OTHER PERSON: Do you make it back to Dayton often?
ME: No, actually it's been over 6 years since I've been back.
OTHER PERSON: Oh wow!
ME [Before the person starts to worry about my family relations]: Yah, I never really need to go to Dayton. Which is ok with me, because my family always end up rendezvousing in much more exciting places.
This weekend was one of those rendezvous. My brother, niece, parents, and I* gathered in Chicago, my dad's hometown, to celebrate father's day and spend quality time with my niece before she moves to Chili.** We had a great time! We enjoyed great food (1492 Tapas Bar, La Madia, Avec) saw some classic Chicago sites (Art Institute of Chicago, Grant Park (Millennium Park), the Field Museum) and explored the Chicago my Dad grew up in. By far, the highlight for me was the later!
My dad's childhood in Chicago starts with my grandfather, Albert Borgstrom. Albert immigrated to Chicago from Sweden in his early 20's and met and married my grandmother, Alice. He started the Wendella Boat Tours in 1935 after working for the coast guard and learning about boats during the war. At the time, small speedboat rides were popular in Chicago but Albert knew that people wanted more. A carpenter by trade, he rebuilt a 65’ wooden yacht named Wendela (later changed to Wendella for pronunciation); added seating for about 100 passengers; included a narrator well versed in Chicago’s architecture and history; and charged 25 cents for a 30 minute boat ride. On it’s way to becoming a Chicago institution, Chicago’s original guided boat tour was born. Now run by my cousin, Wendella offers 90 minute tours and is celebrating 75 years on the water!
One of the boats along the Chicago River. We took a tour late Sunday afternoon.
My dad and Celia hanging out by the entrance to Wendella Boats.
Before the boat ride we spent the morning wondering around the neighborhood my dad grew up in. My grandparents owned a duplex on Chicago's north-side in a neighborhood called Andersonville. He lived on the first floor with his parents and three brothers. His mom's parents lived on the second floor. My dad eat pickled hearing every Christmas with his family in this house. He tried to pass the tradition on to us kids but I'm not sure it stuck. At least it didn't with me!
1441 Olive Ave. The house my dad grew up in.
Many Swedish immigrants settled in this neighborhood. Most of the Swedes are gone now but there are some remnants lingering; including a Swedish flag painted on a water tower and an authentic Swedish bakery called, Swedish Bakery. Since it was Sunday, they were closed so we did not get to enjoy any goodies. (Yep, that is right, in the midwest people still close things down on Sunday!)
We also saw my dad's elementary school, high school, and the Swedish Covenant Church (now a Spanish church) he went to with his mom.
Helen C Pierce Elementary School
Nicholas Senn High School
It was such a treat to see my dad's old stomping grounds, hear his stories, and learn about my heritage. Next time it would be fun to have my sister, Bill, and my Uncle Bill there.
*Bill was in Alaska for the national Mountain Search and Rescue Conference.
**My sister-in-law teaches at a university in Santiago. My 11 year old niece will be joining her for the next 2 years.
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