The Iowa That Was: Memories of an Iowa Farm Boy Turned Philosopher

By Wayne Gustave Johnson

"You can take the boy out of the farm, but you can't get the farm out of the boy." Wayne Gustave Johnson explores this proverb as he recounts memories of his early years on an Iowa farm rented by his immigrant Swedish parents. Nourished by these gentle parents, a little church, eight years of country school, and four older siblings, Johnson established the values that shaped his life. The labor-intensive farming of the 1930s grounded him in the dignity of labor and the sense of fulfillment which comes through cooperation with nature. A little church of fundamentalist leanings nurtured his love of choral music and gave him respect for the support provided by religious faith. While his eight years of country schooling would not quite classify as prep school experience, they did provide a basic grasp of the three Rs. Sex education--of sorts--is inevitable on an Iowa farm where the romancing of farm animals is open to view. The transfer of these observed activities to human experience was natural, but required some fine-tuning. At thirteen, the death of his father prompted the author to eventually pursue the big questions through the study of religion and philosophy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: Jul 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781666794502

Wayne Gustave Johnson

Wayne Gustave Johnson is professor emeritus of philosophy at the University of Wisconsin Parkside. His latest book is Understanding Morality: Quests for the Good Life (2022).

Book preview

1

Swedish Roots

YZ

In the late nineteenth century, the Småland Province of Sweden was a good place to be from. Although surrounded by provinces noted for productive farmland, Småland was marked by rocky ground, woods, and streams. Winters were bitter cold. At least they had snow for skiing, ice for skating, and rocks for kurling. Legend has it that while God was creating the neighboring provinces of Sweden, Satan sneaked ahead and created Småland. The only thing that the Lord could do was to create a people—tough and determined—who could cope in that setting. Give Smålanders a rock and they could make it into a garden. My father was born in Småland on September 5, 1887.

The nineteenth century brought about major changes. Sweden had lost control of northern territories to Russia, under Peter the Great, in the early 1700s. Following a history of various other wars, Sweden has been at peace since 1814. Immigration to the United States from Sweden swelled during the latter half of the nineteenth century. Between 1851 and 1930, some 1,500,000 Swedes immigrated to the United States. A major cause of early immigration was the famine of 1867 to 1869, which was brought about by a year of extreme cold and then a year of drought. Both natural disasters severely diminished the food supply for human beings and for livestock. The industrial revolution gradually entered Sweden and helped to raise the economy of the nation and its peoples by the late nineteenth century.

My father, Johan Gustaf Johannesson, was born in Småland when the area was plagued with extreme poverty. His parents lived on a small farm called Björkelund or place of many birches. Eleven children were born to his parents, Johannes and Hilda Jonasson. Five of these eleven survived. Two daughters, Emma and Anna, remained in Sweden, while three sons, Karl, Johan, and Ernst, all eventually immigrated to the United States. Hilda, the mother, died in 1895 at 39 years of age, after giving birth to stillborn triplets. The father, Johannes, died in 1901 at 51 years of age. My father, Johan Gustaf, was thirteen when his father died. I was also thirteen when my father died.

The State Church of Sweden

The Lutheran Church of Sweden served as the social service agency that cared for orphan children. Even though my father was only 13, he was deemed old enough to work for himself. He was placed on a farm where he was basically a farmhand, almost a slave. Family history indicates that the farmer who took my father in was stingy, harsh, and spanked my father regularly. My father had to sleep in a barn where livestock were kept, and there he shared fleas with the farm animals. The fleas were so bad that his neck became raw. In desperation, my 13-year-old father fled from the farm to his older sister’s place of residence. He stayed with his sister and her future husband where he worked for him and his brother on alternating weeks.

Evidently Karl, Johan, and Ernst attended school for a few years. They walked some 11 miles to the school, through woods and streams. My father, Johan, had some four or five years of school. This was probably true of Karl and Ernst as well. Karl was evidently known as a bright student.

My father and his two brothers joined the wave of immigrants who came from Sweden around the turn of the century. Karl arrived in Boston in 1901 at sixteen years of age, six months after his father died. A friend in Pipestone, Minnesota, had funded his trip from Sweden as a steerage passenger, the lowest location in the ship’s hold. Oral tradition has it that the ticket was sent to the State Lutheran Church in Sweden from the Lutheran Church in Pipestone. Karl had $5 in his pocket when arriving in Boston; he then made his way to Pipestone. A story relates that when Karl arrived by train in Pipestone, he saw some fair-haired girls near the station. They happened to be Norwegian but knew enough Swedish to help him make contact with his friend. Karl worked for his friend for three years to pay for the passage fare of $300. Apparently, Karl eventually decided that he had fully financed his passage to the United States so he left Pipestone and began farming for himself in Iowa.

My father, Johan Gustaf Johannesson, at 16 years of age, arrived in Boston by way of Liverpool, England, in 1904. Brother Karl paid for his passage. From Boston, my father made his way to Pipestone, Minnesota, to join his brother, Karl. Ernst, the youngest brother, arrived in New York City in 1910 with passage paid for by brothers Karl and Johan. He was nineteen years of age.

The three brothers eventually married and began farming near Odebolt, Iowa. Two wives were Swedish immigrants; the third—Johan’s wife, my mother—was a daughter of Swedish immigrants. I have not checked my DNA, but my genes must be largely Swedish, although Norwegian and Finns have provided other genes for some who thought they were 100% Swedes..

Mother was born on February 14, 1898, near Odebolt, Iowa. Her parents, Eric Hanson and Hedvig (Hattie) Anderson, were both born in Sweden and immigrated to the States. My mother had two brothers, both of whom served in WWI, and four sisters. My mother graduated from the eighth grade, and then went to work on the farm her parents rented. Oral tradition has it that my father and mother first met when they were both picking corn at a Noyd farm near Odebolt. Dad and Mom married on March 15, 1920, in Sioux City, Iowa.

In the 1940 census, my father was listed as Gust Johnson. There are no records that clarify why the name was altered. It may have been changed to avoid confusion since there were, no doubt, many John Johnsons. Johan Gustaf Johannesson—now Gust J. Johnson—and his wife, Ruth Helen Victoria Hanson, settled on a farm near Odebolt. Five Johnson children were born on that farm: Howard, Helen, Virginia, Elaine, and Wayne. After I was born in 1930, Gust and Ruth evidently decided that five children were enough—perhaps too many!

2

Odebolt, Iowa, My Home Town

YZ

When the first successful English colony was established at Jamestown, Virginia, in 1607, some 30,000 Algonquian Indians lived in the region. As colonization expanded, many eastern Indian tribes were forced west and moved into the territory that was to become Iowa where they joined other tribes already in the region. By that time, the indigenous tribes no doubt looked upon the Europeans as a type of invasive species. When Iowa became a state in 1846, most Indian peoples were either driven out or bought out by European immigrants. Half a century later, my parents became part of that wave of