European Immigrants
(The Journey of my Family's Voyage to America.)
By Kristin Wohrle
Told from the great- great- granddaughter, Kristin Wohrle's, point of view.
Links by Kristin Wohrle
Mathias and I have always shared the same dream for our family; that they would live a good life and that each individual would live lives that would leave a mark on the world. Determined to bring our dream into reality Mathias and I parted our ways. Mathias left me in Germany with our three young children; seven-year-old son Matt, six-year-old daughter Cecilia and five-year-old son Michael. It was during the latter part of the 1800s that Mathias joined the crowds of European immigrants hungry for the United States. It was a sad day when Mathias set sail for America, the land of opportunities, to secure employment in order to earn the wages required to reunite us with him someday.
Before long word came that my determined Mathias settled on a twenty acre tract of land just south of McCuneville, Ohio and earned the wages needed to bring us back together again by working long days and nights in the local mines. His letter inclosed just enough money to purchase our four long awaited tickets.
Eager with anticipation the children and I boarded a big ship, crowded with many strangers that held much the same dream that Mathias and I shared for our family. The journey did not start out an easy one. The number of passengers was so great that if all the passengers were on top of the deck at one time we could barely turn around. I spent each day terrified that the children would become ill from the unsanitary conditions that constantly surrounded us. Many days and weeks passed on that ship filled with strangers. The days and nights were long and filled with many questions that tortured me. They were thoughts of: will we make it, when will we arrive, how will we find Mathias. My heart was constantly afraid of what might happen or what might not happen. However, I would not allow the children to see my fear so I would often ask the children questions like: What do you think it will be like in America? What do you think your father is doing right now? What is the first thing you want to say to your father when you see him?
Cheers of joy sang from the mouths of both the immigrants and the salts as our eyes began to see the emerging form of the Statue of Liberity on the approaching New York Harbor. I believe our ship cheered so loud that our excitement could have been heard for miles. However, as our eyes were gazing intently upon the wonderful sight, dark storm clouds quickly gathered and the wind increased at extreme speeds. As the ship neared the port the storm grew in strength, the wind and rain produced crashing waves that drove the ship out to sea once again. Due to the storm's sudden occurrence we were unprepared to face its fury. Quickly I tried to gather the children close by to go below deck. As the crowds pushed Matt, Cecilia, and me down beneath the deck I can remember screaming for my six-year-old Michael. The door was closed and held shut by two stern men who forbid anyone to return to the deck. All I could imagine was that my little Michael had been washed overboard. I knew the chances of a young child surviving on deck in such hostile conditions were slim. As the storm subsided and the two men that had quickly become my enemies opened the door to allow us out, I had no incentive to reach the deck and gaze at the Lady of Liberty without my son. Cecilia and Matt finally helped me to the deck where miraculously I saw little Mike still holding onto the captain's ankle. The Captain informed me that during the storm he spotted little Michael huddled under a tarp. Once spotted the Captain pulled Michael to his side and shielded him by having him hold onto his ankles and huddle underneath his slicker as he remained at the wheel of the ship. The storm had been so fierce that it was eighteen days before we once again approached the harbor.
As our feet hit the American soil we did not stop till we reached Mathias. What a wonderful feeling it was to have the whole family together again in the land that was a part of our dream. As the years passed, I gave birth to four new sons: Chris, George, Charlie, and Joe. Then as all our children grew their marks were etched over time upon this earth forever. Two of our sons, Chris and George, served and gave their lives in duty during WWI against Germany, the very country from which they originated. The others continued to help build and leave their mark on their country in a simpler way by establishing a family coal mine where Michael would eventually meet his death. It is sad, but true that some of my children's everlasting marks may be forgotten over time. However, I know if one trudges through the hills of McCuneville and stumbles upon a bird grafted in sandstone accompanied with the date "1913" and the initials "C.W.", or if years from now this world still reigns with freedom the marks of the Wohrles will remain to be felt and seen by all.
This determined couple of European Immigrants, Mathias and Cecilia Wohrle, are my great-great- great- grandparents. Chris, the son who carved the etching of the bird and who was killed in WWI, was my Father's grandfather. Therefore, Chris was my great grandfather. All parts in this story were previously recorded and therefore, are true except for Cecilia's thoughts and feelings. These were added for interest, but probably appear close to the reality of the truth of an experience like this. Today, many of the Wohrles still reside near the same plot of land that was founded in the early 1800s by Mathias and Cecilia. This plot of land just south of McCuneville, Ohio has become a family heirloom. It has been pasted from my grandfather, Daniel Worhle, to my Father, Donald Wohrle, and now it presently belongs to one of my older brothers, Bret Wohrle. Within the last few years, Bret has built upon this treasured land one of his dreams, a quaint log cabin, where our family often goes to make more memories to be passed on. I will never forget how my history came alive to me as I witnessed a part of my past one afternoon after my first hunting trip with my Father and brother, on the hill side of my brother's land. After the hunting had ended and as we began hiking back to the cabin through the woods, my Father stopped by what appeared to be a common large wall of rock overgrown by brush. Curiously, I sat and watched as he set down his gun and began to clear away the brush that hid the picture that my great grandfather once carved years ago. This is when my ears first heard the journey of my immigrant grandparents.
WORKSHEET QUESTIONS:
1. Where did this family of immigrants originate from?
2. How did the children of the Wohrle family leave their mark on the world?
3. Where did they settle in the United States?
4. Why do you think so many immigrants were migrating to the U.S. in the later 1800s?
5. Why is America called the melting pot?
6. Do Americans truly have a nationality of their own if they all originate from other countries? Why or Why not?
*****ANSWERS*****
1. Germany
2. They helped build their country in its early years through working in their family coal mine and some served in duty in WWI.
3. McCuneville, Ohio.
4. Oppression and
5. America is called the melting pot because of how it formed. People migrated from many various countries with many different nationalities and together they "melted" together to form an new group of people Americans.
6. Answers will vary.
OUTLINE:
I. Mathias and Cecilia's dream of America
A. Their separation
II. Mathias's's voyage to America
A. Settlement in McCuneville
III. Cecilia and the children's voyage to America
A. Cecilia's fears
B. The close loss of the youngest son.
IV. The reunion of Mathias and his family
A. Four new sons
V. The marks the children left behind
A. Coal mines
B. Picture of a bird
C. Duty in WWI
VI. How the marks continue to be felt and seen.
A. Freedom
B. The etching
VII. Present knowledge of the Wohrles
PROPS:
-Maps
-replica of a ship from the 1800s
-recorded sounds of a storm
-a picture of the actual etching of the "literal" mark of the bird.
SOURCES:
Bud Warner. The Perry County Tribune, New Lexington, Ohio. (February 6, 1991)