Swedish Roots, Oregon Lives

A move to America in 1923 A new series of oral histories from some of the thousands of Swedes who made their way to Oregon during the Great Migration, extracted from Lars Nordström’s book, ‘Swedish Roots, Oregon Lives.’ (swedishrootsinoregon.org)

Oscar Näström (1898 – 1987)

Oskar Näström was born in northern Sweden into a very musical family, and music played a great part throughout his life. In 1923 he emigrated to the United States, where two siblings had preceded him. After having lived in Nebraska and Wyoming for twenty years, he arrived in Portland, Oregon, in 1943. ‘I didn’t know where to go, to Oregon or California, but I had a lot of friends who had gone to Oregon, and they found life sweet there. I’m sure glad I went to Oregon and left Wyoming and the ranch behind. I came to Portland in 1943, and I didn’t know anybody here. When I got off the train I had an awful time getting into a hotel, because there were so many people coming here then to work for defence. Eventually I found a poor hotel down on Burnside. The day after I arrived I walked out on Burnside, to see if I could find any Swedish names on businesses or something. There was one, Eriksson’s, down on the corner. So I went down there, and just as I took hold of the door, it flew open, and someone had a fellow by the neck and threw him outside, right out. So I thought to myself, “I am not going in there yet.”

I looked across the street, and there was a sign that said Valhalla. Up across the street was a place called Vikings, so I thought, “My goodness, I am going in there”. People there were coming from vacation, and they were having a good time, eating fish, herring, and everything. I looked around, and sat down at a long table. I asked the fellow sitting next to me what he was eating.

“I am eating smelt,” he said.

I had never heard of smelt before so I said, “What’s that?”

“It’s good,” he said, “you better have some smelt.”

So the waiter came up and asked me what I wanted, and I said I wanted smelt. Then I asked him if he knew of any Swedish organizations here in Portland.

“Oh sure,” he said, “lots of them, both Norwegian and Swedish. Linnea Lodge, Harmoni Lodge, Nobel Lodge.” I told him it was nice to know, and when I got through eating, I went out on the street, and there were two fellows standing there. It didn’t seem they were intoxicated too bad. I asked them where I could find Linnea Lodge.

One of the guys said, “Have you ever heard of her?”

The other guy said, “You are stupid, that isn’t a woman. That’s the place where the Swedes go.” So finally he told me how to get there. “You are on Burnside now. You have to go five blocks up, and then you … No, you have to go up three blocks, and then you turn left… No, that’s wrong too.” They had me going in all directions. Finally he said, “Mister, I don’t think you can get there from here.”