Before Me

Since I started talking to my grandfather about his experiences in World War II, I’ve taken a great interest in history. History motivated me to start caring about school at the age of 16 and I’m glad it did. Fiction can be beautiful, but I find non-fiction fascinating and can rarely find time for fictional works. A good history teacher will connect their subject to the present and make it applicable. With that said, here’s the history I’ve been able to scrape up about the generations that preceded me. My family (that is, with the surname “Averell”) came to North American continent in the mid 1600’s. From what I can tell we did fairly well in Massachusetts. My great great great great great great great great grandfather William died in 1691, a little over a year before his sister was executed for being a witch. My family did not stay around Massachusetts for long, choosing to move to the frontier (Maine). My family lived in Maine where Job, the grandson of William, apparently often fought with American Indians, killing at least one. An excerpt from a book on my family history: During one of the Indian raids when Job and his brother-in-law were out after the cattle they were surprised by Indians. The brother-in-law was shot and killed; Job was wounded in the foot and captured before he reached the stockade. He was taken up on the mountain, called ever since “Job’s Mountain,” in full view of those inside the fort, and tortured but would not confess how many were in the fort. For three days he was held there and suffered at the hands of the Indians, but always persisted in saying that there were a great many in the fort, when in truth there were only the members of his family. The Indians then took him to Canada, but he was ransomed after six months. His hair which was dark when he went away, was snow white when he returned, and he had lost the great toe of his wounded foot.

John Averill, 3rd from Left

Approximately five decades later my family relocated again, this time to Fremont, WI around the time Wisconsin became a state. For several generations it appears that my family logged the forests of central Wisconsin.
If I recall correctly, my research of the census records for Fremont did not turn up any non-white people for several decades. My great grandfather John logged Wisconsin forests and then went to Europe to fight in The Great War. He was a logger, soldier, and from what my family tells me, a drunk. I imagine he was insufferable since my great grandmother went to the lengths of divorcing him at a time (the 1950’s) when divorce wasn’t so common. I vaguely remember visiting her as a child. She was first generation from Sweden and by all accounts, a tough woman.

My grandfather John W. seemed to take a similar trajectory as his father. He grew up in rural Wisconsin, was drafted, and fought in Europe during World War II. This photo appears to confirm that he took the saying “You wash my back, and I’ll wash yours” literally. I never met him since he died in the 1970’s, but I found out that he was court martialled for whatever antics he got up to in Europe. Within six years of his return to the U.S. he had three children, including my father. He married a “good Irish woman,” someone I generally refer to as “my kick ass grandma.” My grandfather worked for American Motors in Milwaukee and my grandmother worked at Smith Brothers filleting fish. My father volunteered for the Army at 17 and regrettably found himself in Vietnam in 1969. His hat from Vietnam lies in a box in Milwaukee with a Snoopy pin that says “It’s been a long year.” He had three children and raised a fourth, my half-brother (a term I never grew up using or knowing). He campaigned for numerous Wisconsin Democrats in the 1980’s, worked for the City of Milwaukee, and was the President of his union for nearly two decades. I don’t have as deep a knowledge of my mother’s side since much of the family history had already been compiled. While my paternal grandmother lectured me on my Irishness (“Do you know what they did to the Irish, Brian?”) and occasionally threatened to sell me to the Gypsies, my mother’s side argued that I was in fact German. Part of my mother’s side came to the U.S. illegally from Germany in the mid-1800’s and has mainly lived in Ozaukee County since then. German was spoken at home into the 1960’s and my grandfather (at 93) has trouble pronouncing “th” words (three = tree, that = dat, etc.) My maternal grandfather also fought in World War II. His love for Germany died when real Germans nearly killed him on numerous occasions. He was drafted and reluctant to go to war. He came home, had six children, and worked in a tool and die shop for decades.

My maternal grandfather (seated)

That’s a brief summary of some family history. I’ve included this section because it’s all a part of my identity and has profoundly affected the direction of my life. How it has affected me should become clearer in the following posts.