Immigrants Yearning To Be Free
By Emilie Pauli (née Rüger)
The following is the story of Emilie Pauli (née Rüger), of Portland, Oregon, as donated to the Oregon Chapter of AHSGR before she died in 1983. The story was first sent on tape to the Editor of the Kutter, Russia Newsletter. The tape was later transcribed to a typewritten version by Emilie’s husband, John Pauli, Jr. The story was published in the March-June 1987 edition of the Kutter Newsletter.
Dear Friends:
You asked me to tell you my story, and I will try my best to do that. I never thought I'd live to tell this story. To do so causes me to relive those anguishing days - an almost unbearable anguish. I can now tell you this story only by the grace of God. I am here, a debtor; as such, I owe it to Him and give Him glory.
IMMIGRANTS - Yearning to be free
My father, Alexander Rüger (later Rieger), came to America when I was only 17 months old. He arrived hoping to find work and make a better living for his family, as did so many others. His mother recently had cancer surgery and had a small girl of her own, just 3 years older than me. In Russia, the sons took their new wives to live in their homes, and the wife became the homemaker. The mother-in-law retired. My mother was the oldest daughter-in-law, so it was her place to help in the home.
My mother was Kathrina Schaefer from Grimm, Russia. Her father was Karl Schafer. Grimm is 15 miles south of Kutter. There are very few people now living who came from Kutter.
When my father left, he had little money and had to borrow to make the trip. My mother and I were to follow in a year, but war broke out, and it was 10 years before we could come. My father lived with the George Spady family. Mr Spady was originally from Norka, Russia, a large village about 18 miles northwest of Kutter. His home became our home, too, when we finally arrived. My father earned only $1.25 a day. From this, he had to repay the loan he made when he immigrated and save to bring us over. He planned to return for us, but the war posed a problem: he would have to serve in the army, and my mother would not hear of this as he was not a strong man. By this time, grandmother had cancer again. She survived the surgery as the Russians knew how to treat cancer even then. My mother's life was not an easy one. She worked very hard. Grandfather Rüeger was considered to be one of the wealthiest men in Kutter. He was a tailor. I had a younger uncle who lived with us who didn't like physical work but didn’t mind sewing.
My mother always told me I had a loving father who had come to America. At times, I felt rebellious because I did not have a father who lived with me as others did. But my mother kept her faith and promised we would all be together one day. She must have been very discouraged at times.
Then the Bolsheviks came in. We were terrified. We heard so many tales of their takeovers. We had no press, telephones, or communication outside our village, only word of mouth. When a rumor began at one end of the village, it was utterly distorted when it ended up at the other end. We lived in constant, agonizing fear. The Communists put a heavy tax on us. They took our food away from us. Since we raised almost all our food, this was devastating. We stored away for winter what we grew during the summer. We had no money left, as it went to taxes. And, now, no food. We tried to hide the food. Most people had large orchards behind their houses, and there they dug holes to hide the food. Many times, this was my mother’s job. She would take the food down in heavy sacks by ladder. She would bring it up the next day and take it to a new hiding place. After a time, the Bolsheviks got wise to this. They would poke with long spears and find the food. When the people were caught, they were put in jail (Putzka). Often, they were shot for no reason.
My mother did many things to help us keep from starving. She did weaving. I would hold the bobbin for her. Although we lived with grandparents, there was never enough to go around. My father continued to send money...we never got it...the Bolsheviks took it. We would get the letters with the money removed. We never knew from one day to the next what would happen. We knew the day would come when they would get us as they had others. One rumor was that they would drive us to the Volga River and drown us. Fear stalked our days, and we could hear the cannon in the distance, which did not help us. The Volga was only 17 miles away.
Our people were all very religious. We had a lovely church in Kutter and our own school, but the Communists closed them. Our lives were so bleak, and now, not having this needed outlet was terrible. We continued to receive instruction through Bible Study and catechism. We learned reading, writing, arithmetic, and history. My grandfather did not trust anyone by now and would not have allowed us to go to school if we could have. He was afraid we would be brainwashed. Those families who remained faithful to their religion gathered their children in the cellars and taught them stories from the "Bibliche Geschichte" and songs from the "Wolga Gesangbuch.” It was forbidden for two people to gather at one time. But without their knowledge, we gathered in cellars to be taught. Those who taught us disappeared. We heard shots and knew they were being liquidated. Before the Bolsheviks came, we had good years. We could work, go to the village store, make purchases, and gather together. Now, it has all changed. We suffered from inflation. Our money was a different color every day. What was earned one day had to be spent that day, as it was no good the next. How would we Americans survive that?
The only thing we could think about was food! We had lice, fleas, dysentery, and starvation. We had no soap, no clothing. Some days, as many as 40-70 died in Kutter. The bodies were loaded on flat farm wagons, hauled to the edge of town, and buried in shallow holes covered with a thin covering of earth. No funeral, as in the past. Everything was solemn. Not a word was spoken. None! Sadness could be felt everywhere, and many people were bloated from malnutrition.
My mother was a very brave woman, continuing in faith that we would reach America. My father sent us the fare for our trip, but it did no good as there was no transportation for us. All the horses were gone. We had eaten what had not starved long ago. Our cows were also gone. When we left our beloved Kutter, we did not tell anyone. Some people went to South America as there were not as many restrictions on immigration as in North America. We made good use of my father's cash when we arrived at the English Channel, but this was far ahead in my story.
FIRST STEPS TO AMERICA
One of my uncles was a Bolshevik and worked at the county seat, so we feared for our plans. We did not get a visa. My grandfather was a good man and helped us. He took us to Schilling, about 17 miles northeast of Kutter on the Bergseite (the Volga's west or hilly side). He took us in a little wagon with a basket built on top where we sat. It was a sad trip. Dead silence all the way. We knew we would never see each other again. When we reached Schilling, we sat on the river bank to wait for the ship. When it arrived, two fine-looking men came down the gangplank. We continued to sit there with two other families. They had already been to America, returned to Russia, and went to America again. One was named Roth, and he had known my father in Portland. It turned out my father had given him the authority to help my mother and me to America, no matter the cost. The two men coming down the gangplank from the small ship were Herbert Hoover and Mr. Repp. My mother and I wanted to make the best impression on these strangers, so we sat up very straight. Mr. Roth began to converse with them in English, so we could not understand them. My mother asked if the men might know my father, but Mr. Roth said they did not. (Later, we learned that Mr. Roth was hoping to get money from my father to help us). Mr. Hoover and Mr. Repp were trying to find out if we could be Mr. Rüeger's wife and daughter (we later learned). So, no help came to get us on the ship to Saratov, where we would have gotten the train.
When we arrived at Saratov, Mr. Repp sent us a telegram to beg my mother to remain behind. He stated that he knew my father and wanted to help us. He needed to see us. By now, we trusted no one. My mother felt very vulnerable. She said, "No, we shall not stay behind. We don’t know who this man is. Maybe he thinks we have money and wants to get it away from us.” We later learned that this was one time we should have trusted. Perhaps my mother could have found someone to talk to in German who could have helped us. But my mother was a gentle, shy person, not well versed in the ways of the world. We had always lived such a sheltered life. We paid dearly for these decisions. We could have been on our way to America and freedom. But this was not to be.
Mr. Roth took over at this point and finally got us on the train at Saratov. It was a freight train. There was only one closed car which held 2 horses and some men. Mr. Roth asked if the children could ride in the closed car, away from the weather. We were protected in there by the warmth of the horses, and finally, the women were allowed to ride in the closed car also. There were about 20 people crowded together. When my mother entered, we feared it might be too late as she was nearly freezing. Everyone was jubilant when they saw she was reviving and saved from freezing. This was the last train out of Saratov, and we rode as far as it went. Then, we had to walk by night to avoid being apprehended by the authorities. We rested by day. We went through snow, ice, and cold wintry winds on foot. Day after day, we walked until we reached the border of Poland, where bad luck caught up with us. We were apprehended by the authorities and imprisoned.
The Red Army had destroyed the railroads here. The women were forced to rebuild the railroad, which was again destroyed by the Red Army (Bolsheviks). We were forced to exchange clothing for food. The trains could not bring in supplies, which meant no food. This was a time of starvation for many. No extras. The results: you are hungry, weak, and can't work or help yourself. This was a sad area. People on the go who did not even know where they were going. They were just moving. We joined with some others at this time. But we remained wary of involving ourselves too much. We did not trust anyone!
The one lady we joined was named Becker from Beideck, a colony about 15 miles northeast of Kutter, who had been to America three times. She helped us a lot. We trusted no one because we did have some money, and if anyone around us knew, anything could happen. We were careful. Mrs. Becker could speak German, Russian and English. We did tell her where we were going, and she took us under her wing. We did have passports and some money. We just about starved ourselves so no one would know we had money to spend. We continued to walk to Minsk, Polotsky, and Riga. We walked clear to the border of Libau. Here, we were smuggled out of Russia into Poland, where we walked right into the hands of two guards. The prison was full of people fleeing Russia. But there was no room for us! We were taken from one prison to another, and they told us, “You must go back.” In the 14th prison we landed in, Mrs. Becker went to the head guard and said, “Why, in the name of God, must we go back? Why can't we go on to America? We have our citizenship papers, we have our passports, and we have someone in America to vouch for us. We want to go on. There is nothing for us where we came from.” I will never forget that guard. He was the evillest looking man I have ever seen in my life. It frightened us to just look at him. But, you know, he said, “go on, go ahead.”
While we were there, the children had to scrub floors. The sanitation was terrible. No soap, just lye and water. We had to scrub the bunks also. We were treated like animals. We weren’t even allowed to go outside to the toilet. A corner was used for this purpose. We children were kept in one room with no privacy. One could soon lose their sanity. The adults had to work on the railroad. We all received a half pound of bread daily and one can of soup. The bread was so rough our gums would bleed. We had to trust God. Some made it, we did, but some did not!
We finally reached Libau and took a small ship through the English Channel. When we reached Liverpool, we learned we would take the largest ship in the world (at that time) on its maiden voyage. Father, through his love for us, had booked 2nd passage for us. We would be better off in 4th class because we did not understand the people and how they lived on this level. We didn't know how to act, mingle, or even peel and eat an orange. We had never seen an orange. Everything was plush! Women in long, formal evening gowns. Palm trees everywhere. We had come from starvation to tribulation. We knew we were going to the land of milk and honey, but we didn’t belong here.
We sat and looked at one another. Since our stomachs were so shrunk, we could not eat much. We finally told someone that all we could eat was milk and bread. If we had over-eaten at that point, it would have killed us. When we sat in the dining room, my mother became very seasick. At that time, they did not have medication for this as they do today. We had to let nature take its course. Even though she was sick, my mother hovered over me, as I was very sick too. I could not lift my head. Mother got me to go up in the fresh, cool air, which did make me feel better. It took 7 days to cross the stormy, foggy Atlantic.
We arrived at Ellis Island with $150. The Travel Aid Society said this would not be enough to get us to Portland. So they wired my father for more money. My father had not heard from us for three and one-half years. He lived with the Spady family. Father's sister, Aunt Anna, helped the Spady family with the washing and ironing once a week. She got his mail for him and opened the telegram with curiosity. She took it to father, where he had worked for many years at the Doernbecher Manufacturing Company. When she opened it, he thought it was a notice of our deaths. He fainted dead away when he saw that we were still alive. My mother could not write or ask anyone else to do so. She just couldn't trust anyone along the road to do so.
The Travel Aid Society said we needed $100 more to cross America, and my father sent $200. In our fear, we didn’t budge from our seats all the way across America. The Society did help us some with our food. We got some milk, cheese and bread. We arrived in Portland on the last day of September 1922. My father was an active member of the Second German Congregational Church, where a former Kutterite, Rev. Heinrich Hagelganz, was Pastor. They had known each other back in Kutter. The entire congregation was excited about our arrival and wanted to witness father's reception when he saw us at the train station. IT HAD BEEN 10 LONG YEARS! I was so excited. I wanted to know what my father looked like. My anticipation was high, and so was my mother's. I had seen numerous pictures.
We were to have arrived on Saturday night. The whole church was there to greet us. Since we did not speak English, we did not know when we arrived in Portland, so we just rode on and on and arrived in Spokane the next morning. The Aid Society realized our dilemma and told us we would have to return to Portland on another train. We arrived in Portland on Sunday morning, but no one was there to meet us. We went into the depot and sat down on a real high-backed bench hidden from view. When Mr. Spady and father came to see if we had arrived, they wandered through but did not see us. Mr. Spady suggested that they go through the ladies’ lounge, and when he went through the swinging doors, he called out, “Here they are!" Mr. Spady knew mother from the old country. When my father came in, my mother sang, "Honey, here's your father." They told me later I turned white, red, and almost green. I had choked up and was so full of anxiety. We could not get enough of embracing each other.
Mr. Spady had a 1922 Dodge touring car. We had never ridden in a car before, and I was full of fear, especially as we crossed the Broadway Bridge. I feared we would go down into the river below, so I held to the sides with all my might. Finally, we reached the Spady home, where everyone seemed to be neighbors and friends. Almost all we had with us was the clothing on our backs.
We were still crying for joy when we finally had time to talk.
Let me tell you some funny things that happened to me: We arrived on Sunday, and the following Monday, When I began school. I was 12 years old and looked awful. I started with first grade. I had ringworm, so a friend took me to the barber and told him Schneid alles ab (cut it all off). I didn't need it all taken off, as the ringworms were only on top of my head. So I started to school with a dust cap on my head. I just knew it was going to be a "fun" experience. The teacher did not understand me, and I could not understand her. It was awful. The friends that I thought I had, the Spady girls and others, were ashamed of me. My father could not take time off work to help me, and my mother could not speak English. My friends deserted me when I needed them most. I did very well in school and finished the 8th grade in 5 years. I had to learn how to live and play the piano. I attended German school at the church, English school, and confirmation classes. I was very anemic, and my poor body needed building up. My father had to pay $6 for a bottle of tonic to help recover my strength, and now I think it is still working for me.
If there is one thing I would like to get across to you people in America, it is this: It is important not to put off getting all the information you can about your heritage. Get it while it is still available. Too many wait too long. You must do it today. Someone down the line is going to want what you can leave for your posterity today. Get it down on record. Put down everything you can possibly remember, then find what others remember. How I would like to talk to others from Kutter, but you know, they tell me they are all gone. (They were not, but she didn't know where to go to get this information: The Editor).
Emilie Pauli died on May 11, 1983, after a lingering illness. It has been said of her that she was a challenging witness for the Lord. She was always a friend to those in need. Since she had known what it was to be hungry. She taught her children to never leave food on their plates and be aware of those needing help. The Pauli’s reared a lovely family, which consisted of three daughters, who are: Janet, married to Dr. David Hicks, Spokane, Washington; Margaret, married to Ben Schellenberg, of Portland, Oregon; and Shirley, married to John Moffitt, Seattle, Washington.
You asked me to tell you my story, and I will try my best to do that. I never thought I'd live to tell this story. To do so causes me to relive those anguishing days - an almost unbearable anguish. I can now tell you this story only by the grace of God. I am here, a debtor; as such, I owe it to Him and give Him glory.
IMMIGRANTS - Yearning to be free
My father, Alexander Rüger (later Rieger), came to America when I was only 17 months old. He arrived hoping to find work and make a better living for his family, as did so many others. His mother recently had cancer surgery and had a small girl of her own, just 3 years older than me. In Russia, the sons took their new wives to live in their homes, and the wife became the homemaker. The mother-in-law retired. My mother was the oldest daughter-in-law, so it was her place to help in the home.
My mother was Kathrina Schaefer from Grimm, Russia. Her father was Karl Schafer. Grimm is 15 miles south of Kutter. There are very few people now living who came from Kutter.
When my father left, he had little money and had to borrow to make the trip. My mother and I were to follow in a year, but war broke out, and it was 10 years before we could come. My father lived with the George Spady family. Mr Spady was originally from Norka, Russia, a large village about 18 miles northwest of Kutter. His home became our home, too, when we finally arrived. My father earned only $1.25 a day. From this, he had to repay the loan he made when he immigrated and save to bring us over. He planned to return for us, but the war posed a problem: he would have to serve in the army, and my mother would not hear of this as he was not a strong man. By this time, grandmother had cancer again. She survived the surgery as the Russians knew how to treat cancer even then. My mother's life was not an easy one. She worked very hard. Grandfather Rüeger was considered to be one of the wealthiest men in Kutter. He was a tailor. I had a younger uncle who lived with us who didn't like physical work but didn’t mind sewing.
My mother always told me I had a loving father who had come to America. At times, I felt rebellious because I did not have a father who lived with me as others did. But my mother kept her faith and promised we would all be together one day. She must have been very discouraged at times.
Then the Bolsheviks came in. We were terrified. We heard so many tales of their takeovers. We had no press, telephones, or communication outside our village, only word of mouth. When a rumor began at one end of the village, it was utterly distorted when it ended up at the other end. We lived in constant, agonizing fear. The Communists put a heavy tax on us. They took our food away from us. Since we raised almost all our food, this was devastating. We stored away for winter what we grew during the summer. We had no money left, as it went to taxes. And, now, no food. We tried to hide the food. Most people had large orchards behind their houses, and there they dug holes to hide the food. Many times, this was my mother’s job. She would take the food down in heavy sacks by ladder. She would bring it up the next day and take it to a new hiding place. After a time, the Bolsheviks got wise to this. They would poke with long spears and find the food. When the people were caught, they were put in jail (Putzka). Often, they were shot for no reason.
My mother did many things to help us keep from starving. She did weaving. I would hold the bobbin for her. Although we lived with grandparents, there was never enough to go around. My father continued to send money...we never got it...the Bolsheviks took it. We would get the letters with the money removed. We never knew from one day to the next what would happen. We knew the day would come when they would get us as they had others. One rumor was that they would drive us to the Volga River and drown us. Fear stalked our days, and we could hear the cannon in the distance, which did not help us. The Volga was only 17 miles away.
Our people were all very religious. We had a lovely church in Kutter and our own school, but the Communists closed them. Our lives were so bleak, and now, not having this needed outlet was terrible. We continued to receive instruction through Bible Study and catechism. We learned reading, writing, arithmetic, and history. My grandfather did not trust anyone by now and would not have allowed us to go to school if we could have. He was afraid we would be brainwashed. Those families who remained faithful to their religion gathered their children in the cellars and taught them stories from the "Bibliche Geschichte" and songs from the "Wolga Gesangbuch.” It was forbidden for two people to gather at one time. But without their knowledge, we gathered in cellars to be taught. Those who taught us disappeared. We heard shots and knew they were being liquidated. Before the Bolsheviks came, we had good years. We could work, go to the village store, make purchases, and gather together. Now, it has all changed. We suffered from inflation. Our money was a different color every day. What was earned one day had to be spent that day, as it was no good the next. How would we Americans survive that?
The only thing we could think about was food! We had lice, fleas, dysentery, and starvation. We had no soap, no clothing. Some days, as many as 40-70 died in Kutter. The bodies were loaded on flat farm wagons, hauled to the edge of town, and buried in shallow holes covered with a thin covering of earth. No funeral, as in the past. Everything was solemn. Not a word was spoken. None! Sadness could be felt everywhere, and many people were bloated from malnutrition.
My mother was a very brave woman, continuing in faith that we would reach America. My father sent us the fare for our trip, but it did no good as there was no transportation for us. All the horses were gone. We had eaten what had not starved long ago. Our cows were also gone. When we left our beloved Kutter, we did not tell anyone. Some people went to South America as there were not as many restrictions on immigration as in North America. We made good use of my father's cash when we arrived at the English Channel, but this was far ahead in my story.
FIRST STEPS TO AMERICA
One of my uncles was a Bolshevik and worked at the county seat, so we feared for our plans. We did not get a visa. My grandfather was a good man and helped us. He took us to Schilling, about 17 miles northeast of Kutter on the Bergseite (the Volga's west or hilly side). He took us in a little wagon with a basket built on top where we sat. It was a sad trip. Dead silence all the way. We knew we would never see each other again. When we reached Schilling, we sat on the river bank to wait for the ship. When it arrived, two fine-looking men came down the gangplank. We continued to sit there with two other families. They had already been to America, returned to Russia, and went to America again. One was named Roth, and he had known my father in Portland. It turned out my father had given him the authority to help my mother and me to America, no matter the cost. The two men coming down the gangplank from the small ship were Herbert Hoover and Mr. Repp. My mother and I wanted to make the best impression on these strangers, so we sat up very straight. Mr. Roth began to converse with them in English, so we could not understand them. My mother asked if the men might know my father, but Mr. Roth said they did not. (Later, we learned that Mr. Roth was hoping to get money from my father to help us). Mr. Hoover and Mr. Repp were trying to find out if we could be Mr. Rüeger's wife and daughter (we later learned). So, no help came to get us on the ship to Saratov, where we would have gotten the train.
When we arrived at Saratov, Mr. Repp sent us a telegram to beg my mother to remain behind. He stated that he knew my father and wanted to help us. He needed to see us. By now, we trusted no one. My mother felt very vulnerable. She said, "No, we shall not stay behind. We don’t know who this man is. Maybe he thinks we have money and wants to get it away from us.” We later learned that this was one time we should have trusted. Perhaps my mother could have found someone to talk to in German who could have helped us. But my mother was a gentle, shy person, not well versed in the ways of the world. We had always lived such a sheltered life. We paid dearly for these decisions. We could have been on our way to America and freedom. But this was not to be.
Mr. Roth took over at this point and finally got us on the train at Saratov. It was a freight train. There was only one closed car which held 2 horses and some men. Mr. Roth asked if the children could ride in the closed car, away from the weather. We were protected in there by the warmth of the horses, and finally, the women were allowed to ride in the closed car also. There were about 20 people crowded together. When my mother entered, we feared it might be too late as she was nearly freezing. Everyone was jubilant when they saw she was reviving and saved from freezing. This was the last train out of Saratov, and we rode as far as it went. Then, we had to walk by night to avoid being apprehended by the authorities. We rested by day. We went through snow, ice, and cold wintry winds on foot. Day after day, we walked until we reached the border of Poland, where bad luck caught up with us. We were apprehended by the authorities and imprisoned.
The Red Army had destroyed the railroads here. The women were forced to rebuild the railroad, which was again destroyed by the Red Army (Bolsheviks). We were forced to exchange clothing for food. The trains could not bring in supplies, which meant no food. This was a time of starvation for many. No extras. The results: you are hungry, weak, and can't work or help yourself. This was a sad area. People on the go who did not even know where they were going. They were just moving. We joined with some others at this time. But we remained wary of involving ourselves too much. We did not trust anyone!
The one lady we joined was named Becker from Beideck, a colony about 15 miles northeast of Kutter, who had been to America three times. She helped us a lot. We trusted no one because we did have some money, and if anyone around us knew, anything could happen. We were careful. Mrs. Becker could speak German, Russian and English. We did tell her where we were going, and she took us under her wing. We did have passports and some money. We just about starved ourselves so no one would know we had money to spend. We continued to walk to Minsk, Polotsky, and Riga. We walked clear to the border of Libau. Here, we were smuggled out of Russia into Poland, where we walked right into the hands of two guards. The prison was full of people fleeing Russia. But there was no room for us! We were taken from one prison to another, and they told us, “You must go back.” In the 14th prison we landed in, Mrs. Becker went to the head guard and said, “Why, in the name of God, must we go back? Why can't we go on to America? We have our citizenship papers, we have our passports, and we have someone in America to vouch for us. We want to go on. There is nothing for us where we came from.” I will never forget that guard. He was the evillest looking man I have ever seen in my life. It frightened us to just look at him. But, you know, he said, “go on, go ahead.”
While we were there, the children had to scrub floors. The sanitation was terrible. No soap, just lye and water. We had to scrub the bunks also. We were treated like animals. We weren’t even allowed to go outside to the toilet. A corner was used for this purpose. We children were kept in one room with no privacy. One could soon lose their sanity. The adults had to work on the railroad. We all received a half pound of bread daily and one can of soup. The bread was so rough our gums would bleed. We had to trust God. Some made it, we did, but some did not!
We finally reached Libau and took a small ship through the English Channel. When we reached Liverpool, we learned we would take the largest ship in the world (at that time) on its maiden voyage. Father, through his love for us, had booked 2nd passage for us. We would be better off in 4th class because we did not understand the people and how they lived on this level. We didn't know how to act, mingle, or even peel and eat an orange. We had never seen an orange. Everything was plush! Women in long, formal evening gowns. Palm trees everywhere. We had come from starvation to tribulation. We knew we were going to the land of milk and honey, but we didn’t belong here.
We sat and looked at one another. Since our stomachs were so shrunk, we could not eat much. We finally told someone that all we could eat was milk and bread. If we had over-eaten at that point, it would have killed us. When we sat in the dining room, my mother became very seasick. At that time, they did not have medication for this as they do today. We had to let nature take its course. Even though she was sick, my mother hovered over me, as I was very sick too. I could not lift my head. Mother got me to go up in the fresh, cool air, which did make me feel better. It took 7 days to cross the stormy, foggy Atlantic.
We arrived at Ellis Island with $150. The Travel Aid Society said this would not be enough to get us to Portland. So they wired my father for more money. My father had not heard from us for three and one-half years. He lived with the Spady family. Father's sister, Aunt Anna, helped the Spady family with the washing and ironing once a week. She got his mail for him and opened the telegram with curiosity. She took it to father, where he had worked for many years at the Doernbecher Manufacturing Company. When she opened it, he thought it was a notice of our deaths. He fainted dead away when he saw that we were still alive. My mother could not write or ask anyone else to do so. She just couldn't trust anyone along the road to do so.
The Travel Aid Society said we needed $100 more to cross America, and my father sent $200. In our fear, we didn’t budge from our seats all the way across America. The Society did help us some with our food. We got some milk, cheese and bread. We arrived in Portland on the last day of September 1922. My father was an active member of the Second German Congregational Church, where a former Kutterite, Rev. Heinrich Hagelganz, was Pastor. They had known each other back in Kutter. The entire congregation was excited about our arrival and wanted to witness father's reception when he saw us at the train station. IT HAD BEEN 10 LONG YEARS! I was so excited. I wanted to know what my father looked like. My anticipation was high, and so was my mother's. I had seen numerous pictures.
We were to have arrived on Saturday night. The whole church was there to greet us. Since we did not speak English, we did not know when we arrived in Portland, so we just rode on and on and arrived in Spokane the next morning. The Aid Society realized our dilemma and told us we would have to return to Portland on another train. We arrived in Portland on Sunday morning, but no one was there to meet us. We went into the depot and sat down on a real high-backed bench hidden from view. When Mr. Spady and father came to see if we had arrived, they wandered through but did not see us. Mr. Spady suggested that they go through the ladies’ lounge, and when he went through the swinging doors, he called out, “Here they are!" Mr. Spady knew mother from the old country. When my father came in, my mother sang, "Honey, here's your father." They told me later I turned white, red, and almost green. I had choked up and was so full of anxiety. We could not get enough of embracing each other.
Mr. Spady had a 1922 Dodge touring car. We had never ridden in a car before, and I was full of fear, especially as we crossed the Broadway Bridge. I feared we would go down into the river below, so I held to the sides with all my might. Finally, we reached the Spady home, where everyone seemed to be neighbors and friends. Almost all we had with us was the clothing on our backs.
We were still crying for joy when we finally had time to talk.
Let me tell you some funny things that happened to me: We arrived on Sunday, and the following Monday, When I began school. I was 12 years old and looked awful. I started with first grade. I had ringworm, so a friend took me to the barber and told him Schneid alles ab (cut it all off). I didn't need it all taken off, as the ringworms were only on top of my head. So I started to school with a dust cap on my head. I just knew it was going to be a "fun" experience. The teacher did not understand me, and I could not understand her. It was awful. The friends that I thought I had, the Spady girls and others, were ashamed of me. My father could not take time off work to help me, and my mother could not speak English. My friends deserted me when I needed them most. I did very well in school and finished the 8th grade in 5 years. I had to learn how to live and play the piano. I attended German school at the church, English school, and confirmation classes. I was very anemic, and my poor body needed building up. My father had to pay $6 for a bottle of tonic to help recover my strength, and now I think it is still working for me.
If there is one thing I would like to get across to you people in America, it is this: It is important not to put off getting all the information you can about your heritage. Get it while it is still available. Too many wait too long. You must do it today. Someone down the line is going to want what you can leave for your posterity today. Get it down on record. Put down everything you can possibly remember, then find what others remember. How I would like to talk to others from Kutter, but you know, they tell me they are all gone. (They were not, but she didn't know where to go to get this information: The Editor).
Emilie Pauli died on May 11, 1983, after a lingering illness. It has been said of her that she was a challenging witness for the Lord. She was always a friend to those in need. Since she had known what it was to be hungry. She taught her children to never leave food on their plates and be aware of those needing help. The Pauli’s reared a lovely family, which consisted of three daughters, who are: Janet, married to Dr. David Hicks, Spokane, Washington; Margaret, married to Ben Schellenberg, of Portland, Oregon; and Shirley, married to John Moffitt, Seattle, Washington.
Source
Story written by Emilie Pauli (née Rüger) and published in the Kutter, Russia Newsletter, March-June 1987 (Vol. II, Nos. 3-4). The original story has been edited to improve clarity. Emilie Rüger was born on May 27, 1911 in Kutter, Russia. She married John Pauli, Jr. on March 31, 1932 in Portland. John was a butcher and owned Crescent Poultry, where Emilie worked as a partner.
Last updated October 25, 2023