Remembering Grandma Minnie 123 Years After Her Immigration

Born on November 10, 1886, my maternal grandma Hermina Farkas Schwartz was the second child (oldest daughter) of 11 children of Moritz Farkas and Lena Kunstler Farkas. She celebrated her 15th birthday on the SS Amsterdam in 1901, en route from Hungary to her future home in New York City.

Growing up in Hungary

Minnie and seven of her siblings were born in Hungary, in an area now known as Berehove, Ukraine. Minnie was sent to school to learn reading, writing, and arithmetic, plus fine needlework. 

Her father Moritz supervised vineyard plantings for his wife's family and also leased land for his own crops. Minnie sometimes rode along with him on his rounds of the vineyard--she loved the outdoors. The family wasn't wealthy but they weren't poor either.

Weather changed everything

One year, Moritz failed to insure his crops and a heavy hail storm destroyed everything before the harvest. He was financially ruined. To make a fresh start (and probably to avoid creditors), Moritz sailed to New York City in 1899. He found work in the garment district, like many Jewish immigrants, and always lived in a tenement or an apartment building, very unlike his former life.

At the end of 1900, Moritz's wife Lena sailed to New York City, leaving their eight children with her family. One year later, Minnie and three siblings were put on a ship to rejoin their parents in New York. The last group of four children who waited in Hungary were finally reunited with their family in New York in 1903. Moritz and Lena had three more children born in the Big Apple. The baby of the family was 20 years younger than the oldest.

Where Minnie lived in the big city

In 1910, Minnie lived with her parents and siblings at 645 E. 6th Street on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. According to the 1940 New York City tax photo, which I found using Steve Morse's One-Step search form, it was a large apartment building on a street corner, with stores on the ground floor.

In 1920 and 1930, married to immigrant Theodore Schwartz (1887-1965) and the mother of three children, she lived at 651 Fox Street in the Bronx, NY. It was a smaller apartment building located in a more residential area. Grandpa Teddy owned and operated a small neighborhood dairy store, which helped them get through the Great Depression.

In 1940, Minnie and Teddy and their children lived at 672 Beck Street in the Bronx, a nicer apartment building. All their children had graduated high school and the oldest two were in college and working part-time, their youngest child working as well. The couple stood on their feet helping customers at the dairy store day after day, including weekends.

In 1950, Minnie and Teddy lived at 600 East 178th Street in the Bronx, an apartment building with the main entrance on the side street. Two children were married and had families of their own. By this time, Minnie had heart problems and Teddy had hired an assistant for the store. This man eventually bought them out so the couple could retire after a lifetime of standing on their feet for long hours.

Minnie's life and legacy

Minnie grew up to be a capable, complicated woman who defied her parents in order to marry the man of her choice. In a later era, she herself would have had many more opportunities to use her intelligence, talents, and determination. She was an expert with a sewing machine, and made fabulous Hungarian dishes from scratch, including apple strudel with an impossibly thin pastry crust. Though she lacked a warm and fuzzy way with her grandchildren, she worked extremely hard, made her children's education a high priority, and always put family first.

Grandma Minnie died 60 years ago, in 1964. Saddened and physically weakened, Grandpa Teddy died the year after. May their memories be for a blessing.

Where Joseph Jacobs Lived in 1888?

My great-grand uncle Joseph Jacobs (1864-1918) was born in Lithuania and became a naturalized citizen in New York City in 1888. He (and his sister Tillie and his mother Rachel) all lived in tenements after coming to the Big Apple in the mid-1880s.

When Joe became a US citizen in October of 1888, his address was 49 Clinton Street, on Manhattan's Lower East Side, an area crammed with immigrants living in row after row of attached tenements. Many of those tenements are now gone. What about Joe's place?

49 Clinton Street, circa 1940

I used Steve Morse's One-Step tool to quickly and conveniently search the NYC Records & Information Department database of building photos taken for tax purposes, 1939-1941. I wondered whether Joe's tenement was still standing in about 1940.

Shown above is the search form, completed to show the address I was seeking. I specified the year as 1939-1941, selected Manhattan as the borough, and entered the house number "49" and the street "Clinton." Then I clicked to show block and lot, and finally clicked "display single house." The black and white tax photo is at top of this blog post, tenements with stores at street level. The full page of results is here.

Alas, I may not be looking at Joe's actual residence but a replacement. His original residence could very well have been torn down to make way for taller buildings. Current real estate listings for the address suggest the tenement shown at top was built about 1910.

If you're looking for a New York City address from the past, try the Steve Morse search form and also check Google for info about the current status of the building.

49 Clinton Street, circa 2024

Then I pasted the address "49 Clinton Street, New York City" into the Google search box. Up popped a map and a street-level photo. 

Surprisingly, the tenement is still standing and recognizable, as shown by this photo from September of 2024! Fire escapes and stores at street level, similar to the 1940 photo.

Remembering my immigrant ancestor Joe Jacobs on the 106th anniversary of his death in 1918. 

Book Review: "The Last Ships from Hamburg"

Written by historian Steven Ujifusa, The Last Ships from Hamburg traces the rise and fall of Hamburg as a port of hope, profit, and humanity, a jumping-off place for Jewish people and other immigrants seeking to make a new life in America. 

The main focus: the lives and business decisions of wealthy Jewish men in Germany and America who shaped the steamship industry into a well-oiled machine of immigration through East Coast ports of the United States, and beyond. With big money involved, even titans of industry who disliked Jewish execs were willing to do business with them, up to a point.

The narrative is lively and moves along at a good clip, drawing readers in by revealing fascinating personal/professional details about the powerful families that paved the way for immigrants to get out of Russia. It also puts a human face on those fleeing the Russian empire, tracing their difficult journeys to Hamburg, agonizing waits to board ships, even more agonizing waits at Ellis Island. Ujifusa also discusses the reality of American life for many new arrivals, crowded into tenements in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, barely scratching out a living with pushcarts or hunched over sewing in sweat shops. 

Ballin, Schiff, Morgan

The Hamburg-American Line's managing director and visionary leader was Hamburg-born Albert Ballin, a Jewish man who cultivated ties with Kaiser Wilhelm and other bigwigs of Germany, England, and the United States. In building up the Hamburg-America Line, he created a transportation network that brought immigrants (including Russian and Eastern European Jews) to Hamburg, screened them for health problems that might cause them to be rejected at Ellis Island, even offered kosher meals on his steamships. In fact, ticket sales to immigrants were absolutely essential to the financial stability of the Hamburg-America Line. 

Jacob Schiff was the Frankfurt-born managing partner of Kuhn, Loeb & Co, an influential US investment bank that advised powerhouse transportation firms like the Pennsylvania Railroad and the Union Pacific. In addition to being a major Jewish philanthropist, Schiff fought against the anti-immigration movement that gripped America even as persecution and pogroms threatened the lives of Jews in Russia leading up to WWI.

J.P. Morgan helped bail out the US government when it was under pressure because of dwindling gold reserves in 1895. He was a master of combining companies into giant trusts that competed on a massive scale. Although his businesses had to coexist with Jewish-managed company competitors, he disliked Jews. Yet his International Mercantile Marine shipping trust, a major player in the shipping and transportation industry, ultimately forged a deal with Albert Ballin's Hamburg-America line, to the benefit of both firms.

Crossing to safety

The book also tells the nail-biting story of hundreds of thousands of Jewish families who sailed to America from 1881-1914. Often these folks couldn't legally leave Russia, so Hamburg-America facilitated border crossings. In effect, two steamship lines were allowed to privatize the Russia-Prussia border station. They allowed immigrants with tickets for America to pass through, then moving to inspection stations for screening and fumigation. These immigrants were ultimately able to cross the pond, cheering at the Statue of Liberty as they entered New York Harbor to start over. Among the prominent descendants of Jewish immigrants are Lauren Bacall, Fanny Brice, David Sarnoff, Sam Goldwyn, and many more, including the author's great-grandparents.  

My ancestors were among the many who left Eastern Europe and crossed the Atlantic to safety before World War I. The book cites 1907 as the peak year for European immigration to America, with more than a million newcomers passing through Ellis Island. However, as the final chapters chronicle, anti-immigration sentiment among powerful US legislators and the social elite increased the pressure to slam shut the door to new arrivals. By 1923, Congress had passed new laws that made it all but impossible for immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe to make it to America. 

Ups and Downs of the Hamburg-America Line

Because I have ancestors who boarded Hamburg-American ships in Hamburg or Cuxhaven, I was particularly interested in the mechanics of getting immigrants from one place to another. The author explains that Russia, in particular, didn't make it easy for anyone to leave...officially. But the Hamburg-America line had agents who could help immigrants with steamship tickets to cross borders, get to ports via railroad or other transportation, and find them decent shelter until their ships departed. 

My ancestor, Bela Roth (1860-1941), brother-in-law to my great-grandmother, left Hungary for New York City twice on ships of the Hamburg-American line. In 1907, he and his family sailed from Hamburg to New York aboard the fairly luxurious Kaiserin Auguste Victoria, a Hamburg-America ship originally launched in 1889 with great fanfare, as this book describes. 

Also in the book is the story of the Hamburg-America's SS Vaterland, which made its maiden voyage from Cuxhaven to America in May of 1914. My Bela Roth, a merchant, sailed with his family on the same Vaterland from Cuxhaven to New York in July of 1914. This time, he remained in New York, declaring his intention to apply for citizenship in 1917. 

The Vaterland was a sleek, speedy ship that, on August 1, 1914, happened to be docked at Hoboken, New Jersey when Germany and Austria-Hungary declared war on Russia in the aftermath of the murder of Archduke Ferdinand and his wife, Sophie, Duchess of Hohenberg.

With the onset of war, thousands of immigrants were stranded in German ports, holding tickets for America. The author describes the desperation of the steamship lines, trying to stay financially solvent, and the scrambling of Jacob Schiff and others trying to get Jewish people out of the Russian Empire without the convenience of the usual German ports. It was the end of an era in so many ways.

If you have immigrant ancestors who sailed to America during the period of 1881-1914, especially if they were leaving from Russia or Eastern Europe and arriving on the East Coast, I heartily recommend picking up this book. See Publishers Weekly write-up here.

How My Immigrant Grandparents Helped Other Immigrants in NYC

My maternal grandparents were immigrants from Hungary who came through Ellis Island as teenagers, years before they met each other. 

Theodore "Teddy" Schwartz arrived alone in March of 1901, at age 14, and parlayed his flair for languages into a job as runner for the steamship lines. Hermina "Minnie" Farkas arrived with three siblings in November of 1901, age 15, joining her parents who had earlier come to New York City. She sewed silk ties to earn money for the household while learning English at night classes.

Leaders in the Kossuth Ferencz Association

Minnie, Teddy, and some of their siblings were active in the Kossuth Ferencz Literary, Sick & Benevolent Association, from its founding in 1904 in New York City. My grandparents were still teenagers and had only lived in the Big Apple for a few years at that time, and they barely had two nickels to rub together, yet they jumped right into a new group to help other Hungarian immigrants get a fresh start. 

Happily, I have a 1909 souvenir booklet for the Kossuth Association's fifth anniversary, in Hungarian, that describes the group and its accomplishments. I typed a few words into Google Translate for quick translations, but I really wanted more specifics about what the Kossuth Association did for immigrants.

Google Lens helps with translation

Yesterday I tried Google Lens on my iPad, which involves photographing the page or a few sentences and then having the app translate what it "reads." I'm not a tech wizard, so for more about the mechanics, please do an online search for articles or videos like this one. Google Lens is compatible with both Apple and Android devices.

At top, a side-by-side comparison of the 1909 financial report in Hungarian (original) and English (via Google Lens). This quick-and-dirty translation is far from perfect, I'm well aware, but it does suggest how the Kossuth Association actually served immigrants. 

Services for immigrants

The association had a good deal of money in the bank ($436 in 1909 is worth $14,600 today). It spent the money on renting a ballroom for its big yearend fundraiser, buying a library cabinet and books, badges for its members, and 11 medals to award to officers ("medals" not properly translated by Google Lens, but I checked with Google Translate). 

The accounting also shows a small advance payment to a cemetery--part of the association's affordable burial services for members. Later, the group purchased a large plot at Mt. Hebron Cemetery in Queens, New York, where nearly 600 members and their families are buried (including my immigrant grandparents). 

What this financial accounting doesn't show is that the association had a long-time physician, Dr. B. Hohenberg, to help members. So as the full association name indicates, it provided literary services (books), medical aid (a physician's care), burial services plus even more by partnering with other agencies and service groups in the area.

Over the years, my Grandpa Teddy served multiple terms as Kossuth's treasurer. My Grandma Minnie's brothers Alex and Albert served multiple terms as president and in other official positions. Both Alex and Albert met their wives through Kossuth activities. Alex and his wife Jennie were movers and shakers on the cemetery committee. Of course I've described their dedication to volunteerism in my most recent family history photo book, about my Farkas and Schwartz ancestors. This is one way I'm keeping family history alive for future generations. 

Honoring Immigrant Great-Grandpa Moritz for Father's Day

For Father's Day, I'm remembering the patriarch of the Farkas family tree in America. 

My great-grandpa Moritz Farkas (1857-1936) left Hungary in August of 1899, disembarking and remaining in New York City. The catalyst for this journey was a devastating hail storm that wiped out his crops and left him deeply in debt. 

After Moritz established himself in the Big Apple, his wife Leni Kunstler Farkas (1865-1938) joined him in 1900. Their first eight children followed them through Ellis Island within the next two years. (My grandma Hermina was their second oldest child.) Moritz and Leni expanded their family with three more children in New York City.  

To honor these immigrant ancestors, one of my great uncles paid for "The Moritz Farkas Family" to be inscribed on the Ellis Island Wall of Honor, panel 132 (image at top). 

At right is the photo of Moritz now on his memorial page on Find a Grave. I digitally put his name on the photo and included the attribution "Courtesy Farkas family."

Of course Moritz and Leni will make an appearance in my next family history photo book, about my maternal grandparents, Hermina Farkas and Theodore Schwartz. 

Happy Father's Day, great-grandpa Moritz. I was born long after you passed away, so sadly, I couldn't get to know you . . . but I know that without your decision to sail to New York City in 1899, I wouldn't be here today. You are remembered with great affection.

Grandpa Teddy: Born in Ungvar, Hungary

My immigrant grandpa, Theodore "Teddy" Tivador Schwartz was born on May 12, 1887 in what was then the bustling market town of Ungvar, Hungary. Today that town is known as Uzhhorod, Ukraine.

Teddy was the first in his family to leave their hometown and cross the Atlantic to New York City, in 1902. He encouraged his older brother Sam to come through Ellis Island in 1904. The two brothers saved their nickels and brought a younger sister, Mary, to New York soon afterward.

So often, documents list only a country as birthplace. A surprising number of Teddy's documents specifically name his actual hometown, including the passenger manifest for the SS Moltke, his Declaration of Intention to become a naturalized US citizen (left), his NY State affidavit for license to marry, his Social Security application, and his WWI and WWII draft registration cards. Dated from 1902 through 1951, all of these documents show Teddy's birthplace as Ungvar, Hungary.

[Note: The document shown here has the incorrect year for Teddy's travel across the Atlantic. The actual passenger manifest is dated 1902. Always look at the original if possible!]

I knew and loved this Grandpa, who lived with our family after his wife (my Grandma Hermina Farkas Schwartz) died in 1964. Teddy died just before his 78th birthday, on May 12, 1965. You're in my thoughts, dear Grandpa, and I'm doing everything I can to keep your memory alive for the future--including putting your photo and name in a family history coloring book for the youngest descendants.

How My Immigrant Grandparents Signed Their Names

 

Some of my immigrant grandparents had lovely, flowing handwriting when signing their names...others wrote more haltingly.

Maternal grandparents

At top, the 1911 signature of my Hungarian-born maternal grandfather, Theodore Schwartz (1887-1965), on his US naturalization cert. He arrived at Ellis Island, alone, at the age of 14. In New York, Teddy initially worked as a runner for steamship lines. I'm sure he put his name to many documents then and later as owner of a small dairy store in the Bronx, NY. His formal education stopped early, but he had an ear and affinity for languages. He also regularly wrote to his son and daughter serving in the military during World War II.

Above, the 1911 signature of my Hungarian-born maternal grandmother, Hermina Farkas (1886-1964). She was 24 years old when she signed this marriage license to wed Theodore Schwartz. Another flowing, cursive signature. She signed lots of paperwork during her life, helping her husband Teddy run their dairy store. She was, for a year or two, secretary of the Farkas Family Tree (formed by herself and her siblings) and signed the monthly meeting minutes. 

Paternal grandparents

Here's the signature of my paternal grandpa, Isaac Burk (1882-1943), on his World War II draft registration card. Born in Lithuania, Isaac came to North America at the age of 21. He was a self-employed carpenter and cabinetmaker. Isaac's signature looked halting, but was recognizable. On his 1906 marriage certificate (see below), he was transitioning to a more "Americanized" version of his name. The signature reads "Isaak Berk" but the official name on the document was "Isaac Burk" on this and all subsequent documents.

My paternal grandma, Henrietta Mahler (1881-1954) was born in Latvia and arrived in New York before she was 10 years old. She and Isaac Burk married in 1906, and it's clear that her signature was less halting than his, as shown on this marriage license. Henrietta (nicknamed Yetta in the family) wrote letters and sent packages to Isaac's cousins in Manchester, England, during and after World War II. How do I know? The cousins wrote back--and one of my relatives saved those notes, time capsules of the era and of family history.