FINNS: An Oral History
Becoming Americans - Interviews with Oiva Anderson & Oliver Niemi
FINNS: An Oral History of Finnish-Americans in New Hampshire’s Monadnock Region
Excerpted from FINNS: An Oral History... by Patricia Kangas Ktistes, 1997, all rights reserved.
Becoming Americans - Oiva Anderson & Oliver Niemi
Oiva Anderson
They say that at the time of the Tower of Babel, there was a group that was acting up, kind of independent and nasty, so they were blessed with a language nobody else could understand and exiled to Finland. It used to be that people were ashamed of being Finns but now ethnic pride has emerged. It’s the same as any other immigrant group. They wanted to be Americanized as quickly as possible and many changed their names. I remember in high school being embarrassed by the fact that my parents didn’t speak English very well. My father came across with the name Tuhvanaho, but his two sisters came across with the name Karvonen. There were all from the same family; of a widow with 12 children but both these names represented a village area in Finland from which they came.
My father never did go back to Finland; my mother went once. It was very poignant, judging from what I heard when I was over there visiting. She had gone to the lakeshore and cried her heart out. She was 22 when she emigrated. Her reason, I imagine, for coming to this country was primogeniture. In Finland, the oldest brother inherited the family property although my mother was not of the poorest class because they had land and cows and were fairly self-sufficient. When she went back, she stayed with her brother and his family. The old sauna was, and still is, standing there by the lake. It was an area called Vasikka-Aho. I still call my relatives there once in awhile. My Finnish is archaic, but we have no trouble understanding each other.
I have heard the story that when Kustaa Luhtala from New Ipswich returned to Finland in the early 80s, he left without letting anybody know. I wrote a fictionalized short story for Raivaaja based loosely on that. He was a widower. And when his wife Mary died, Kusti really went to pieces. His grandson took over the farm and Kusti stayed on to help. His life picked up for a while and he was seen, beautifully tanned, driving a tractor during hay-making. However, the generation gap was too much and he suddenly re-emigrated to his old hometown. As I heard the story, he arranged it through some intermediary and left a note in Finnish on the kitchen table: “I have gone to Finland.”
Oliver Niemi
My folks never talked much about Finland. My mother was happy to get out and had no desire to go back. She was a domestic worker in New York City and there was an Italian girl there who received letters from home. She couldn’t read Italian, so she asked my mother if she could. My mother pronounced it like she would read Finnish, and I remember her saying that this Italian girl was laughing because a lot of funny things happened in the letter. My mother said, “I didn’t laugh because I had to keep on reading.” And the Italian girl understood every bit of it.
The first language that I heard was Finnish. I learned to speak it fluently, more or less, but it wasn’t really ‘book Finnish,’ the written language. It’s a shorter version; Finns here liked using Finnglish. You can’t tell who’s a Finn if you just go by last names. Recently I talked about this with a fellow named John Manning. His Finnish last name had been Aijala. Aija in Finnish means “guy,” so I see how they could have translated it into ‘Manning.’ We discussed the Finnish language: it’s a tough language, actually. When I read Finnish newspapers, I still have to look up some of the words.
When I was working in real estate, I called a farmer named Aijala, who was born in Finland and fluent in Finnish, to get a listing on his farm. I thought by asking for it in Finnish, I would make a good impression and might persuade him to give me the listing. I introduced myself in Finnish and then spoke the following words: “Mina olen kiinteiston kaupan valittaja ja tykkaisen ottaa luottelon teitan maa talosta,” [I am a real estate broker and would like to list your farm.] He answered in English and denied me the listing.
On the topic of Finnish names, ,as my uncle said in that interview, you can't identify a Finn by the last name. My father had Finnish friends with last names of Hill and Fox (e.g. Wilho Fox). I'm wondering if Fox Farm Rd was named after Wilho. Other examples include:
composer Robert Kajanus
architect Marco Casagrande
president of Finland: Gustav Mannerheim
composer Johan Julius Christian Sibelius (Jean Sibelius)
Thank you for posting that interview with my uncle. My uncle and father were quite different in many ways. My father was taller and physically stronger. My uncle told me that whenever they had to lift something heavy on the farm my father took the heaviest end. like with logs, my father would take the butt end. My uncle had the demeanor of a college professor, dressed neatly, wore glasses, well-read, appeared to be highly educated and could carry on a conversation on many topics. He was very fluent in his use of the English language and eager to have a conversation. He was also discriminating in his tastes for food and drink (Wild Turkey was better than Jack Daniels). He left the farm to build chairs. His life's occupation involved wood, even when he worked for Simond's Saw & Steel, he was the company's carpenter. He also was a musician. He retired at 55 and went into real estate My father had the appearance of a working man. Large rugged hands, a lean muscular body, and a scar on left cheek. Never spoke first, but responded and carried on a conversation with a minimum of words. He could speak fluent (from my perspective) Finnish and good English , although some words were slightly altered like September was Sectember. He was clever and could fix most things from car engines to textile looms. He went from the farm to working as a lumberjack, then a bicycle builder with Hedstrom Union which was converted to building parts for the P51 Mustang in 1942. Then as a loom fixer in the Highbridge and Greenville Mills, and later as a steel worker at Simonds Saw & Steel, actually working with steel. He retired at 62 after being injured working with heavy steel knives used in papermills. He worked the 11 PM -7AM shift, would arrive home at 7:30, have breakfast, drive us to school in Greenville, sleep for 4 hrs, and in the afternoon either take over from my mother tending the general store he owned in Highbridge or work on the house in Bank Village. After supper sleep until 10PM and leave for work at 10:30.