I’ve attached a letter my Uncle Tony wrote about life growing up on the farm in Poplar Bluff, Missouri. My grandfather, who I called Bobo, took a risk by travelling from “the old country” to the United States when he was young. This was shortly before the start of World War I. The mortality rate of young men from that area in the war was extremely high. Bobo’s courage to make the journey may be the reason I’m able to write my story. Had he stayed, he may not have survived.
I’ve also attached an article out of the newspaper, the Potwin Ledger I presume, about Bobo. It sounds like I wasn’t the only one who thought he was a great guy.
My favorite memory of Bobo, was joining him for lunch in Bobo’s shack, a three room house Mom and Dad built for him behind Dad’s appliance store in Potwin. He would make me “zoup” (that’s Austrian for soup) and would break open a can of Vienna sausages. I would have been four or five at the time.
When I had grandchildren, I encouraged them to call me Bobo, in honor of the young man who had the courage to travel to a new country to provide opportunities for all of us.