Leopold Levi

http://czechmatediary.com/2010/01/25/history-of-czechs-in-ohio-part...

His body was interred in Willet St. Cemetary.

Just found this:

http://czechmatediary.com/2010/01/25/history-of-czechs-in-ohio-part...

The second part of the history of Czechs in Ohio is here :

‘So Gustav Adam, the first Czech immigrant to Ohio, was dead and what happened then? The Czech immigrant torch overtook Jindrich Hladik from Prague and a few Czech Jewish men such as Leopold Levy from Smetanova Lhota u Pisku, Bernard Weidenthal from Vestice u Tabora and Zikmund Stein from Prague. Levy had a fabric store and Stein opened up a little pub on Seneca Street, while Hladik owned a food market. In 1849 inhabited Cleveland also a 22-year-old Abraham Weidenthal whose offspring became excellent journalists.

In 1852 arrived to Cleveland 16 new Czech families and their beginnings were not pretty. Since the women were accustomed going to the town bare-foot and with scarfs tied around their heads, the locals thought of them as Gypsies. The local kids would through stones at them, swear at them and adults would not let them stay in any of the houses. That is why ALL of those 16 families (??? members???) ended up living at the above mentioned, generous Leopold Levi’s small backyard (his house was very small already) for quite some time. They had no money and Mr. Levi was helping to feed them. These Czech men and women would also go to the local slaughter-house where they were given free organs such as lungs, liver, kidneys, tails and legs - parts that were otherwise thrown away into the river - to make additional meals in order to feed their families.

http://74.125.93.132/search?q=cache:QKt50RloisAJ:www.svu2000.org/co...

 Czech settlers to the area were now outnumbering all other ethic groups. This started a trend that would make Spillville and its environs a predominantly Czech community. The first Czechs came to Winneshiek County purely be chance. When they left Bohemia (mostly from the area of Pisek, Tabor and Cezka Budejovice), their destination was Cleveland, Ohio. There they knew of Leopold Levy who in 1848 had come to Cleveland from Smetanova  Lhota, a village not far from their own villages in southern Bohemia. Knowing that in 1852 he had helped a group of Czech migrants get settled, they were drawn to him also. From Levy they learned of the land office at Dubuque, Iowa, and that it was in Winneshiek County (organized January 15, 1851) where government land was then being sold. 

By the year’s end in 1860 nine families were living near Spielman’s mill. A hotel and brewery were being built and several trades and craftsmen provided the nucleus of a business center to serve the farmers scattered through Calmar, Washington, Sumner and Jackson townships. The businesses included two merchants, a blacksmith, a wagon maker, a tinsmith, and a master carpenter. And in the early 1860’s twenty-two Spillvillians marched off to the American Civil War.

Excerpt from Amerikan Narodni Kalendar article by Hugo Chotek (1851-1911)

Translation by onwardtoourpast.com

Leopold Levy and Bernard Weidenthal

           When I entered the shearing store owned by Leopold Levy and located some way further along St. Clair Street, I was amiably received by a gray-haired, aged, and small-framed gentleman. His energetic character, cool and intelligent gaze, and smooth, almost oriental complexion gave him the air of a much younger man.  My entire meeting with him made a great impression on me, as he did not appear as scheming, cunning, hard and avaricious as one might expect from his people. Rather, my impression was one of forthright honesty and jovial good thinking and character, reflected in every aspect of his business relations.

This was confirmed by many of the older Czechs who knew and did business with him during the ‘60s and ‘70s and who proclaimed that Leopold, fluent in English, would help them in many times of need, both obligingly and free of charge. The old man spoke clear and fluent Czech and expressed himself quite articulately. From his movements and manner of speech, it was evident that he received a good education when young, which the reader will most certainly discern from his recount. On learning of the purpose of my visit, the old man was immediately willing to oblige me. He called his daughter to join us in sitting in the comfort of his private residence, and after a moment of deliberation, he proceeded as follows. “We all have our own fantasies, dreams and ideals. One might dream of wealth, another of love, and yet another of respect and fame. But these are not my dreams. I pondered on the sad state of my brethren and suffered as I watched how the local Christians regarded all of us during the ‘30s and ‘40s with disdain, a prejudice which continues in many developed societies still today. I was endowed with a greater sensitivity and compassion than is perhaps good for a poor Jew like me, but it is for this reason that I have dreamed of equality among all and greater personal freedom, rather than wealth and fame – as odd as this may seem to you. After all, a Jew is a person too, and there are probably more of us than you think whose hearts are in the right place and who are more noble-minded and honest than we are generally assumed to be. As for the worries of most Jews in the past and today, you can thank Christendom for those. Although I’m not trying to justify the actions of some of my people, as anyone well-versed in history knows the suffering of these people and know who is to blame.” The old man paused to think for a moment, and then continued: “Like that of many Jews brought up in a poor household, my youth was sad and miserable. My upbringing was full of injustices, ridicule, contempt and torment, as the village boys would find pleasure in throwing rocks at us, pulling our hair, heckling us and harshly berating us. This is one of the reasons I was glad to leave my family home and birthplace (Smetanova Lhota, Písek region) in 1826, and to head to Prague, where I was to learn the art of commerce, with a joyful heart and high hopes. I found I could breathe more easily in the rare atmosphere of that beautiful city of a thousand spires, quite opposed to the stultifying air of those backward villages ruled only by superstition, ignorant belief, and personal malevolence. However, I could not find that for which my heart hungered, as even here I was treated with that harsh malice woven into the very fabric of Christians from their first suckle of milk. I slowly grew into a man, and at the age of 23 heard my first reports of a wonderful country across the ocean, a country where complete personal freedom reigned, where one’s status, family or religious inclination bore no merit. This was a land flowing with milk and honey; where even the rocks were golden. Such reports stirred such a tempest within me that I immediately resolved to go to America, not because of the rivers of gold flowing in the streets, or so that I could live as a king without worries, work or exertion, but simply because I wanted to live somewhere as a free man. Up until then I’d been nothing more than a dog that every scoundrel could kick and bully. If America were really such a land of promise, I could imagine spending the rest of my life there. Consider now that I have been running my business here for almost 45 years, and that in spite of frequent opportunities to acquire greater wealth, I stayed comparatively quite poor. This small house and store is all that I own. But I’m digressing. Forgive me; the mind is slower than it used to be. Once I had made my decision, I hurried home to ask for the opinion of my parents. But these promising reports reached my father earlier than I did, and by the time I reached him he had firmly set his sights on leaving. My tidings had therefore not surprised them at all, and as any mathematician would surmise: “Go ahead and take a look. It costs less to send one person as opposed to seven or eight, and one stands a better chance of getting back, as opposed to an entire family. If it will look good there, we’ll come after you; if not, you’ll get back easier.” Others taken with the feverish obsession to emigrate surmised the same. Due to various unforeseen obstacles it was not possible to depart that same year (1848) and I was forced to delay my departure until the following year. I returned to Prague and confided in my friend Bernard Weidenthal. He was a few years older, born in 1813 in the village of Vestec, Prácheňský region, and more a more serious sort than I. We discussed the matter, hatched a plan for the future and dreamed of unrestricted living in a country of equality and freedom. Bernard was of almost the same opinion as I, and his aspirations and desires were closely aligned with mine. He was more of an idealist than a materialist, so the allure of shiny metal didn’t cast such a magical spell on him as it did on most of our kind. His greatest pleasure was to read a good book and to study foreign languages. On his instruction, I began to study English with him, an indispensable tool for our beginnings on the new continent. Between that time and the spring of 1849, my friend Bernard decided to join me. The journey? No different than thousands of others back then – full of hardship, hunger, danger and bitter distress. We were packed in there like pickled herring in a barrel and it is no wonder that diseases broke out. There were many Czechs on board and about 25 of them didn’t make it. When we reached the shores of America there were many orphans in our company, whose parents died during that arduous crossing. My goodness, what happened to them? What became of them in this new land? Did they win out in the battle of life, or did they fade away in their suffering? Our goal was the city of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, as it was for many of the Czechs with us, as Milwaukee was the source of many of the enticing letters that caused such a stir in our famous little Smetanová Lhota and the nearby region of Prachyňský. But by the time we had arrived in Cleveland, we were so worn out that we were quite content to pitch our tents then and there. And so we decided to stay there, while some of our compatriots – I can’t remember their name now – continued on westward. At that time, the population of Cleveland was around 10,000. Everywhere we looked there was activity and enterprise. Construction of the Cincinnati, Columbus to Cleveland, Cleveland and Pittsburg rail lines had just begun, and all the streets had been lit by gas lights, although there were still no waterworks or water mains. The densely populated left bank of the Cuyahoga River had not yet been swallowed by the city of Cleveland. Its 9,000 inhabitants were divided into four wards under the name of Ohio City. Together these cities, connected by a single wooden bridge over the river between Columbus Street and Brooklyn, numbered something more than 21,000 in population. The competition between the two communities was enormous, to the point of absurd. The people of Cleveland did all they could to resist the efforts of Ohio City, who behaved the same way at every opportunity. When we first arrived, we thought we were in Kocourkov, because the people sometimes acted in the same way. Isn’t it sheer lunacy that the inhabitants of both sides of the river pulled out their guns and cannons in a feud over who owned that little wooden bridge? Most definitely, because that little wooden bridge certainly wasn’t worth all the blood that poured out through pure defiance and vainglory. It was a tragedy, but a ludicrous one. Once we had a chance to explore the city a little and rest, one of our first thoughts was whether other Czechs could be found there. We went to the Town Hall, borrowed the city directory and started scrolling. Coming across the letter H, Bernard suddenly shouted: “Why, look, a Czech name!” My eyes followed his finger and I read “Hladík”. At that very same moment I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up into a pair of smiling dark blue eyes. “ Yes, I’m also Czech,” the young man admitted with a smile, “and the very name you just read out – that’s me!” We became acquainted quickly and later grew to be friends once we got to know each other more. With Hladík’s help, we were soon introduced to others, such as Sigmund Stein, Umlauf, Adam Gottfried, a young musician and music teacher, and a certain Fuchs. Stein owned a small hotel on Seneca Street, while Umlauf was a successful painter – a real artist in his trade. He was highly sought after and had plenty of work, but he passed away not long after our arrival. I have no idea what happened to his family. Mrs. Umlaufová moved somewhere to Brooklyn, while the children either became German or American. Fuchs returned back to Bohemia that same year. Only five of our initial clan remained: Adam, Hladík, Stein, Bernard Weidenthal and I. Professor Adam had flown to America at the end of 1848. As the son of a rich pharmacist in Příbram, he was well educated. He had excelled in music since an early age and picked up English and French with relative ease. Fuelled by his great love for music, he poured all his efforts into piano and violin, and became a maestro. After completing university, he found work with the government and was soon appointed to a position in Prague by the Emperor’s Commissioner, a position he held with the same patriotic fever of his youth. When 1848 came, the hot-blooded young man took up arms to join those who rose in defense of rights and freedoms. But after the uprising suffered a bloody put down, the revolutionaries had to disband and flee. He met his young girlfriend in Hamburg– they had been together for a year – and headed out with her to America, heading first to Cincinnati but moving to Cleveland one and a half years later. Music, which had been nothing more than a private passion back home, became his bread and butter. He began by teaching piano lessons but it wasn’t long before he became the leader of a band and director of the orchestra for the Athenum Theater, the most illustrious in all of Cleveland, if not the entire state. He made a good living and earned substantial revenues from his wife’s estate, which the state had failed to confiscate. He lived life both trouble-free and comfortable, and loved to meet his compatriots, helping them out however he could. In particular, he was a rock of support for other musicians, and Frank Tupa, Jan Prošek, Václav Drábek and J. Bouška owe him a debt of gratitude for the positions they landed in the Atheneum Theater Orchestra, which greatly facilitated their early beginnings in America. He assisted other Czechs as well, such as laborers, gladly helping out with advice, deeds and trust. The young community certainly felt a loss when he moved to Tennessee to become the director of music at a girl’s school there. But the main reason was his health, as he felt the climate in Cleveland was not doing him good. Unfortunately, the warmer weather down south did not help him either and he died soon after moving. At least that is the story as it was reported to Frank Ťupa, who filled me on these details. Adam will always be well remembered. Hladík was a very well educated, pleasant and good-hearted young man, full of energy, active and enterprising. Together with his German partner, Gemeiner, he owned a shop selling eggs, butter, cheese and fish, and he must have been doing well, because he built himself a nice stone house in only a few years, one which was quite costly for the time. Gemeiner had a beautiful daughter who the fiery youngster fell in love with and he asked for her hand in marriage. But before that happy day at the altar – I think it was either 1854 or 1855, I can’t remember – that promising young lad, loved by all those who knew him, passed away. At that time there were 19 Czech families living in the Cleveland area, and all attended the funeral. Men, women and children alike were as one as they followed their beloved compatriot in procession to his place of rest, returning their homes after a solemn funeral. He was a counselor and helping hand to all of us, one helped everyone as much as he could without ever a thought for personal gain. Fluent in English and respected among Americans and Germans alike, he proved invaluable to us and I am convinced that he will be remembered as a saint by us all. Whatever happened to all his wealth would be best known by his partner and father-in-law to be, because when his male cousin flew in a few years later seeking an inheritance, Gemeiner reported that Hladík had left nothing. We thought this rather odd, but since we could not prove anything, we had to remain silent. Although Hladík was a great businessman, we all felt that he put too much confidence in his future father-in-law. Neither I nor others like Weidenthal or Stein can remember where he was from; I only know that it was somewhere in the region of Klatov. May honor follow him!”

The old-timer once again drifted into his thoughts, but I had to interrupt him for another question, “What happened to Gottfried?”

“Ah, yes, I forgot about him. I never took much of a liking to him because he looked like a real prankster and had the face of someone who would swindle his guests of their last penny. My instincts were later confirmed, as hundreds of other Czechs later agreed. He acted as the agent of a Hamburg ferry and in one way or another managed to take advantage of the confidence placed in him by some of the less streetwise immigrants. Many families admitted they were severely short-changed when exchanging money in Hamburg and that they had to wait seven weeks before their designated boat arrived, during which time he earned himself a pretty penny in commission from local hotels. There must have been some truth in that, because although he did not work very hard, he amassed a fortune enabling him to set up a fine wholesale company either in 1851 or 1852. But this glory did not last long, as he suffered hard times soon afterwards and moved away from Cleveland. Whether or not he is still alive, I cannot say, as I have heard nothing of him since then. A year after my arrival here, my father, mother and sister came too, my sister 19 years of age at the time and soon to catch the eye of my friend Weidenthal. Since my father had brought some cash with him, and my brother-in-law had some saved up of our own, we decided to open a small grocery store. After some time, my brother-in-law left us and set up his own shearing store on Woodland Avenue. It was the first Czech store of its kind in Cleveland. Later on, I myself married. I was very happy in my marriage, and enjoyed the full support of my wife and children – three daughters and two sons – through all my financial difficulties. Weidenthal (Leopold's) brother-in-law is in much the same boat. In spite of owning a shearing shop for more than 40 years, he too is no rich man. But he is glad that he was able to provide a good education for his children, one son (Nathan) of which became an established doctor. Weidenthal (Leopold's) brother-in-law is now spending his last years in comfort in the loving care of this doctor.”