Wrigley Field, a Distant Connection

Buna in her pink Cubs cap at the age of 102

I’m a life-long Cubs fan.  So was my maternal grandmother, Buna.  She and my grandfather lived on Mildred Street not far from Wrigley Field.  As a child in the 1950s, I went to Ladies’ Day at Wrigley Field so my connection to the ball park goes back decades.  However, I recently learned that I have an even older connection to Wrigley Field.

 
Last year I received copies of letters my paternal grandfather, Howard A. Olson, had exchanged with a friend over a 40 year period.  Among the 200 or more copies of letters was a copy of an article from an April 6, 1957 Roto Magazine from the Chicago Daily News.  The article is dominated by a photograph of a wooden bell tower with my grandfather and his uncle at its base.

 The article tells how the “bell was used to call worshippers to St. Mark’s Lutheran Church” which once stood on the property that is now Wrigley Field.  I had filed the article away and didn’t think of it again until I was in Chicago last week.

I went to the Chicago History Museum during my trip to Chicago last week, and looked up some family events.  I remembered the bell on the property that is now Wrigley Field.  With the help of staff, I found a Sanborn Map from 1894.  I also did some Internet searches and found out that St. Mark’s Lutheran Church was built about 1874.  It was the birthplace of the seminary that grew over time.  However, the neighborhood continued to grow too, and the seminary eventually vacated the property in 1910.  It became a ball park after that.

Sanborn Map, Volume 9 1954, Sheet 116 (a portion)

My grandfather is 9 years old in the photograph.  Since he was born In June 1882, the photo was taken about 1891.  One article I came across says that the Seminary officially opened on October 1, 1891.  I wonder if the photo was, in part, to commemorate the opening of the seminary.  I guess I’ll never know.  I haven’t been able to find any other information about the “bell on the ball field.”

I spent some time in Wrigleyville last week.  I just had to buy some CUBS garb while I was there.  So much of the old neighborhood has the same feel that it did when I was a child.  I felt that I had traveled back in time to my childhood.  Now I have a photograph that takes me back to my grandfather’s childhood 125 years ago.  Wow.  I’m overwhelmed.  Some people say there is no such thing as time travel.  I beg to differ.  The research I do into my family tree is a fascinating journey through time.

In Search of My Dad

Hard to believe it's been about 2 months since I last wrote.  I've been busy.  Tomorrow I leave for Chicago to take a major step in finding my Dad.  Not just paperwork associated with my Dad.  I'm talking about looking for my Dad, the Man.  

Robert Harold Olson

My Dad was a World War II veteran.  He was on Iwo Jima as far as I can tell. (I have found evidence that his unit was there but I don't have confirmation that he was there.  I’m still working on it.)   No doubt he had PTSD.  However, back then it was diagnosed as a nervous breakdown, and he had shock treatments at the Pinel (sp?) Sanitarium in Chicago.  That was about 1956.  I can remember my mother sneaking me into an area of the hospital where I should not have been.  I also remember sitting in an office with my grandfather and my mother.  I heard discussions about the shock treatment.

Dad came home after his stay in the "hospital" and was never the same after that.  He lost his job working for the Chicago & Northwestern Railway.  I think he only worked one winter season at the post office since then.

My mom and dad had lived with my grandfather & grandmother since before I was born.  My grandmother passed away a few months before my birth.  My alcoholic mother deserted the family in 1957, and I was raised by my grandfather.  My dad was there too, but he wasn't capable of contributing much to my care.

Fast forward.  I moved out when I was 19 years old.  I had my daughter in 1968. I kept in touch with Gramps and Dad.   In 1975 I moved to California. 

The reason for my move to CA  was twofold.  My daughter's father had her in California for a visit (to which I agreed) after our split, but when it came time for her return, he said I couldn't get her.  He had a court order.  (I think he was bluffing, but I didn't know any better at the time. My daughter was 3-1/2 when she first left for CA with her father.)  So, I had to go to court in Illinois to get a divorce and child custody.  However, they didn’t enforce it out of state so I eventually had to go to California to try to get child custody.  Things would have been less complicated had I not married her father.  He talked me into it while we were in Chicago – in case something happened to me.  He’d also been picked up by the FBI for draft evasion.  I’m sure having legal custody of our daughter didn’t hurt his case any.  Anyway, since we were married, he was just as much our daughter’s legal guardian as I was.

When I showed up in Sacramento CA for court in April 1973, my daughter’s father knew I was in town.  I was approached by his girlfriend and she asked if I was Karin. If I remember right, she also said, "You don't look anything like I expected."  (Odd.  I'd heard that from another of his girlfriends while we were still together in Chicago.  He described me differently than the person I really was.)   I guess my husband saw me in town.  He didn’t show up for court the following Monday morning, afternoon and then that Wednesday.  The court issued a bench warrant for him, but no decision was made as to custody so I didn’t have any recourse.  I was devastated.  While in California for court, I met someone.  In 1975 I moved to CA to be with him and to be closer to where I thought my daughter was.  I thought that was my best chance of finding her since her father ran away with her.  (I don't know what ever came of the FBI case or the bench warrant.) 

I mention all this because this is how I ended up in CA, why I stayed there, and how I eventually lost track of my father.  My Dad was with Gramps until he passed away in 1977.  Then Dad stayed in the old family house with his uncle until he passed away in 1984.  I believe Dad stayed on at the house until it was sold in 1994 or 1995.  After that the family lost track of him.  I’ve been in touch with cousins and no one seems to have seen my Dad after 1994.

I’ve been searching online for Dad for years.  I’ve looked at unclaimed bodies and unidentified bodies online.  (He would have turned 100 years old last month.  I doubt that he’s still alive.)  I’ve submitted info to missing person websites.  The most recent site requires a formal police report.  So, that’s what I’m getting ready to do.  I fly to Chicago tomorrow, and I’ll stay 4 nights to be sure I can get everything done.  If I get done early, I can do some family tree research.  I get very emotional just writing about this.  I’m not bothering to edit this blog.  I just need to get my thoughts out. 

After I file a formal police report, NamUs will “publish” my missing person report online, and they will get my DNA for CODIS.  Hopefully that will help to find or identify my father’s remains and bring him home.  (This is where I get very emotional.  I know I’ll break down and cry when I have to talk to someone about it face to face.  Writing about it is relatively easy.)  I need LOTS of positive thoughts.  I’m hoping for a positive outcome, eventually. There are times it is difficult to know what to do.  I learn a lot from the experiences of others.  I hope someone can learn from mine.

Happy ending – in part.  I did eventually get together with my daughter, and we have a great relationship.  I first met her again when she was about 10 years old.  (A deeper relationship took another decade or two.)  Could I have done something to regain custody of her then?  Sure.  Probably.  However, I chose NOT to do to her father what he did to me.  Perhaps it was a mistake, but I didn’t think I could tear her away from what she knew more than half of her life.  I tried to stick to the moral high road throughout the years.  I chose not to hate for fear that it would color me ugly.  However, there are times I would love to tell him off.  Especially when I hear that he is still telling untruths about me and our situation.  Yeah, I may still tell him off some day.