Ole Anderson, Irishman

[Fairfield]

I've been reading Rosholt's Ole Goes to War, a book of stories (some sad, some light) of the Norwegians in the Union Army--especially 15th Wisconsin. One of the stories was about a man who really was named Ole: Ole Anderson of Deerborn, Minnesota. It seems that young Anderson walked from his home in Minnesota to Madison, Wisconsin in order to enlist in the 15th. Alas, the trip took him so long that, by the time he arrived, that regiment had already departed. Apparently the recruiters were at a loss as to what to do with him--until one suggested: "Why don't we put him in the all-Irish 17th, no one can understand them either"!

Apparently the young Norwegian fared well with his Irish colleagues because he remained with them for two years--until he died of wounds near Atlanta.

 

[lupaglupa]

If there are stories about Ole, are there stories about Lena too? Seems they always go together...

 

[Fairfield]

If there are stories about Ole, are there stories about Lena too? Seems they always go together...

"Ole" is an incredibly popular name among Scandinavians (I have over 2 dozen in my direct line--and that excludes "Olaf" which is the same name). The nightmare of Scandinavian genealogists is to come upon an ancestor named "Ole Olsen"! There were 807 men named "Ole" in the ACW (with some duplication).

The Ole-and-Lena jokes (as well as the closely related Ole-and-Sven jokes), much beloved by Norwegian-Americans grew out of the immigrant experience. My favorite: Ole was dying and, as he lay in bed, the aroma of his favorite cookie came wafting up the stairs. "Lena must really love me, to bake my favorites". He crept down the stairs into the kitchen--and was just about to snatch one of the cookies from the cooling rack when Lena slapped his hand, saying "Those cookies are for the funeral!".

 

[lupaglupa]

Thanks to a Norwegian-American friend and Garrison Keillor I think I've heard quite a few Ole and Lena jokes. I always enjoy them; good, gentle humor.

 

[Fairfield]

They're rooted in linguistic misunderstandings and the incredible practicality and literalness of Scandinavian immigrants--and an ability to chuckle at oneself (which isn't a bad thing, war or not).