Leo Frank

One of the more intriguing exercises in writing historical fiction is tying seemingly unrelated events into the plot.  Such was the case of Massey and Leo Frank in Slogans: Our Children, Our Future.

In the early 1920's fear of Bolshevikism washed across America leading to the Red Scare and strong anti-immigrant feelings (Sound familiar?)  I wanted to make this threat intimate by having my protagonist a target of Wolford W. Scott's American Protective League. 

Originally founded to combat German spies, the APL turned its sights on Bolsheviks

My original draft had Massey a passive victim saved only through the efforts of others.  In the rewrite, he became an active participant in his defense.

* * *

Massey shook the contribution jar before putting it on the shelf and peered inside.  Sure enough, there were two quarters.  Maybe it’s time they knew the difference.  As he stared at the coins Massey decided to do something that would be unthinkable in Russia.  He would speak to the police.

 * * *

This still left the problem of how do these powerless immigrants successfully take on the government?  The answer was Abraham Minsker.  The banker used his influence to obtain lawyers from the Civil Liberties Union to appear at the Will County courthouse during immigrants' arraignment.  But I still needed a connection, good reason for Abraham to do it.

 * * *

The seven eyed at one another.  “But why?” Massey asked.  “Why would a group of Jew lawyers help us?”

Abraham took off his spectacles and wiped them on his vest.  “I am the president of this bank,” he said and placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.  “A small bank to be sure, but a bank none the less.  I’m a Jew, and for too many in this country being a Jew is all that matters.  That's why I want to help you.”

“I don't understand,” Massey said.  “What does being Jewish have to do with helping us?”

“Because of Leo Frank.”  Abraham Minsker scanned the room seeking some reaction to the name and saw none.  “You do remember Leo Frank in Georgia?” 

* * *

Abraham went on to explain Leo Frank was a factory superintendent who was lynched by a mob in Merietta, Georgia, in 1915.  National newspapers attributed his murder to antisemitism and resulted in many well-established Jews realizing regardless of their status, to many they were just a Jews. 

Leo Frank lynched by a mob outside Atlanta, Georgia

But Abraham's desire for justice went deeper.

* * *

Abraham let out a sigh and clasped his fingers together.  “Gentlemen, I do not take anyone’s rights for granted and I will defend them wherever and whenever they are in danger.  What it amounts to is this: if I allow your rights to be violated, I have lost mine also.  Believe me, if certain powers in America get away with ignoring the rights of immigrants, it won't be long before they come after Jews.  All Jews, no matter their station.  This is not just your fight, it's also mine.”

* **

Memorial to Leo Frank

In the last section of this scene, I closed with dialogue from my first book, Ikons: Saint Nicholas the Wonder Worker, when Abraham and Massey first met.

* * *

Massey stopped twisting his cap and glanced down at it.  “Do you believe we have a good case?”

Abraham smiled at Massey and recalled a similar question Massey had asked many years ago.  “Yes, thanks to your little chat with the sheriff, I do,” Abraham answered.  “A very good case indeed.”

* * *

In researching the lynching of Leo Frank, I wondered how such an event could have taken place and if it could happen today.  I believe the same circumstances occur daily.  A lynch mob provides one with anonymity and the same anonymity exists on social media.  While the targets of hatred my not be strung up from a tree, the internet mob has no qualms about destroying their reputations and livelihood.  Woe be those who stray beyond the boundary of accepted behavior, regardless of which side of boundary the mob may reside.

Going to America

In my first novel, Ikons: Saint Nicholas the Wonder Worker, I describe my grandfather Massey's voyage to America: how he disembarked from the port city of Danzig aboard the SS Arabia, endured seasickness and indecision, and finally the dehumanizing experience of Ellis Island.  His journey was a tale fraught with danger, new friendships, romance and hope.

Danzig

My impression of the SS ARABIA in Danzig

I had Massey leave for America aboard the SS ARABIA, a converted British troop ship.  There was no such ship, but I liked the idea of placing the immigrants in the worse possible facility. 

* * *

 As the procession rounded the corner to the gangplank Massey suddenly came face to face with the SS ARABIA.  It was massive.  To his mind it was larger than any ship could possibly be.  Its whiteness shouted out against the gray overcast sky, her masts and funnels disappeared into the murkiness high above, and her deck spanned the horizon.  For a moment Massey stood frozen in awe.

 * * *

I gave my poor grandfather a bad case of seasickness, threw in the origins of his life long friendship with two Polish gentlemen and added a shipboard romance for good measure.  There was quite a bit of uneasiness as their ship approached America, each man wondering if he would be admitted or sent back in disgrace.

Ellis Island

 Ellis Island, the gateway to America.  Even though I had no proof, I sent Massey to Ellis Island.  After all, it was the port of entry for millions of Europeans during the early 1900's.  Following several weeks at sea, the passengers of the ARABIA were straining to catch a glimpse of the new world, their new home.

***

Eyes strained from every viewing point to catch a glimpse of the lady with the lamp.  For days, weeks, and even years, the passengers had heard of the lady who stood in the harbor to welcome immigrants to America.  But try as they might, their eyes could not pierce the gray mist shrouding New York Harbor.  The sun drenched sky that had greeted the ARABIA that morning had steadily clouded over as the ship moved west.  By the time she had reached the three-mile limit the sky had turned dark gray and a solid drizzle was falling.

 * * *

Ellis Island - Circa 1907

From mountains of background information, I constructed a plausible story of Massey's experience passing through Ellis Island.  I had him prodded, questioned, examined, interviewed and finally having his first American meal of eggs, bread, coffee and a banana.

Truth

Well, all this made a very nice story, but it never happened.  A decade after I published Ikons, I received an email for a woman whose grandfather accompanied Massey from Hutava.  According to her, my grandfather was part of a group that left their village for America in 1907.  Their destination was not New York's Ellis Island, but Baltimore's Locust Point.  Her family remained in Baltimore, but the others scattered, with Massey ending up in Rockdale Illinois.  
 

Baltimore Point of Entry in Its Heyday

So even though my version of Massey's first trip across the Atlantic is more fiction than history, it served as a source for an additional piece of our family's puzzle.

Help From the Beyond

Some authors believe their works are a singular accomplishment; their work the result of sitting alone at the word processor and turning glorious thoughts into prose. They are convinced they and no one else should get credit for the finished novel. I was one of those authors and I was wrong. My story is a collaboration of too many to count or even remember. There are those I know helped me out, but others who are lost in time provided those seeds that grew into sentences, paragraphs and chapters.

In addition to those people who helped, I received aid from other sources. Some may even say, help from beyond. I believe my constant attention to my dead relatives opened a portal between their existence and mine. Bare with me here. There were several incidents that cannot be explained by coincidence. Such as information I obtained concerning Massey's second trip to America.

During my original research for Ikons, I found Massey’s citizenship application where he claimed the ship he came to America on was called the SS Ventura. I found a book in the Dayton library listing steamships and their history. It turned out the Ventura was a lumber boat hauling wood between Yokohama, Japan and Spokane, Washington. This caused me to wonder, what the heck was a Russian immigrant doing a lumber boat?
I also noted that Massey’s date of crossing was very close to the date of the Titanic sinking, 14 April 1912. I figured I could add the Titanic sinking to my story by placing the Ventura in the shipping lane and have it look for survivors. So I dug into the library’s basement and looked for old volumes about the Titanic. I wanted to get a book from that time period so I could write about the sinking using the language of the period.

I found a book on shipwrecks, took it home and started reading about the Titanic.  For some reason, I set the open book down on the kitchen table and went to get a drink of water.  While getting my water, the pages of the book started turning.  I stood there and watched the pages flip until they stopped.  The hair on my arms rose (really) as I walked over to the table and looked at the section where the pages stopped.

The chapter read, “Disaster on Immigrant Ship.”  The story told of a ship called the SS Volturno, which caught fire and sank in the Atlantic in 1913 killing over 136 people.  The story said the Volturno was an immigrant ship running between Rotterdam and Halifax.  Massey’s papers said he came in through Halifax.

I wrote to the Port of Halifax and asked if it was possible Massey came in the Volturno in April of 1912.  A month later I got a package from Canada verifying Massey had indeed landed there.  They sent me a copy of the ships original manifest listing Massey and a few other Russians on board.  It said it was his second trip to America and was headed to Rockdale, Illinois.

SS Volturno

For the longest time I thought it was Massey helping me out from beyond the grave.  But the more I thought about and remembering my father telling me Akulina had the “gift,” I decided it was she assisting the grandson she had never met.  There may be more logical explanations, but I prefer this one.

The Era

Information concerning my story's era was prolific.  By time I was finished researching I had several three-ring binders, cards, and computer files filled with newspaper clippings, hand-written notes, photos, government records, maps, personal accounts, some of which may even have been accurate and true.

Akulina and Massey's Wedding Certificate - Courtesy of Homeland Security

Joliet newspaper from the 1920's.

1920 Census for Rockdale, Illinois

Each bit of information open a door and led to a bit of information.  But sometimes traditional methods were not enough.  Hard as it is to believe, I actually had my characters come to me in dreams and chastise me for the way I presented them.  My character Boris Koscik was the worse.  He never appreciated my efforts to soften his methods.  He was tough and wanted to be remembered that way.  But of all my characters' manifestations, the one dealing with the SS Voltono had to be the eeriest.

The Women of Hutava

Every story needs romance and fortunately my grandfather and grandmother provided me with one.  I never knew much about Massey's love affair with his wife Akulina, but considering he remained true to her from the time they were married in 1906 until his death in 1949 says something.

Akulina A. Pribish circ 1913

This is the only known picture of my grandmother, Akulina A. Pribish.  She had it taken in Russia sometime around 1913 and sent it to her husband Massey Pribish in America.  This would place her age at approximately 27.  For a younger Akulina, I used a combination of my sisters, all three Slavic beauties.  My final version of my grandmother looked something like this.

Idealized Akulina

Although I knew little about Akulina, I was raised to admire her as a courageous, young mother facing the horrors following the Russian Revolution.  But before she could get to this section, I had to get her married.

I did considerable research into Belarus traditions and customs.  Most of them had to do with young women and their relationship to love and marriage.  This led to the scene dealing with the use of her wreath tossed into the water to find the man of her dreams.  This event also allowed me to introduce her special "gift."  Akulina was described by my father as the village seer, a fortune teller of extraordinary talent.  Whether her talent was a paranormal power or one based on an astute understanding of human nature is left up to the reader.  However, based on events which occurred  during the writing of these novels, I tend to believe the former.

Belarus girls placing wreaths in the water

The other village women were based on memories of my relatives, neighbors in Rockdale, and people I met in Russia.  Akulina's main friend, Nora, was real and was actually my father's godmother.

Akulina's little sister, Kataya was also a combination of my sisters, tilting mostly towards my youngest and feistiest sister, Jayne.

The Men of Hutava

This is my grandfather Massey Pribish.  It was probably taken in 1913 or so.  I believe it was a picture he had taken when he was arrived Joliet, Illinois and sent it to his wife in Russia.  But I'm getting ahead of the story.

Massey Pribish Circ 1913

The story of Ikons begins in 1904.  Massey and his brother Sam are planning to leave their home in Hutava to claim their fortune.   Since I didn't have any pictures of the two brothers when they were young, I chose to use a picture of two Russians I found in a history book as inspiration. 

Massey and Sam's Stand-ins

"Victor looked carefully at each man trying to decide who would give the most work for the least pay.  Over to one side he saw two young men standing apart from the rest.  They were of medium height and strongly resembled one another.  One, the oldest, already had a dense growth of hair on his upper lip; the other lad, only a mere shadow.  Both were lean.  Not the hungry lean Victor usually saw, but a sturdy, muscular lean.  Their hair was black and close cropped, more in the fashion of a soldier than the bowl-shaped chasha of a peasant, and their skin was still dark from days in the sun.  It was obvious both were just off the land and not yet broken by factory labor.  Victor leaned toward the yard-boss and pointed a leathery finger at Samuel and Massey.  "Those two," he said and quickly walked back to the mill."

* * *

Based on this photo, I constructed a story line for the brothers.  At the time I didn't have all the family information about the two, so I made it up resulting in two mistakes.  First, in my novel Sam was the solid older brother and Massey the feisty little brother.  In actuality, Massey was older.  Second, I named Sam, Sam, an honest mistake.  All my life I knew my great-uncle as Sam.  It turned out his name was Sergei and he had changed his name to Sam when he came to the United States in 1910.


For the rest of the men in Hutava I used this photo.  Notice the man on the far right.  He became my great grandfather, Major Sergei Pribish. Many years later I obtained records from the Department of Homeland Security, which listed Massey's father's name as Lucian Lukaszewicz.  I have no idea what that means.

The Men of Hutava

My father called his grandfather on the Pribish side, The Major.  It could be he was a major in the Tsar's army or was mayor of Hutava.  Both words are similar in Russian.  I chose to name him Serei and make him a retired army officer.  Note the medals on his chest.  Russian officers in 1900 were usually of noble birth.  The only way Sergei could attain commissioned rank was by serving in the Asian frontier.  So that's how his story came to be.  Sending him to the Far East also allowed me to explain my father's Tatar features.  Sergei's story is the frame upon which Russia's participation in the Great War was constructed.

According to DHS, my father's maternal grandfather was Andrew Kotchik.  Not knowing this in 1992, I named him Boris Koscik.  My father claimed he was a horse thief.  Boris' story is based on the recollections of my then ten year-old father and is instrumental on projecting the story of politics in the Russian village.

Other villager men were the inn-keeper, mayor, assorted farmers and of course, the village villain, Shako.

Using old photos was not an original idea of mine. It actually came from Sue Grafton (Alphabet Murder series).  She taught my class at the Antioch Writers' Workshop and brought in photos to use as props.  One of her photos became a character in my second book.

Giving the brothers opposite personalities and placing them under the thumb of a domineering father allowed me to create a coming-of-age story for the two boys.  I used my own experience and those of my friends to paint a picture of young men leaving home, looking for work and finding it the lower levels of the factory.  While our lives may have been sixty years removed from that of our grandfathers, our experiences were similar.  It would have been something to actually be able to have a discussion between me and my grandfather at age eighteen.

Russian Factory Workers - Circ 1900

Based on this photo, I do believe our grandfathers had it rougher than we did.

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