An Edited Version of My Recent Talk, When West Berkeley was Finntown

The Finnish Hall on Chestnut Street in Berkeley

On Saturday last I gave a talk at the West Berkeley Public Library entitled, "When West Berkeley was Finntown." Berkeley had a sizable Finnish population for the first half of the 20th century that included my grandparents and my mother. My father came to Berkeley in 1946 when there was a boomlet to the Finnish population in Berkeley. I grew up in the dying days of Berkeley's Finntown. This is an edited version of my talk.

Modern Finnish immigrant to the United States. began in 1863 when several Finns who had been working in northern Norway accompanied a group of Norwegians to the copper mines of northern Michigan. They sent favorable reports back home and over the next twenty years somewhere between 700 to 1.000 Finns came to the U.S.. It was after that in the mid 1880s that Finns started coming to the United States in significant numbers, this movement continued well into the 20th century. 

Finns were identified for the first time in the 1900 U.S. census, which counted about 63,000 persons born in Finland. Of these, about 56,000 lived in either Michigan, Minnesota, Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, or California.

While many Finnish immigrants pursued farming, others found employment in mining, construction, and the forest industry. Women usually worked as maids and cooks and were extolled for their work ethic. The migration continued well into the 20th century, until U.S. authorities set up a quota of 529 Finnish immigrants per year in 1929. As social and economic conditions in Finland improved significantly during this era, overall immigration decreased by the middle of the century.

A considerable majority of Finnish immigrants tended towards the radical left in politics, many immediately became involved in labor unions and local politics. By 1913 there were 260 local Finnish chapters of the socialist party in America with 13,847 members. 

While Finns have been treated far better than most immigrants, particularly people of color and non-Christians, the instances of discrimination against Finns have tended to be because of Finn’s left-learning politics. In 1918 Olli Kinkkonen was a Finnish immigrant in Minnesota who was tarred, feathered and lynched for renouncing his newly-gained U.S. citizenship, which he did to avoid fighting in World War I, a war that he did not believe in. This was at the height of what little anti-Finnish sentiment that there ever was in the U.S. and it was mostly exclusive to the Midwest.

The Bay Area was a popular destination for immigrating Finns, particularly San Francisco. 

For reasons that remain unclear some of the San Francisco Finns moved across the bay to Berkeley towards the end of the 19th century. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Berkeley was growing and workers were needed — especially in construction, which Finns excelled in. And in Berkeley one had easy access to the bay and the ocean and thus fishing, a favorite recreational activity among Finns. Finns settled in what was then called Ocean View. Once the seeds were planted a community was established here that attracted still more Finns. This community grew significantly as a result of the 1906 earthquake. The fires from that quake were particularly devastating to the neighborhood near the Embarcadero where a lot of Finns lived. So among those dispossessed by the quake were a significant number of Finns who moved to Berkeley.

The first time Finns appeared on Berkeley’s voter registration roles in 1894 when there were seven. By 1900 there were 86 Finns listed on the census and that figured more than doubled after the Earthquake. By 1910 Berkeley had the third largest population of Finns in California trailing only SF and Eureka.

Soon West Berkeley came to be known by locals as “Finntown.” Finntown was centered around the intersection of University and San Pablo Avenues with residents living on both sides of San Pablo. As best I can tell there wasn’t a large concentration of Finns on any particular block, rather they were scattered about. Some Finns lived further east just below and above Sacramento Avenue, as did my grandparents who lived on Sacramento between Rose and Cedar. Like a lot of Berkeley Finns, my grandfather Emil Kurki emigrated from Finland at the turn of the century eventually meeting and marrying Jenni Pulkkinen, another Finnish emigre who came here via Michigan. First they settled in San Francisco then in 1920 they moved to Berkeley. The story is that my grandfather had a fondness for drink and would spend many an evening imbibing with the boys, much to the displeasure of my grandmother. So in the Summer of 1920 while Emil was away making extra money salmon fishing in Alaska, Jenni moved the home, lock stock and barrel and baby girl — my mom — to Berkeley where she bought a house. This bit of chicanery was not difficult to accomplish given the large number of Finnish friends she had here. Apparently my grandfather returned from the trip and accepted the wisdom of his wife’s secret move. They lived happily here for the rest of their lives.

Finntown encompassed several Lutheran churches, saloons, cooperative grocery stores, and the the first Finnish Hall on 10th and Bristol Streets, which was built by the Finnish Comrades Association and served as a community hub for Berkeley residents after it was completed in 1909. Among the Association’s founders was Walter Mork, one of the Finns who moved to Berkeley after the earthquake. He went on to serve as a Berkeley city councilman, essentially representing Finntown, for 26 years. His grandson Fred is today active in the Finnish Heritage Society which among other things keeps the Finnish Hall going as a vital part of the community. Political organizations used the hall, particularly socialist ones. Berkeley elected a socialist mayor, J. Stitt Wilson, in 1911. He held both a pre-election rally and post-election celebration in the 10th street Hall both of which drew approximately 800 people. The hall was soon not only being utilized by Finns but being rented to various local groups just as the Finn Hall on Chestnut is today. It gained particular notoriety for hosting political rallies and meetings, mostly for the left.

Meanwhile Berkeley Lodge 21 was founded by nine men on May 14, 1911 as a mutual aid society for its members. It was originally named the Brotherhood Lodge. In those days, lodges existed throughout California and to the north into Canada to help Finns start their new lives in America and enjoy the community of fellow Finns. A women’s lodge was founded two years later, with the two lodges merging to form lodge 21 in 1915, under the parent organization The United Finnish Kaleva Brothers and Sisters. UFKB&S 21 was, as its name suggests, the 21st lodge to join this umbrella organization, it soon became the second largest. Of course the lodge was headquartered and held its events in the Hall on 10th street.

As a mutual benefit society, the Lodge provided sickness and burial benefits for its members, helped them find jobs, homes, get insurance policies and improve their English. But it had an equally if not more important role in the social and cultural life of Finns. Activities included stage plays, concerts, dances, an orchestra, choruses, a lending library and movies. Many friendships were made through lodge activities and the lodge served as a Tinder of it’s time for single Finns.

There was also a Finnish band that averaged about 25 players. They played at a variety of events throughout Berkeley though, being known as the Socialist Party Band, their primary focus was playing at political rallies and events. They gave open air concerts throughout the summer in the teens and twenties.

Through the first half of the 20th century, Finns were visible at a variety of city events including July 4th picnic and parades where they had a float along with flag bearers carrying the Finnish and US flags and the band performing. Finnish women’s groups also contributed to war efforts for both world wars by raising money for the red cross through coffee and cake sales, rummage sales and the like, women also knitted socks and sweaters for soldiers. Needless to say Berkeley Finns raised funds in various ways to support their countrymen during and after the Winter War and the continuation war that followed.

By 1920 648 of the 7,000 Finns living in California resided in Berkeley, with many more in neighboring communities such as Albany and El Cerrito. The first church offering Finnish language services in Berkeley had been built in 1901 on Channing and 10th streets and another was erected in 1912 at Alston and Bryon. There were Finnish services every Sunday in Berkeley at least through the late 1960s and still today one Sunday a month. 

Eventually there were political divisions among Finns. They were not between the left and the right but between the left and the farther left. The schism among the Berkeley socialists developed after the Russian Revolution of 1917. When the Czar was overthrown and executed, Finland technically became independent of Russia. Vladimir Lenin allowed Finland to become independent, probably believing that the Finnish Bolsheviks would immediately take power. To make a long story short, there was a brief civil war in Finland between the reds and the whites with the whites ultimately winning. Lenin had been wrong.

In West Berkeley the more radical socialists embraced the ideology of the Bolsheviks; the less radical and more traditional socialists were loath to do so. The radical socialists separated from the other socialist organizations and formed a communist party, later known as the Workers Party. The radical elements maintained control over the Finnish Hall. The division between the two groups led to some lusty arguments but as far as I could find out there was little to no violence. 

Because of the rift the Lodge had started holding more and more of their events at other venues. The division among the Finns and the fact that the more radical reds had control of the hall necessitated the construction of another Finnish Hall, the one on Chestnut Street. The cornerstone of the Finnish Hall at 1970 Chestnut Street in Berkeley was laid on October 9, 1932, on land donated by the afore-mentioned Walter Mork. The building of the hall was commissioned by the UFKB&S Lodge 21 as its meeting, cultural and recreational facility. Construction was completed by the end of 1932, mostly by the labor of its members, including my grandfather something that has always been a point of pride in my family. The hall’s grand opening was marked by a three-day festival on Dec. 30 and 31 and Jan 1, 1933. The festivities included an inaugural program, an all-night New Year’s Eve dance organized by its younger members, and a stage play in Finnish on New Year’s Day.

Lodge 21 attached itself to the new Finnish Hall which immediately drew most of the traffic that had been going to the older hall. Meanwhile the “red hall” as it came to be known, while still the site of many activities and to be a going concern for decades more, began to see less activity and it’s membership and influence dwindled.

When I was growing up there were very few socialist or communist Finns in the area — it was, after all, the height of the Cold War — and Finns had moved from socialism closer to the mainstream of American politics, but it seemed the entire Finnish American community was solidly Democrat. I remember my father’s contempt for the one Finn he knew of who voted Republican. As for what was not known as the Red Hall, well it was not spoken of in my family and I imagine that for many other Berkeley Finns the red hall was a taboo subject.

In 1938 Berkeley Finns became an integral part of the founding of the Consumers Cooperative Grocery store, or Co-ops. Which had several stores in the area, eventually three in Berkeley. The first was not far from here on University at the current site of a Target. The second was on Shattuck where there is now an Andronicos and the third was on Telegraph and Ashby were you can today find a Whole Foods. We were members and I remember it as something of a scandal that my Aunt Millie shopped at Safeway instead, all other Finns — it seemed — bought their groceries at one of the Co-ops, even some of those who had moved to neighboring communities. (It should be noted that my Aunt Millie was married to the previously mentioned Republican.)

Just prior to the co-op grocery stores a Finnish immigrant named Arvid Nelson, who was a member of Lodge 21, started a gas co-op which had it’s first station at Bancroft Way and San Pablo. 

Early in the 20th century there were a few small Finnish owned shops and businesses but by the 1930s Finns had absented themselves from commerce and were more likely to be found in construction, a field in which they were pre-dominant in Berkeley through the sixties. 

Finns were always a small segment of the Berkeley population but they were highly visible. I don’t know that their vote was ever courted but for local politicians to have the support of the Finnish community was a positive boon because Finns were always active in holding and participating in political events.

As one researcher put it, the period between the early 1930s and late 1950s was the golden age of Berkeley’s Finntown, although it seems to me it remained strong through the 1960s only beginning to fade in the seventies as Finns stopped emigrating to the area and those who had been here in the early days started to die out or move. Skimming through Berkeley High or any of the junior high yearbooks from the ‘20s through ‘60s you’ll find anywhere from a handful to a dozen Finnish last names. Searching through the Berkeley Gazette one is constantly coming across references to Finnish activities at the Hall or individual Finns involved in schools, sports or businesses often doing volunteer work. Finns were a positive influence in Berkeley given their willingness and desire to help out with everything from school functions to scouts to sports teams. Meanwhile prominent Finns who visited the Bay Area whether singers, diplomats, professors, athletes or politicians usually came through Berkeley to speak at the Finnish Hall. As recently as the early 1970s the great Finnish track star Lasse Viren who won Olympic gold in the 5000 and 10000 meter runs in the 72 and 76 games, was feted at the Hall.

One long-time member of the Lodge was my father, Aimo Hourula, who was born in Finland in 1916. After fighting in the Winter War he took to the seas as a merchant marine in hopes of seeing the world. That he did, but he also saw German planes strafe two of the ships he was on and a Japanese submarine that sunk his Liberty ship in the Arabian Sea. He eventually settled in New York where he met my mother, Kerttu Kurki, a UC Berkeley graduate who was completing her Master’s at Columbia University. They moved back to Bay Area in 1946 and like virtually all Finns in the area became active members of the Finnish Brotherhood. 

My father’s move to the US inspired his younger brother Unto to follow him along with his cousins Laura Olkkola and Reijo Mehtela. Other Finns like my Aunt Elsa’s sister Sylvie followed. My dad often credited himself — quite accurately as a matter of fact — with causing a mini-migration from Finland to the Bay Area. It’s also interesting to note that from about the ‘50s on a lot of immigrant Finns would start their new lives in Berkeley then move to the suburbs as was the case with my Uncle and my father’s cousins. Berkeley the Finntown was becoming a way station, but also a place that Finns in the Bay Area came for events at the hall. Berkeley’s reputation as a Finntown was such that the annual Summer Finnfest was held in Berkeley in 1986.

If you lived in Berkeley in the first seventy years of the last century you almost certainly knew a Finn, if not several. It never struck anyone as unusual to meet a first or second generation Finn in Berkeley. We were everywhere though especially in the construction business, like my grandfather, dad and uncle. If you went by a construction site in Berkeley chances were there was a Finn working there if not a whole crew of them. Finns were also ubiquitous at the Berkeley wharf, often taking off for or returning from a fishing trip or just hanging out seeing how the fishing had been that day. 

But as I grew up Finntown was already becoming a memory. Finns were moving to the suburbs, others had assimilated and Finnish immigration to the United States had all but stopped. Today if you meet a Finn in Berkeley he or she is likely a visiting professor at Cal or someone in the tech industry on a trip combining business with pleasure.

Lodge 21 is no more though we do have the Finnish Heritage Society and it’s Cultural Committee. The continuing celebrations of Finland such as for Finnish independence day and Vappu (Finland’s May Day) at the Finnish Hall show that the legacy of Berkeley’s Finntown lives on. Bay Area Finns owe a great debt to those early Finnish pioneers. The Finns who came to Berkeley gave each other support and succor, maintained their culture and left a legacy — including the hall — that we Finns are rightly proud of. We can also be proud of the contributions our forebears made to the growth of Berkeley. As a Berkeley Finn I’m proud of Finland and its current standing in the world and its continually being named the world’s happiest country and I’m proud of this city and, despite it’s problems and struggles, what it has and continues to stand for and that Finns have played a part in it.

This Was Supposed to be About Notorious But Who Has the Time -- It Seems I Did

Okay so I really wanted to crank out a blog post today and if you’re reading this and it’s dated June 2, 2025 then I guess I did though it’s not what I’d intended. Before I go on let me address the fact that it’s in some ways rather silly that I’m so punctilious about maintaining this blog and about how often I write. The fact is that no one cares. I barely do. It’s rare indeed that anyone actually reads it. There was a time when this enterprise was still in its infancy and I wrote mostly about films that it was regularly linked on IMDb and I’d get some traffic and even comments. I average about a comment — maybe two — a year now as has been the case for many years. (This blog is just over 17 years old. It’ll be graduating from high school in year. Wow!) But as I was saying I make a point — against all reason — to keep this damn thing a going concern. You’re welcome. I wanted to have a post here in the first few days of June better to maintain my pace of about seven posts a month. I managed ten last month when we were traveling because I always post during my trips as if anyone gives two shits. The problem is that I’m busy right now preparing a talk I’m giving on Saturday June 14 at the West Berkeley Public Library. It’s about when Berkeley was Finntown. I gave an abbreviated version of the talk at the Finnish Hall at a Finnish Independence Day gathering a couple of years ago. That talk was just under 20 minutes. I’m supposed to ramble on for close to an hour at the library gig. To those who are even worse at math than I am that’s three times as long. Therefore I’ve had to do a lot of research then piece it all together. Not so easy and it’s consuming my “writing time.” I don't even have time to work on one of my many unpublished novels. 

So now I’m writing this about how I don’t have time to write this very post or anything else because of the speech. Existential. I’d started to write about the Alfred Hitchcock film, Notorious which I watched yesterday. I’ve written about the picture before as it’s well worth writing about. Here’s as far as I got: "He just walks her down the stairs. Yes, he supposedly has a gun in his pocket but there’s no daring escape, no shooting, no karate chops. Damn if he doesn’t just take her and leave, daring the villains to intercede. It’s the closing scene, the climax and it’s bloody brilliant. Not just a little bit nerve-wracking but audacious both in what it shows and that the screenwriter and director made that choice. You make Notorious today and there’s a goddamned blood-spattered shoot out at the end with bodies everywhere. Notorious is a spy film without a single visible weapon. It’s a fascinating film on so many different levels. One is the relationship between co-stars Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman. It’s passionate, it’s tortured. Grant’s Devlin...."

As you can see it would have been interesting. Maybe I’ll get around to finishing it someday soon. Maybe not. Ya never know.

You may be wondering — as I have — why I’m putting some much time and energy into a talk at the library that may only draw five people (I don’t know, maybe I’ll get thirty. Like I said in the previous paragraph, ya never know). First of all they asked me and I said yes. I didn’t see anyway in the world that I could say no. Do I really need to explain that? It just seemed like something that was pretty straight forward. Someone asks you to do something and you’re one of a few people who could do it — hell, maybe you’re the only person who could do it — you oblige them. Especially when you think you can do it well. Also they’re paying me for it and it’s a pretty tidy sum for a one-hour talk though given how much work I have to put into it they’re getting me cheap.

It’ll go well, people who attend will be happy with it and I’ll feel good when it’s over. It’s like a friend of mine said when people asked him why he ran: “because it feels so good when I stop.” So, yeah, it’ll feel good when I finish.

(Then again I could bomb, feel terrible and the library might feel ill-used. Ya never know.)

Hey looky here I wrote close to 800 words. That’s legitimate blog post numbers and then some. Mission accomplished.

Blog post cranked out. Now if I could just find someone to read the damn thing....

From the Winter War to Berkeley’s Finn Hall, an Immigrant’s Story

My father in 1945.

Below is the speech I made earlier today at The Finnish Hall in Berkeley as part of the commemoration for Finnish Independence Day.

Anteeksi, isä. (Excuse me, father.) Being a typical Finn, my father would not be pleased with me for talking about him so much, especially as I’m going to say so many nice things. But I’m not here to today to brag about my old man. No, today I’m using his story as an example of the type of Finn who in the first half of the 20th century came to the Bay Area and other parts of the U.S. and made a better life for themselves and their progeny.

In settling in the U.S. my father never forgot where he came from. Like other Finns, he clung to his roots, his culture and his language while enjoying the fruits of prosperity in America.

Typical of Finns who immigrated to the U.S., he deeply loved two countries and lived comfortably in two worlds.

Aimo Johannes Hourula was the first of eight children born to Saimi and Otto in Nivala in the north of Finland. He was born in the dead of winter — and I suppose it would be redundant to call it a cold Finnish winter as if to suggest there’s any other kind. We’ve all heard the old saw of parents and grandparents claiming to have trudged miles to school in the snow. Aimo literally did.

Not surprisingly Aimo could not continue schooling beyond his teen years. Going to a university would have seemed a wild fantasy. Instead he worked in saw mills. His family had enough of everything. No one ever went to bed hungry. But Aimo knew there was a better life out there somewhere for anyone willing to look for it. Though he lived and had grown up a long drive from the coast he also dreamed of taking to the sea.

By the time he entered his twenties, big trips for him had been going to Kemi and Oulu. He was content with life but dreamed of more. All such dreams were put on hold when the Soviet Union invaded Finland in the Winter of 1939. There was no question about his enlisting.

Later in life Aimo would begrudgingly talk about fighting the Russians. My father told of sleeping outside in thirty below zero weather. Of taking Russian prisoners and how scared they were and underdressed for the occasion and even giving one his dinner. He told of watching comrades die in battle, and the white snow covered with red blood. He talked of not knowing whether he had killed anyone. Yet despite all the horrors of war he claimed never to have been scared. Aimo insisted that he was simply doing a job. Typical Finn.

As history tells us the Finns fought bravely with roughly four Russian soldiers dying for every Finn killed. But the sheer numbers of the enemy were overwhelming and defeat was inevitable.

Disheartened, my father returned home. But not for long. It was time for him to actualize the dreams he’d had. He went to Petsamo and got on a merchant marine ship. He was going to see the world.

He picked one heckuva time to do it. World War II was raging and the seas were not safe. Twice he was on ships that were strafed by German planes, Later he was on a ship that was torpedoed. More on that in a minute.

One of his first stops was New York. Imagine coming to New York City after living in small town Finland all your life. He was mesmerized and fascinated. At age 24 he saw people of color for the first time. He sampled many foods for the first time, including certain fruits. Aimo remembered buying a grapefruit thinking it a large orange. Years later he could laugh at the memory of taking his first big bite of grapefruit. 

Among the things he found in New York was other Finns. At the time there was something of a Finntown near Harlem. He remembered an African American grocer who greeted him by saying: “mitä poika haluaa.” It blew his mind.

Aimo made New York his home base but continued to sail seeing the world. He had long stops in Australia and Argentina. When I was a child he told me that he stayed in those cities because he liked them. I got the R rated version when I was older, in both cities he’d met a woman. And in both cases he fled when the conversation turned towards marriage. He was decidedly not interested in settling down, he had more to see. 

On a Sunday morning in January 1944 in the Arabian Sea he was at the helm of a Liberty ship when he saw plenty in the form of a periscope from a Japanese submarine. He called the first mate to have a look see but the mate told him not to worry, that they weren’t looking at a periscope. Seconds later they were very much looking at a torpedo heading their way. The ship’s cargo included TNT. Needless to say the missile missed the TNT but it did enough damage to sink the ship. My dad and crew were soon picked up by a Norwegian tanker and taken to Iran. Undaunted by the experience, Aimo quickly got on another ship and continued his travels. Typical Finn.

Later he enlisted in the U.S. Army. He wasn’t keen to leave the merchant marines but wanted to serve his new country and being in the army was a quick route to U.S. citizenship. Soon after the war ended my father met a graduate student at Columbia University named Kerttu Kurki who was born of Finnish parents in San Francisco and had grown up in Berkeley. In fact her father, my grandfather, Emile Kurki, was one of the men who helped build this hall.

My parents had a whirlwind romance, marrying a few months after meeting. A year later they moved to Berkeley. Shortly after that Aimo joined the Finnish Brotherhood and was a regular at this hall for various functions for the next 60 years. We celebrated his 90th birthday here and later held his memorial service here.

Aimo had started work as a carpenter in New York. Moving to the post war Bay Area was fortuitous. A building boom was just beginning. There was plenty of work. It was said in those days that if you wanted to find a Finn in Berkeley all you had to do was visit a construction site. On a lot of jobs my dad worked on the entire crew were Finns.

Aimo had it made. Relative to his upbringing, he was rich. He owned his own home, along with a car and truck. His wife didn’t have to work. He had health insurance, a strong union to protect his rights as a worker. He had money enough in the bank to invest. His home boasted a dishwasher, a refrigerator, a washer and dryer and a television set. Unimagined luxuries in Finland at the time. He even had a sauna, a little bit of Finland in the home. To my father it was a life of luxury. He had two sons — I was the second — who would have all the advantages he didn’t and would go on to achieve advanced university degrees. He took great pride in my brother and I and at the same time we revered him. He was, incidentally, a terrific father.

Being a typical Finn he was a hard worker who didn’t take days off and seemed to never get sick. At least not sick enough to stay home. He got up early on cold mornings and worked. He worked on hot afternoons. He didn’t complain. Typical Finn.

But it most certainly wasn’t all hard work. There were regularly functions at this Finn Hall. There was the Ski Lodge which he was member of. There were picnics, barbecues, parties, holiday and birthday celebrations. There were football and baseball games, track meets, boxing matches, there was fishing and hunting frequent trips to Tahoe to gamble and take in shows and ski. It seemed to be a constant whirl of gatherings and celebrations. Life was grand. And the weather here was something he and other Finns bragged to the people back home about.

My father always credited himself with leading a mini migration to the Bay Area. He wasn’t exaggerating. He coaxed his younger brother Unto to move here and reap the benefits of this land of plenty. He also inspired his cousins, Reijo and Laura Mehtela to move here. His sister-in-law Elsa, Unto’s wife, encouraged her sister Sylvi to come here with her husband. His cousins brought others too. There were good-paying jobs for everyone. Like most Finns my father had relatives here now to go along with his many friends and co-workers who were Americans of all stripes.

He loved his country all right and he also loved the Finnish Hall and the Finnish community it represented. Though being a typical male Finn of his generation he wouldn’t have said so, certainly not in those words. I recall when he met a girlfriend of mine who is today my wife of 37 years — hi Kathryn, how am I doin? — I asked my father what he thought of her. “Yeah, she seems all right.” He said. “Wow, I thought he really likes her.” He was always understated. Typical Finn.

The times were great for Aimo and other Finns, but life has a way of giving us an occasional slap in the face. My mother developed serious mental health problems. This was the kind of thing people didn’t talk about at the time, certainly not taciturn Finns. My father hadn’t a clue how to handle the situation. He was shattered.

But life isn’t so much about what happens to us as it is how we respond to it.

A typical Finn, Aimo was a tough guy, resilient. The type of person who gets right back up after being knocked down. I learned some valuable life lessons from him: no matter what you keep moving forward. You don’t stop and feel sorry for yourself. You’ve got things to do, you take the next step. This is nothing he ever said, his actions said it. He was not much for philosophizing, he was a doer. In other words, a typical Finn.

Eventually my father re-married and got on with his life. He never recovered from the shock of what happened to my mother but he didn’t let tragedy define him. The presence of  the Finnish community was integral to his finding joy in life again.

Aimo had a fulfilling and happy retirement, highlighted by six grandchildren a few of whom are here today. He lived to the seemingly ripe old age of 92 but in truth a freak fall cost him many more years that he’d seemed destined to live. Before the fall no one would have bet against him reaching 100.

A typical Finn my father never regarded himself as anything special. His kids, his grandchildren, sure they were special, but he saw himself as an ordinary guy.  It used to be that on this day in this place veterans of the Winter War were asked to stand. They received a hearty round of applause. I was sitting next to him the last time he was thus recognized. He sat down quickly, before the clapping had even ceased. “I don’t like this,” he grumbled. He didn’t want to be singled out for doing his duty. He was a Finn and Finns do what they need to do whether it’s build a house, attend a party, wash their clothes or fight in war. What’s the big deal? For my dad it was like being applauded for going to work.

I’ll close with this: a few months before the fall that ultimately claimed his life, an Italian filmmaker who’s played a role in our family, made a short movie about Aimo Hourula. In it my dad talked about his life, especially his various adventures. But what struck me was at the very end when he was asked for a general philosophy of life. It’s something I’d never thought to ask him. In response all he said was to be nice to people.

Of course he said that, because all his life he WAS nice to people. You know, a typical Finn.

Kiitos ja hyvää itsenäisyyspäivää. (Thank you and Happy Independence Day.)