As I sit by the fireplace in my American Dream home, I give thanks to all who have helped me and my family on our journey through life. Warm and content by the fire, I ponder my beginning and the sacrifices made by my ancestors who enabled me to achieve my dreams. My American dream is similar to many in this great, torn and divided nation that is struggling to heal itself, but, also perhaps, a tale of how our differences can unite us even more and help our children achieve their dreams.
My first tale is of a young man named Carl Winters. His family trudged across the plains of midwestern America in search of freedom to worship god according to their conscience. Some perished along the way and the family eventually settled in the small village of Hoytsville, near Park City Utah. Carl grew up on the family farm along with Nine Brothers and sisters.
Raised in the English tradition he was reserved, quiet yet firm and determined. He wanted to make a better life for himself and saw education as that road. He often stayed in a boarding house during high school because the distance to
the farm was to far to travel in the winter.
He fought in France during World War 1 and sent his paycheck home to help his family pay the bills. His mother saved the money rather than use it and when he returned he rana pipe from the family well to the house so the family had running water for the first time.
He enrolled and completed a degree at the University of utah and became an educator. He rose to become the superintendent of the Park City School District and was beloved and respected by all in the town.
He had Three daughters the youngest of whom was my Mother Beth.
My second tale is of a 5 year old boy who boarded a passenger liner with his mother in Trieste Italy. The boy, named Ivan Frkovic came from Gospic, a tiny town in what is now Croatia. Ivan and his Mother Katja made the journey to Park city in 1910 to reunite with his alcoholic father, who had deserted the Austrian armey to look for a better life in America.
After a short reunion Ivans Father Nikola died and Ivan, now known as Johnny, left schoot after the 5th grade and work any odd job he could find bringing the wages home to help support his mother and sisters. Johny never complained about the life he had been dealt and became a mechanic and eventually became the owner of a Dodge automobile dealership in Park City, the town that had become his new home.
Anything but quiet and reserved, Johnny Fritch was admired for his business acumen and belovedd for his generiosity for those in need.
He had two children, a girl named Effie and a boy, Clyde who was my father.
Park City was a raucus mining town where the silver mines created the fortunes of the Kearns and Hearst familes. The city was an outcast island of diversity in the vast sea of Mormonism that was Utah in the early 1900s. Chinese, Slavs, Swedes, Irish, Italian, all culture lived there in relative peace and stood by each other in times of need.
My Parents, Clyde and Beth, two starry eyed young souls from different religions and cultures, the son of a grade school dropout and the daughter of a Superintendent, took a chance and found a way to look beyond any differences they had and let love lead the way.
They married and had 5 Boys who built on their dreams. Now yet another generation has risen and the dream continues to this day. I know that we can do the same as a country if we let love lead the way and talk kinder to each other.
These are the things I am grateful for this Thanksgiving. May go bless, protect and keep you safe.
