had, of course, to make up for the loss, which cost him $60 and stuck him deeply in the hole for a long time. And basically he was cured for the first time of his love for hunting and groaned:  Terribly bad luck and the dang buck is the cause of the whole thing.  And what angered him most was that in addition to everything else, he was ridiculed.

Translated by Dan Durning, all rights reserved.

Right-Wing, Left-Wing Politics in Vienna

Communist Student Group Campaign Poster

Vienna's ethnic and racial composition has been changing year by year.  When I was living in Vienna in 1967-1968 and 1971-1972, the city had a homogeneous population, and the landscape was dominated -- at least it appeared to me -- by older women walking their dogs. The city had few "ethnic" restaurants; you could hardly find Chinese food, for example. Rules were obeyed (no crossing when the light was red). Behavior was kept proper (an old lady ordered me to take my hands out of my pockets as I stood inside Am Hof Kirche looking round.) Patrons dressed nicely for concerts and the opera, or else weren't admitted. Strict regulation of business hours meant that the city closed shop early (literally), and there was little excitement after dark. My university-aged friends complained that Vienna was a "dead city."

That has all changed (except Viennese still like their dogs and allow them everywhere, even on public transportation). The ethnic diversity of Vienna cannot be missed.  The diversification started when Vienna hired large numbers of workers from Turkey and other countries to build its excellent subway. When I left in June 1972, that massive project was still in its early stages with a huge hole dug in front of Karlskirche.  When I returned in 1989, the subway was complete, and Vienna had some districts that were identifiable as largely Turkish.  

Now in Vienna it is common to see women in head scarves, Asians, and blacks. The city has become, like other major cities in Europe and the U.S., cosmopolitan.  It also has a much more youthful look and energetic feel. Immigrants have opened restaurants, offering food from throughout the world. The regulation of business operations has been relaxed. The city does not close at night.   

Another Communist Student Election Poster

Of course this change has stirred resentment among some of the older Vienna natives, who liked things the old way, and others with nationalist leanings.  It also stirs the hatreds of the remnants of the far right, the people who still want Austria to be part of a greater Germany, who remember the "good" things about Hitler (who was, after all, an Austria by birth), who do not lament the 200,000 Viennese Jews who were murdered or fled the county after the Anschluss, or who remain Nazi sympathizers (I remember one old man who told me  in a Viennese restaurant with a smile, "Ich war ein Verbrecher.")  

AUSTRIAN FAR RIGHT POLITICS

For all of its great cultural and historical treasures, Vienna does have its dark elements, and included among those are the far right elements who reject modernity, internationalization, liberality, and democracy.  Most of these far rightist are part of the Freedom Party of Austria (FPOe). It was led for years by Joerg Haider, a charismatic politician who used anti-immigrant, anti-foreigner, populist, subtly anti-Semitic (some say), and resentment politics to achieve unprecedented electoral success. In 2000, to the dismay of its European neighbors, the Freedom Party became part of the Austrian government in a coalition with the Austria People's Party OeVP).  Haider died in an automobile accident in 2008.

The present head of the Freedom Party is HC Strache, a Viennese.  With him leading the campaign, the Freedom Party had surprising success in the 2010 election of the Vienna city council, which has long had a Social Party (SPOe) majority. The FPOe received 25.8% of the vote, second to the SPOe's 44.3%. The OeVP got only 14.0% of the vote.  (The SPOe and OeVP have ruled the country since 2007 through a "Grand Coalition.")

According to Wikipedia, the FPOe campaign slogans in 2010 included these:

·         Zu viel Fremdes tut niemandem gut. (Too many foreigners [or more literally: Too much foreign] does no one good)

·         Wir bewahren unsere Heimatstadt. Die SPÖ macht sie uns fremd. (We maintain our homeland. The SPÖ makes it a stranger.

·         Wir glauben an unsere Jugend. Die SPÖ an Zuwanderung. (We believe in our youth. The SPÖ in immigration.)

·         Wir schützen freie Frauen. Die SPÖ den Kopftuchzwang (We protect women's rights. The SPÖ protects the compulsory headscarf.

·         Mehr Mut für unsere Wiener Blut (More strength for our Viennese blood.)

·         Uns, geht's um die Wiener (To us, it's about the Viennese)

The flavor of this right-wing leader was evident in a recent article (June 6, 2011) in the Austrian Independent (http://www.austrianindependent.com/news/Politics/2011-06-09/7910/Strache_-_Le_Pen_meeting_hit_by_Hitler_controversy ).  

[Strache] called off his attendance of a disputed gathering of far-right student fraternities in Vienna last May at which hundreds come together year after year to deplore the death of German WWII soldiers. The meeting has been under scrutiny as many student fraternity members claim that the German Reich did not start the war. Numerous people have held street marches each year to protest against their get-together as some of the right-wingers dream of a reunion of Austria and Germany amid fears of an ‘Islamisation’ of the continent.

Strache was due to hold a speech at the meeting. However, he cancelled his appearance hours before he was expected to take to the stage. Reports have it that local police were asked to ensure his personal protection before being told at short notice that such measures were not needed. The FPÖ boss claimed a top secret meeting with high-profile politicians abroad made it impossible for him to speak at the commemoration – which always takes place at the same time concentration camp survivors meet to remember their torments.

Strache – who is a member of a far-right student fraternity called Vandalia – has been attending night clubs in cities and music festivals in the countryside for years. Research has shown that one in five Austrians younger than 30 want him as the country’s next chancellor.

    

The most distributing thing about the rise of the right wing is that surveys show that its support is the greatest among young (under 30) voters.  This support makes salient the fact that university students in Austria were among the most fervent Nazi supporters in Austria during the 1930s, and German nationalism has had strong support among some groups of students since the end of World War I. 

THE FAR LEFT IN AUSTRIAN POLITICS

In contrast to the support of far right politics, the far left -- communists, Maoists, etc. -- has gained little support in Vienna, or Austria as a whole.  The Soviet Union's leaders were shocked to find out how few votes the Communist Party (KPOe) received in occupied Austria in the first parliamentary elections after WWII (5.4%).  Since 1959, the Communist Party has not received enough votes to be represented in the Austria parliament, and in the 2008 national elections, it got less than 1 percent of the votes. In the 2010 Vienna elections, it received 1.2 percent of the votes.

STUDENT ELECTIONS IN MAY, 2011

Given the KPOe's lack of success in Austria electoral politics, it was interesting to see its "Vota Communista" political posters in front of the University of Vienna in April.  The posters were for elections to the Oesterreichische Hochschueler_Innenschaft (OeH, Austrian University Student Association) that was held May 24-26.  This association is created by Austria law to represent students as part of the nation's policy making system. Austria's corporatist system requires that all large groups from workers to dentists to carnival workers have their own associations to represent them in the making of laws and regulations and other agreements. Representatives are elected at each university, and then a national 96-member OeH body is elected by the university student associations.

Third Communist Student Election Poster

In all, 18,663 of 76,052 University of Vienna students voted in the OeH election. The Green and Alternative Students group received  the largest percentage of votes (30.9%); the center-right party (AktionsGemeinschaft an der Universität Wien) was second with 26.6%; and the socialist student group (affiliated with the SPOe) got 23.5%. The communist group (Kommunistischer Student_innenverband Linke Liste) received 5.9 percent of the votes, and another communist group got 2.5 percent.  The group affiliated with the FPOe, the Ring Freiheitlicher Studenten, received only 2.6 percent of the vote. In the national association of students, the communist students have 2 of 96 seats and the FPOe students have 1 of 96.

The student elections seem to show that most Austrian students are within the bounds of the existing distribution of political power, though leaning toward the traditional left (SPOe) and the environmental left (Greens). The extremist parties enjoy comparatively little support among university students. Which seems to be very good news for Austria and the world.

Socialist (SPOe) Student Election Poster

Green and Alternative Student Election Poster