Whilst browsing publicly available military records for male relatives of the era I was bemused as to why there were so many, seemingly beyond physical fighting years, that were registered for WW II. Initially rationalized in my mind as patriotism, I noted that some of these men had registration cards for WW I – the Great War, both. That would have made a very patriotic statement! Max Boris Harrison was 25 when he enlisted in September of 1918 and here he is signed up in 1942.

Investigation reveals that the Selective Service Act for WW 2 as of 1940 considered all men between the ages of 21 and 36. Following the attack on Hawaii in late 1941 the age range was quickly expanded raising the age to 45 but by 1943 the Draft was revised yet again to 64 years of age.

Those of 45-64 weren’t eligible for actual military service but were registered for potential civilian mobilization and civil defense needs. The expanded draft helped the government closely monitor the national workforce and manpower resources to best support the war effort on both the military and home front. Toward War’s end the age limit was lowered back down to 45 as the nation’s military manpower needs became less acute.

Witnessing all of the yellow draft cards, it seems that everyone fulfilled their civic duty and now I have a second reasoning for the why.

Having traced our Scandinavian roots we shift to a tougher one to crack; The Harrison side of the family– born into the Russian Empire what is currently Lithuania. Difficult because there was little to go on. We had first hand knowledge of those who were born in the USA of course but their parents that immigrated and who had enjoyed good lives here were loath to talk about their past. In other words any hard facts were not forthcoming. We did not have places of birth, dates, or even their former names and spellings.

Nanny Fan dismissed most inquiries, saying that her last memories of the old country were too distressing to re-live. We believe she probably witnessed religious prejudice, cruelty and even bloodshed. There were hints that some emigrated with just the clothes on their backs and valuables hand stitched into coat linings.

We think our relatives from the old world would have wanted to assimilate as citizens into the USA not only to avoid scorn or ridicule but to gain a normalcy that would not sabotage their sense of community or livelihood. First order of self help: losing a foreign sounding name and learning English. So, none of us twice removed had good intel.

We had but one strong hint: the original family surname sounded like “Kurgon”. So where to begin…

Working backward with the closest relative, father or mother, we find out who their parents were and in this case learn that Zadie’s father, Max Boris Harrison had immigrated. Starting with a 1910 United States Census we scrape the year of immigration (1908) and discover that he, with parents and siblings, were under the same roof in the USA by 1910. It was likely that they immigrated together as well; but what surname? Harrison was the naturalized but how to search for this family in archival ship passenger listings?

A challenge is that invariably each tracking document has the names malformed in some way. Not only were names changed but then altered or misspelled through clerical error along the way. The Census poll has the name as Herrison. Sifting through passenger lists would have been and impossible task before searchable computer databases. Realize that a data set was once transcribed by human hand from records hand written and with hopeful accuracy. In our case Harrison turns up zilch. Luckily a search engine allows for fuzzy or broad pattern name spellings. Browsing dozens of returns we capture a hit with a Max Herison. And with a departure port of Hamburg, Germany it makes sense. A bit of sleuthing reveals that this was close proximity and the natural point for anyone emigrating from the area now known as Lithuania. A German document processor upon hearing Harrison phonetically would have written down Herison. The German word Herr (a conventional title showing respect when addressing a German gentleman translated as Sir or Mr. and sounds like “hair”) so naturally a local clerk might trade the letter e for the a. His counterpart in New York would switch it back from e to a!

Observe Max B, his mother Rose, and younger sisters Dora, Lena, and Hannah all together. (Father: Morris immigrated in 1904) Their ship makes interesting historical reading. It was operated by the Hamburg-Amerika Line and they traveled Steerage Class on the 9 day voyage to New York.

So we now know Hamburg. Our family boarded with their new surname Herison but the trail goes cold again. Searching the old name Kurgon reveals little except that an alternate spelling, Kurgan, offers many hits but with another obstacle. The first/middle name Max Borris would need to be translated along with everyone else’s given names. Mother, Rose was Rasha or Rasya in the old world. Dora Sarah was Sore Dvora. Morris Harrison was Movsha and had many name variations but ultimately was to become Morris. Max Boris birth name was Berel Mordekhay. That one was never going to turn up even with the broadest of search variations. There was better luck with his father’s name which helped to pinpoint him with the other family members.

Finally, having the names we could find places and dates. Browsing the LitvakSIG online data source for taxation, conscription, and family list ledgers was fruitful.

The central government did in fact run a comprehensive Census back in the day, which would have been most excellent for our purposes except that they only retained population counts and counts by ethnic percentage — discarding all the other details. Shoot.

Armed with a a place, also with spelling variations depending on nationality, required some geo-political learning. In the USA we have town|county|state with maybe a rural township to complicate the effort. The Russian Empire used province|district|town as we drill down. One aspect is that modern political borders and alignments are significantly less helpful. Lithuania for example wasn’t a thing before WW I but listing a country location as Russia does not work either. One must find and utilize period correct maps.

These old time provinces today would encompass Lithuania and spill into current day Belarus and Poland. Our Kurgan (Harrison) group lived in Vilkija which is on the Nemunas River in the province of Kovno district of Kovno. An alternate spelling, Kaunas, is synonymous. The former is Russian and Lithuanian is the latter. Here we find our relatives and discover some who didn’t make it to America.

By the time we, as descendent children, take interest and get around to inquiring about family background history — direct informational account is no longer possible and by now second/third hand news. Logistically, one’s closest living relative was probably a youngster themselves (Nanny Fan was age 5) when she and her family emigrated and she would have had scant primary recall. She would have instead relied upon stories or tales after the fact and that these recollections may have been influenced by blur, bias, or emotion.

So the old family backstories were easily contorted or even lost all together. It’s interesting to uncover them in the perspective of historical times past and with a perceived glimpse into what once was.

This Strombotne family surname has always been a twister. Some get it right first try but others, be they strangers or acquaintances could attempt — make a hash of it and give up or not even try for fear of mangling and risking insult injury. The first syllable was generally easy for them but the rest of it, usually a big fail. Frequently the “t” gets ignored for some reason and it’s uttered phonetically : strom·bone·eeee . Cringe. I had a Junior High PE Coach that would say it Strum·bot·knee with the emphasis on the second syllable. He had the last 2/3rds correct but the first syllable came out like strum (as in strum guitar).

Here’s how: Strom begins with an ST blend phonic same as do words straight or strong and these two consonants precede rom which sounds like ROM (computer read only memory) or rom as in Trombone (the instrument(s) from The Music Man) then bot like in robot and finally “ne” — say knee (the knee bone connected to the…) Strom·bot·ne

Then we have spelling tangles. After they’ve heard the name spoken there is the issue of the last letter. Was that an “i” followed by conversation: “Oh! is that Italian?” No it’s a letter “e”.

Strombotne is an anglicized family name tracing its origin to a farm in Norway — Straumbotn.

Ancestors that lived at Straumbotn and elsewhere had been using a patronymic naming system. The use of a fixed family name was made compulsory by law in Norway in 1923. As a result of this change, many chose and began using their patronymic name as their fixed family name; others (as in our case) chose their farm’s name as their permanent family name and thus the surname name — Strømbotne.

Patronymic Simplified: A child’s last name was derived from the father’s first name. If you had a daughter you would add – datter to the end of the father’s first name, if you had a son you would append  – sen or –son to the father’s first name and this new name compounded would become the Childs surname. Sometimes the name of the farm was used as a 3rd name; not so much as a surname but as an address identifier. The reason being is that after several centuries many now had the same first and last names. A formal change to a fixed family surname  began in the early 1800’s and was widespread by about 1900.

Spelling differed but the sound was always the same. Straum was the (Nordland local) Nynorsk standard and Strøm was the Bokmål way (Danish was the written language of Norway until 1814).

Considering authenticity, I doubted that my ancestors pronounced words anything like we do here in the USA. Then I told a Norwegian friend, last name Tvedt 🙂 of my state of perplexity and asked him to read it into a recorder.

We think that other peoples in broader Scandinavia had been adding a soft “neh” sound to botn, so Strømbotn gained an “e” in its spelling to align with this pronunciation. A second theory is that since there are no English words that end in “tn” consonants that this vowel was added to the spelling. Somewhere along the line the soft “e” (neh sound) became a hard “E” (sounding like knee) the spelling Rule #3: the silent “e” ignored evidently.

After an ah hah! moment of imagining a lifetime spent methodically (incorrectly) correcting people it became clear to me that my instilled conception of pronunciation wasn’t necessarily THE way .

In the case of brief person to person interaction it’s unlikely to matter too much how you pronounce it. No longer do I impose (unless badly adulterated) and even then at times let them know “close” or “good effort” as it gives them satisfaction and allows them to smile. But, for standardization (and extra points) say Strombotne – – – strom·bot·ne, straum·botn, or possibly straum·boat·neh.