THE STORY OF AXEL OLSON & HIS GOLDEN GIRL, BETZI JOHNSON The Gold Was In His Heart, Not In His Hand
By Shirley Beach
By Shirley Beach

Bringing Axel Olson to life for history has been an emotional and humbling experience. To complete his story, it was necessary to include Betzi Johnson, because we could hardly think of one without the other. Nor could we complete their story without family moments when it became clear that family is what they were about in Victor, Colorado.
Both were very private individuals who talked little about themselves. Although Betzi was a resident of Victor for 43 years, few people knew her and many never remembered seeing her. Her life was that of the classic stay-at-home housewife, mother and outstanding cook. While we, her family, played, she worked, making sure everyone was fed — and mended if injured. That is not to say she didn’t have help from her children with household chores; it’s just that looking back, we took advantage of her position in life because all the things she did were the expectations of a wife and mother at that time. She fulfilled those expectations remarkably, without modern conveniences.
By today’s standards, Betzi’s life would undoubtedly have been labeled “unsuccessful,” because, in truth, she was a refined lady who’s culinary and hosting skills served elite guests, including the Governor of Colorado at the Finney family home in Golden. They thought so much of Betzi she accompanied them on various outings. In Victor, her skills were dedicated to her family.
Neither belonged to any organizations; the only social functions they attended were seven Baccalaureate services and Commencement exercises and a few school programs. School and extracurricular activities were left in what appear to have been the very capable hands of school teachers and administrators.
Victor had all the services needed by a family, so as time went on the only need to go to Cripple Creek was if hospital care was required — which in our family’s case was the birth of three children, surgery on Dad’s broken arm and to set my brother’s hip, a result of a football injury during recess.
Shopping needs were pretty much covered with a trip to J.C. Penney to purchase clothing and shoes. To minimize that need, we changed from our school outfits as soon as we got home and there were plenty of hand-me-downs as we grew. Dad had an “awl,” heavy needle and thread, and an iron “shoe last” to repair our shoes as needed, even the soles and heels. We polished our shoes regularly to preserve the leather.
Both were very private individuals who talked little about themselves. Although Betzi was a resident of Victor for 43 years, few people knew her and many never remembered seeing her. Her life was that of the classic stay-at-home housewife, mother and outstanding cook. While we, her family, played, she worked, making sure everyone was fed — and mended if injured. That is not to say she didn’t have help from her children with household chores; it’s just that looking back, we took advantage of her position in life because all the things she did were the expectations of a wife and mother at that time. She fulfilled those expectations remarkably, without modern conveniences.
By today’s standards, Betzi’s life would undoubtedly have been labeled “unsuccessful,” because, in truth, she was a refined lady who’s culinary and hosting skills served elite guests, including the Governor of Colorado at the Finney family home in Golden. They thought so much of Betzi she accompanied them on various outings. In Victor, her skills were dedicated to her family.
Neither belonged to any organizations; the only social functions they attended were seven Baccalaureate services and Commencement exercises and a few school programs. School and extracurricular activities were left in what appear to have been the very capable hands of school teachers and administrators.
Victor had all the services needed by a family, so as time went on the only need to go to Cripple Creek was if hospital care was required — which in our family’s case was the birth of three children, surgery on Dad’s broken arm and to set my brother’s hip, a result of a football injury during recess.
Shopping needs were pretty much covered with a trip to J.C. Penney to purchase clothing and shoes. To minimize that need, we changed from our school outfits as soon as we got home and there were plenty of hand-me-downs as we grew. Dad had an “awl,” heavy needle and thread, and an iron “shoe last” to repair our shoes as needed, even the soles and heels. We polished our shoes regularly to preserve the leather.

There was no need for Mom to go to the grocery store because someone from the store came by the house to take orders in the morning and deliver in the afternoon. In the early days, milk was delivered in the early morning hours by Evergreen Dairy (owned by Richard Peterson), which later became the Hilltop Dairy (owned by the Bradley Brothers); and placed in the wooden milk box on our front porch. Cream was skimmed off the milk with a fascinating metal gadget and placed in a jar for us to shake until it became butter; cottage cheese was also homemade, as was Dad’s original Swedish yogurt called “filabunk.”
In later years, the grocery shopping, including milk, was done by the kids after school. Cream for butter and whipping cream was purchased from Dan & Smitty, who lived on Teller County Road One.
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Due to their not sharing much about their lives, this story is a family project of research and assembly, like fitting a puzzle together. I think my biggest discovery in this endeavor was myself. We combined memories of our neighbor, K.C. Garver, whose family is part of our extended family; a genealogy search done by my nephew, Gary Olson; an interview by Andrew Gulliford for Penrose Library; a synopsis from Nancy Woods’ book “Grassroots People” and memories each of their children had written years ago.
We hope we have successfully created a positive image of the contributions immigrant families made to Victor and, on a larger scale, to America. Their very strong philosophy, “Any man was their equal and all people should be judged on their own merit,” was apparent in how they lived life. Axel also brought to America a strong work ethic shared by Betzi. That expectation was the same for his work partners as well as their children.
Axel Emanual Wennersten was born in Arvika Varmland, Sweden Dec. 21, 1893, the sixth of eleven children of Olaus (Andersson) Wennersten and Matilda Kristina Nilsdotter. For some reason unknown to us, our grandfather and his brother Johan, changed their name from Andersson to Wennersten. Ten of these siblings immigrated to America at different times; five of them returned to their homeland. Those aunts, uncles and several of our cousins in America and those from Sweden touched our lives.
We hope we have successfully created a positive image of the contributions immigrant families made to Victor and, on a larger scale, to America. Their very strong philosophy, “Any man was their equal and all people should be judged on their own merit,” was apparent in how they lived life. Axel also brought to America a strong work ethic shared by Betzi. That expectation was the same for his work partners as well as their children.
Axel Emanual Wennersten was born in Arvika Varmland, Sweden Dec. 21, 1893, the sixth of eleven children of Olaus (Andersson) Wennersten and Matilda Kristina Nilsdotter. For some reason unknown to us, our grandfather and his brother Johan, changed their name from Andersson to Wennersten. Ten of these siblings immigrated to America at different times; five of them returned to their homeland. Those aunts, uncles and several of our cousins in America and those from Sweden touched our lives.

The few adventures of his Scandinavian childhood, of which we are aware, were shared with us in story or song, leaving us to our own interpretation of harsh winters, skiing, skating or walking for transportation, rivers, a beautiful coast line, lush forests, abundant berries, gardens for food, a multitude of flowers, birds and animals — wild and domesticated — much like the life we lived in Victor, with the exception of the coastline. Perhaps our many days of fishing and picnicking at Bison and Skaguay Reservoirs, Altman, Eagle Eye and Spruce Camp fulfilled that missing piece of their homeland.
My Dad’s MO, so to speak, was education; almost every moment with him contained a lesson. Dad’s formal education in Sweden ended with the eighth grade; however, it was apparently premium in science, math, history and geography because he was our greatest resource for help with school work. As a young boy, school and church were of equal importance to his mother. The spiritual training he received in Sweden far exceeded most; he often commented that the Bible was a good story. He was an avid reader, continuing his self-education which would have matched most college graduates of today.
My Dad’s MO, so to speak, was education; almost every moment with him contained a lesson. Dad’s formal education in Sweden ended with the eighth grade; however, it was apparently premium in science, math, history and geography because he was our greatest resource for help with school work. As a young boy, school and church were of equal importance to his mother. The spiritual training he received in Sweden far exceeded most; he often commented that the Bible was a good story. He was an avid reader, continuing his self-education which would have matched most college graduates of today.

His “father wasn’t much fun,” which lead us to believe from his stories that he expected no-nonsense hard work from his children. Some of his stories made us think at least the boys may have strayed from that expectation at times and may have been sternly punished when they did. One of their “chores” was to pick large amounts of berries in the summer to supply the family’s need of juice as well as berries; a popular dessert fruit pudding was made with fruit juice. That information was brought to us in a Swedish song about children picking berries when a bear takes chase and children ran “as fast as the speed of sound” with Axel running “as fast as the speed of light” (which became part of the new version in story form written by Ian, a great grandson). Story telling seems to have been passed on through the generations!
The only work he mentioned in his teenage years was cutting timber in the forest with his father. He told of having severe nosebleeds and having to continue to work as it bled. An old woman predicted he would not live long because of those.
The only work he mentioned in his teenage years was cutting timber in the forest with his father. He told of having severe nosebleeds and having to continue to work as it bled. An old woman predicted he would not live long because of those.

Sweden required mandatory military service at age 21. Axel was not a violent man and like many young Swedes who immigrated to America, never cared for the military; therefore, he, at age 19, and a younger brother, Gustav, left Sweden through England and Norway and on April 13, 1913, they entered America at Ellis Island, where their names were changed to Olson. They were “shoved into rail cars” by Port authorities “like cattle being shipped to market” to continue their journey. The boys were separated. Neither spoke English. One had their money the other the food they had brought with them. Neither realized the cars were all connected to the same locomotive until a black porter helped Dad reunite with his brother. Their destination was McPherson, Kansas, where they worked on their sister’s farm. (Immigrants were required to have a job to come to America). His wages were $15 per month.
Axel was a great story teller. A couple we still remember took place during the short time he was in Kansas. My brother Norman, now an 80-year-old child, pulled one back from his hazy memory. “This story is about snakes. An odd one in particular Dad called a hoop snake because one of their ways to cover great distance was to grab their own tail in their mouth and form a round hoop. With the help of Kansas winds they could get rolling and cover a great distance in a short time. Another oddity was their venom!! It was harmless to humans and animals; however, it had a strange effect on wood, any kind of wood. It caused the wood to swell up when bitten by the hoop snake."
“On one windy day, Dad spotted a large hoop snake rolling along pushed by the wind. He had a new pitch fork with him so he stuck it in its path to stop the snake. The snake bit the handle of the pitchfork and, lo and behold, the handle began to swell. The venom was so strong that the handle grew to the size of a very large tree. He took advantage of this good fortune and had it cut into lumber. He had so much lumber from the handle that he could build six two-bedroom houses! After he built the houses, he set about painting them to preserve them. That’s when a strange thing happened! The paint had turpentine in it and as soon as he painted the houses it had an anti-venom effect on the wood and all the houses shrunk to the size of a bird house — and he ended up with six shiny bird houses.” Such was the way in this strange Kansas land!
“While he was on the farm in Kansas the grasshoppers were especially bad. They ate everything in sight. One day, when Dad was plowing with a team of horses, he took a quick lunch break. When he returned the horses were gone and the grasshoppers were pitching the horse shoes to see who got to eat the harness.”
These strange incidents and his having higher hopes in this Land of Opportunity no doubt led to his leaving Kansas!
Axel was a great story teller. A couple we still remember took place during the short time he was in Kansas. My brother Norman, now an 80-year-old child, pulled one back from his hazy memory. “This story is about snakes. An odd one in particular Dad called a hoop snake because one of their ways to cover great distance was to grab their own tail in their mouth and form a round hoop. With the help of Kansas winds they could get rolling and cover a great distance in a short time. Another oddity was their venom!! It was harmless to humans and animals; however, it had a strange effect on wood, any kind of wood. It caused the wood to swell up when bitten by the hoop snake."
“On one windy day, Dad spotted a large hoop snake rolling along pushed by the wind. He had a new pitch fork with him so he stuck it in its path to stop the snake. The snake bit the handle of the pitchfork and, lo and behold, the handle began to swell. The venom was so strong that the handle grew to the size of a very large tree. He took advantage of this good fortune and had it cut into lumber. He had so much lumber from the handle that he could build six two-bedroom houses! After he built the houses, he set about painting them to preserve them. That’s when a strange thing happened! The paint had turpentine in it and as soon as he painted the houses it had an anti-venom effect on the wood and all the houses shrunk to the size of a bird house — and he ended up with six shiny bird houses.” Such was the way in this strange Kansas land!
“While he was on the farm in Kansas the grasshoppers were especially bad. They ate everything in sight. One day, when Dad was plowing with a team of horses, he took a quick lunch break. When he returned the horses were gone and the grasshoppers were pitching the horse shoes to see who got to eat the harness.”
These strange incidents and his having higher hopes in this Land of Opportunity no doubt led to his leaving Kansas!

They moved on to Colorado where there were other relatives and Axel worked in a tungsten mine in Boulder Canyon. Because tungsten was used in war materials, those miners and agriculture workers were exempt from service. Therefore, Dad did not serve in WWI. Although he had no experience, he later applied for a job operating a steam shovel with Union Pacific Railroad at “a fine salary of $3 per day.” He wasn’t hired. He then worked on a hog ranch in Watkins, now Commerce City, and hauled garbage from downtown Denver hotels. From the garbage, he rescued very nice sterling silver spoons which were added to Mom’s tableware.
It was in Denver where he met his “Golden Girl.” Apparently Swedes liked to party and dance at a place called Swansea, and that is where their love story began.
It was in Denver where he met his “Golden Girl.” Apparently Swedes liked to party and dance at a place called Swansea, and that is where their love story began.

Betzi Johanna Svenson was born Nov. 12, 1897, in Lundsboda Skana, Sweden, the third of eight children of Anna Thomasdotter and Sven Jonsson. I never understood why her name was Svenson because that designated a son in usual naming. Betzi’s parents had immigrated to America to be married because they were cousins and Sweden did not recognize the marriage. They remained in this country for some time and their two oldest daughters, Jenny and Hulda, were born in America. Later they returned to Sweden.
Betzi’s childhood information is extremely limited. We know her grandfather saved her life when she was stricken with diphtheria as a child by dipping a feather into coal oil and inserting it into her throat. Her father had a drinking problem; however, we are unaware what work he did. He was a great yodeler and we do know he returned to Sweden, where he died at the age of 65, and her mother died at 57. Two of Mom’s sisters and two cousins and one second cousin, Urban Arnesson (currently living in Sweden), touched our lives.
Betzi’s childhood information is extremely limited. We know her grandfather saved her life when she was stricken with diphtheria as a child by dipping a feather into coal oil and inserting it into her throat. Her father had a drinking problem; however, we are unaware what work he did. He was a great yodeler and we do know he returned to Sweden, where he died at the age of 65, and her mother died at 57. Two of Mom’s sisters and two cousins and one second cousin, Urban Arnesson (currently living in Sweden), touched our lives.
When the children were older, Sven, Jenny and Hulda returned to America.
At age 16, Betzi entered America from Orkened, Sweden, arriving at Ellis Island on the Lusitania, July 31, 1914. Her name was changed to Johnson. (The Lusitania was torpedoed and sunk off the Irish coast on its return trip in 1915.) She joined her father, who had obtained a job for her as a live-in cook and housekeeper for a wealthy banker in Golden. |
Betzi’s sister, Hulda, was dating Axel’s older brother, Fridholf. When Dad went to drive Hulda to meet his brother for a dance one evening, she told him she could not go because her sister had come to visit.
Axel suggested they take her along. He was going to pick up his girl which caused Betzi to believe she may not be pleased if Betzi would join them; so he called his girl to see if she would mind. She was not as understanding as he expected and instead told him he could “go with this 'Golden Girl,' she didn’t care, just don’t come to her place again.” |

Axel and Betzi married Nov. 23, 1920. Their two oldest children, Ernest and Dagny, were born in Commerce City. In June 1924, the family moved to Victor “in a Model T Ford.” Mom’s sister, Jenny, and her family lived in Victor also and the wages were higher than in Denver at the time due to the interest in gold. They purchased a house at 209 N. 6th Street in Victor for $90.
When Mom’s sister and family moved to New York, they purchased their house, furnished, at 319 N. 6th Street for $160, where their family of three boys and four girls was raised. Axel Robert and Betty were born at District Hospital in Victor; Mary Lou and Norman were born in Cripple Creek at what is currently remembered as Hilltop Hospital and Shirley was born at Miners Emergency Hospital in Cripple Creek.
When Mom’s sister and family moved to New York, they purchased their house, furnished, at 319 N. 6th Street for $160, where their family of three boys and four girls was raised. Axel Robert and Betty were born at District Hospital in Victor; Mary Lou and Norman were born in Cripple Creek at what is currently remembered as Hilltop Hospital and Shirley was born at Miners Emergency Hospital in Cripple Creek.

Dad became a respected miner and timber man in the Gold Camp; however, there seemed to be an ‘aura’ of “one to be feared” surrounding him in town. I suspected that was because he spoke with an authoritative voice; however, when I read Andrew’s interview I discovered some of the young miners who had worked with him told others who were looking for work not to work with him because he was crazy.
He was a bit of a dickens for sure and he joked with a tone of seriousness such as the time one young man told him he sometimes “took fits,” to which my Dad reacted by picking up his hammer. The boy said, “You could hurt me with that,” to which Dad replied, “That would be my intention. I don’t know you or what you would do.” He told another young man who complained about the working conditions, “if he would stay with his job he would soon be promoted to the bottom level where it would be much better working conditions; there was carpet on the floor down there.”
The price of gold was $20 an ounce at the time they arrived in Victor, increasing to $35 in the '30s when Franklin Roosevelt was President. Company wages were $4.75 per day, so Dad leased most of his days at the Portland and Ajax mines, prospecting also at the Last Dollar and Ruby mines. If he could not find good ore and ran short of money he would go to work for the company until he got caught up, then back to leasing with the hope of striking it rich!
He was a bit of a dickens for sure and he joked with a tone of seriousness such as the time one young man told him he sometimes “took fits,” to which my Dad reacted by picking up his hammer. The boy said, “You could hurt me with that,” to which Dad replied, “That would be my intention. I don’t know you or what you would do.” He told another young man who complained about the working conditions, “if he would stay with his job he would soon be promoted to the bottom level where it would be much better working conditions; there was carpet on the floor down there.”
The price of gold was $20 an ounce at the time they arrived in Victor, increasing to $35 in the '30s when Franklin Roosevelt was President. Company wages were $4.75 per day, so Dad leased most of his days at the Portland and Ajax mines, prospecting also at the Last Dollar and Ruby mines. If he could not find good ore and ran short of money he would go to work for the company until he got caught up, then back to leasing with the hope of striking it rich!

He walked to work Monday through Saturday as did most miners. It was not an easy life; the underground dangers included water pouring down the shaft upon the miners as well as the water they walked in all day containing high levels of arsenic, which caused skin sores that were difficult to heal. Cold air came down the shaft making the wet conditions worse. Unstable ground, carbon monoxide gas, fumes from the powder when they blasted, dust from drilling, as well as riding the skip increased the risks. There was little clearance in the shaft for the skip and one day the sleeve of Dad’s jacket caught in the timbers and shattered his arm, requiring surgery to insert a metal plate to hold the bone together.
Dad, however, was more fortunate than at least one miner he lifted out of the skip who had been decapitated. Dad was allowed to work on top for the remainder of that day. Dad was also one of few who were not stricken with Miners Con (silicosis). He credited that to his daily use of Vicks VapoRub or Vaseline in his nose and that he did not smoke cigarettes or chew tobacco. Dad smoked only Prince Albert tobacco in a pipe and only during breaks, where there was fresher air, while he was underground.
It seemed from his stories that he may not have been fond of authority. He “preferred working on his own where he could trust his own judgment rather than someone else’s.” During the Great Depression of the '30s, the mine wasn’t hiring and leasing paid little or at times nothing. Many miners found a businessman who would put up half wages amounting to $2.50 to $3.50 per day; then if the miner hit good ore the business partner would take 50% after the company took 51% off the top, so it wasn’t a paying proposition. However, it kept many families from starving. Dad chose not to do so. When he experienced a financial crisis he borrowed on his life insurance policy, then paid it back when he caught up again. He would accept no “handouts,” which was the reason we were never allowed to trick or treat on Halloween.
There were many young Swedes in Victor in the late '20s and our neighborhood consisted mostly of immigrants from many countries. One of the two African American men who were in Victor lived in our neighborhood. He called himself “Nigger Bob” and most of the people, especially the children, loved him even though Victor was known as a “white man’s camp.” Dad did not feel there were any signs of segregation, saying, “Everyone took the train up the hill to picnic and have a good time together.” (I assumed from reading Victor’s history they may have gone to Pinnacle Park.) He noted that people were friendlier toward each other back then. After Mom passed away, Dad often took my daughters and me picnicking near there at a place where wild strawberries, which he called “Smultron Stella,” were abundant; translation: ‘wild strawberry patch’. I felt during these outings he was revisiting memories, which no doubt was the reason we went there.
When my oldest brother started school he only spoke Swedish, which brought the school officials to our home. My folks were told to stop speaking their native language and only speak English; as a result, only my oldest siblings learned Swedish. Dad and Mom taught themselves the English language, possibly with my brother’s help as he learned in school.
Dad, however, was more fortunate than at least one miner he lifted out of the skip who had been decapitated. Dad was allowed to work on top for the remainder of that day. Dad was also one of few who were not stricken with Miners Con (silicosis). He credited that to his daily use of Vicks VapoRub or Vaseline in his nose and that he did not smoke cigarettes or chew tobacco. Dad smoked only Prince Albert tobacco in a pipe and only during breaks, where there was fresher air, while he was underground.
It seemed from his stories that he may not have been fond of authority. He “preferred working on his own where he could trust his own judgment rather than someone else’s.” During the Great Depression of the '30s, the mine wasn’t hiring and leasing paid little or at times nothing. Many miners found a businessman who would put up half wages amounting to $2.50 to $3.50 per day; then if the miner hit good ore the business partner would take 50% after the company took 51% off the top, so it wasn’t a paying proposition. However, it kept many families from starving. Dad chose not to do so. When he experienced a financial crisis he borrowed on his life insurance policy, then paid it back when he caught up again. He would accept no “handouts,” which was the reason we were never allowed to trick or treat on Halloween.
There were many young Swedes in Victor in the late '20s and our neighborhood consisted mostly of immigrants from many countries. One of the two African American men who were in Victor lived in our neighborhood. He called himself “Nigger Bob” and most of the people, especially the children, loved him even though Victor was known as a “white man’s camp.” Dad did not feel there were any signs of segregation, saying, “Everyone took the train up the hill to picnic and have a good time together.” (I assumed from reading Victor’s history they may have gone to Pinnacle Park.) He noted that people were friendlier toward each other back then. After Mom passed away, Dad often took my daughters and me picnicking near there at a place where wild strawberries, which he called “Smultron Stella,” were abundant; translation: ‘wild strawberry patch’. I felt during these outings he was revisiting memories, which no doubt was the reason we went there.
When my oldest brother started school he only spoke Swedish, which brought the school officials to our home. My folks were told to stop speaking their native language and only speak English; as a result, only my oldest siblings learned Swedish. Dad and Mom taught themselves the English language, possibly with my brother’s help as he learned in school.

Dad enjoyed playing cards, he loved baseball, fly fishing and did some cross country skiing. He never cared for football, especially the Broncos; they took too much air time on the radio for a week after each game. He played cards at Rosser’s Pool Hall, where he always turned some of his winnings into candy for his kids. I was under the impression Mom wasn’t happy about his nights at the pool hall. One night a man named Steve Von Wahl pulled a knife on him during a card game and his card playing moved to Mr. Barnett’s home just down the street from us. The game of choice was called “Sluff.”
In the winter nearly everyone put their cars up on blocks, drained the radiator and put in kerosene to keep them from freezing. In the spring the guys in the neighborhood got their cars out and ground the valves to ready them for summer traveling. Our trips were limited to visiting family in Denver. The men usually discussed the merits of their home brew, which apparently nearly everyone made, so that lead to sampling each other’s wares after the work was done. It was a jolly time by evening.
In the winter nearly everyone put their cars up on blocks, drained the radiator and put in kerosene to keep them from freezing. In the spring the guys in the neighborhood got their cars out and ground the valves to ready them for summer traveling. Our trips were limited to visiting family in Denver. The men usually discussed the merits of their home brew, which apparently nearly everyone made, so that lead to sampling each other’s wares after the work was done. It was a jolly time by evening.

Since no one used their cars much in the winter it made for excellent sled riding with most of the kids in town starting from our house. We didn’t have the prized Flexible Flyer; those who did could go halfway up ‘Little’ Third Street hill. After the Penney’s sled got broke in, my older siblings could almost get there. The younger kids were only allowed to go to the Depot on Fourth Street. We had more snow back in those days and there were times we had to tunnel through the drifts to get out of the house. We did a whole lot of snow shoveling back then. That, too, was a full family project except, for Mom. After supper and the dishes were done, we as a family played a variety of card games during the winter months — cribbage, poker, high five, hearts, canasta, pinochle — always learning something with the entertainment (mostly math and thinking).

Dad sang Swedish songs; my uncle played the harmonica and Mom danced a Swedish dance and yodeled. Our Victrola and 78-rpm records filled our home with music — if Dad wasn’t listening to the news. They had a few close friends, Ed Hughes’ family in Lawrence, Mr. Barnett and Glenna Smith, the Ericksons and Blackledges of our neighborhood, John, Hilda and Ed Forselius, the Franklin Cottiers in Cripple Creek, who were part of our extended family. We enjoyed many hours together filled with music, cards, Bingo, making ice cream, picnics, outdoor games at the Fourmile Dance Hall, where Dad killed a rattle snake on one of our outings, and trips to Florissant where we dug for petrified wood and fossils on the current site of the Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument. We gathered wood, picked berries and fished much of the summer and the miles we walked as kids were immeasurable.
Axel was a fierce defender of his family. In the '30s, when the Ku Klux Klan was active in the community, they burned a cross on the hillside just above our house. (Dad considered the KKK members “chicken” because they hid behind the hoods they wore). He went alone to investigate and finding no one there, put the fire out. If we were followed by anyone while walking home at night or there were signs of a peeping tom, he went to find them armed only with a baseball bat. Another time when a neighbor had been drinking and was shooting a gun from his porch, Dad went alone to stop him. We were disciplined by the tone of his voice, it was just something we all understood. People find it hard to believe when we say we never had a spanking. One of his favorite sayings was, “You get more with honey than you do with vinegar.”
We were able to tell if there had been gas in the mine on any given day because Dad would come home, pour a shot of Southern Comfort whiskey and drink it in one swallow, then sat to rest awhile in his chair in the living room before supper and joining us outdoors. Whiskey was also used for other medicinal purposes; a sugar cube dipped in whiskey to reduce fever or added to honey, lemon and hot water for coughs and to break fever. Our medicinal treatments also included milk toast for upset stomachs, camphorated oil, Vicks VapoRub, mustard plasters for congestion and each spring we were treated to a glass of molasses milk for a “spring tonic.”
We had three baseball fields, one originally a tennis court below the street where we lived, a second high on the Ajax dump and one on the lower tailings along the railroad tracks, all built by my older siblings and my brothers’ friends. Dad was there with us playing as well as umpiring. My older brother’s friends, who also became part of our extended family, came from all parts of town to play at our house. My oldest sister, Dagny, was the only girl who was accepted to be part of their teams, and Mr. Demery, who leased on the dump above the field and whose son was one of the “powerhouse baseball players of Victor,” told Dad she was a far better ball player than the boys. All of these boys respected my Dad and never forgot him; Dad was the first stop for those who returned from the War.
My brother Axel Robert served in the Air Force; my oldest brother Ernest was 4-F due to a heart condition. We spent hours in the summer playing with wagons and building roads above and below the house and in the draw between us and Blackledges, which was called the “Bachelor Hole” because a bachelor lived in the house between us. We built retention ponds there to control the drainage water. The older kids built many trails to ride coaster wagons and also a cave tunneling into the hillside where they had a “hideout.” It caved in; luckily there was no one inside at the time. We played “Little Road,” which required more roads and mountains of a smaller version. Log cabin syrup cans served as mountain cabins and city houses were bricks with doors and windows drawn on them. Indian tobacco served as lawns and wooden plugs from the railroad ties for sidewalks. We filled our lakes with fish made of very small pieces of wood and made tiny fishing poles with a match stick and string which the wood would cling to when the string was wet — our imaginary version of fishing. The Parks and Rec of today’s world was our yard with the hillsides around us. We had rails to walk for our balance beams as we walked the railroads tracks. At night there were always games such as Nerky, Red Light-Green Light, or Hide and Seek.
Axel was a fierce defender of his family. In the '30s, when the Ku Klux Klan was active in the community, they burned a cross on the hillside just above our house. (Dad considered the KKK members “chicken” because they hid behind the hoods they wore). He went alone to investigate and finding no one there, put the fire out. If we were followed by anyone while walking home at night or there were signs of a peeping tom, he went to find them armed only with a baseball bat. Another time when a neighbor had been drinking and was shooting a gun from his porch, Dad went alone to stop him. We were disciplined by the tone of his voice, it was just something we all understood. People find it hard to believe when we say we never had a spanking. One of his favorite sayings was, “You get more with honey than you do with vinegar.”
We were able to tell if there had been gas in the mine on any given day because Dad would come home, pour a shot of Southern Comfort whiskey and drink it in one swallow, then sat to rest awhile in his chair in the living room before supper and joining us outdoors. Whiskey was also used for other medicinal purposes; a sugar cube dipped in whiskey to reduce fever or added to honey, lemon and hot water for coughs and to break fever. Our medicinal treatments also included milk toast for upset stomachs, camphorated oil, Vicks VapoRub, mustard plasters for congestion and each spring we were treated to a glass of molasses milk for a “spring tonic.”
We had three baseball fields, one originally a tennis court below the street where we lived, a second high on the Ajax dump and one on the lower tailings along the railroad tracks, all built by my older siblings and my brothers’ friends. Dad was there with us playing as well as umpiring. My older brother’s friends, who also became part of our extended family, came from all parts of town to play at our house. My oldest sister, Dagny, was the only girl who was accepted to be part of their teams, and Mr. Demery, who leased on the dump above the field and whose son was one of the “powerhouse baseball players of Victor,” told Dad she was a far better ball player than the boys. All of these boys respected my Dad and never forgot him; Dad was the first stop for those who returned from the War.
My brother Axel Robert served in the Air Force; my oldest brother Ernest was 4-F due to a heart condition. We spent hours in the summer playing with wagons and building roads above and below the house and in the draw between us and Blackledges, which was called the “Bachelor Hole” because a bachelor lived in the house between us. We built retention ponds there to control the drainage water. The older kids built many trails to ride coaster wagons and also a cave tunneling into the hillside where they had a “hideout.” It caved in; luckily there was no one inside at the time. We played “Little Road,” which required more roads and mountains of a smaller version. Log cabin syrup cans served as mountain cabins and city houses were bricks with doors and windows drawn on them. Indian tobacco served as lawns and wooden plugs from the railroad ties for sidewalks. We filled our lakes with fish made of very small pieces of wood and made tiny fishing poles with a match stick and string which the wood would cling to when the string was wet — our imaginary version of fishing. The Parks and Rec of today’s world was our yard with the hillsides around us. We had rails to walk for our balance beams as we walked the railroads tracks. At night there were always games such as Nerky, Red Light-Green Light, or Hide and Seek.

The mining company sunk a shaft between our house and Roberts’ (now the Garvers' cabin) and put a wooden cover on it where we played, dropping rocks between the cracks to hear them hit the water below.
Dad taught us, as well as the other kids, survival. Everyone worked and played together; there were no separate chores for boys and girls. We planted a huge garden, raised chickens, beginning with my oldest brothers' chicken business, for meat and eggs; and raised, slaughtered, butchered and cured two hogs one year with our neighbor Harold Hughes. We had a “pet pigeon” named Oswald that Dad found in the Portland Ore House that lived in a cage in the wood shed until he was old enough to live with the chickens. We also had a dog named Bucky that my oldest brother brought home as well as “Tannies” (chipmunks) caught in the summer. My older brother sold those and iron pyrite to the tourists in the summer.
Dad’s prized items were his radio and the weekly Swedish paper from Chicago. Hot water for bathing, dishes and laundry was heated in a “boiler” on the kitchen wood and coal range. Our five-room house had no bathroom; a galvanized tub on the kitchen floor was our tub for Saturday night baths and we had an outhouse like most others on the mountain.
We had, most importantly, the best and kindest parents, each other, a comfortable home and healthy food. Anyone was welcome at our table where we gathered for every meal. Mom even made sandwiches for the “bums” that jumped off the train above our house, so they ate before they continued their journey on the train.
Dad had a little Tom Sawyer in him also. He would saw off a piece of wood, look at his watch in amazement and say I sawed that in however many minutes — that’s a new record. Every kid would then want a turn, Dad timed them — all were trying to beat his time, to set a new record. In no time the wood was all cut. He was always carefully supervising to see none were hurt and they learned the proper way to handle the saw. He was big on safety, even when Lee Rhodus was let down by a rope into a shaft above the house to retrieve home run baseballs! We couldn’t afford to lose a baseball. The boys collected Puffed Wheat and Rice box tops to get baseballs. They were 9” out-seam balls, (the size of a softball). Dad mended them until my brothers learned to sew; then a couple of my brothers carried that tradition forward by making them from old socks and Dad’s twill work pants.
Dad taught us, as well as the other kids, survival. Everyone worked and played together; there were no separate chores for boys and girls. We planted a huge garden, raised chickens, beginning with my oldest brothers' chicken business, for meat and eggs; and raised, slaughtered, butchered and cured two hogs one year with our neighbor Harold Hughes. We had a “pet pigeon” named Oswald that Dad found in the Portland Ore House that lived in a cage in the wood shed until he was old enough to live with the chickens. We also had a dog named Bucky that my oldest brother brought home as well as “Tannies” (chipmunks) caught in the summer. My older brother sold those and iron pyrite to the tourists in the summer.
Dad’s prized items were his radio and the weekly Swedish paper from Chicago. Hot water for bathing, dishes and laundry was heated in a “boiler” on the kitchen wood and coal range. Our five-room house had no bathroom; a galvanized tub on the kitchen floor was our tub for Saturday night baths and we had an outhouse like most others on the mountain.
We had, most importantly, the best and kindest parents, each other, a comfortable home and healthy food. Anyone was welcome at our table where we gathered for every meal. Mom even made sandwiches for the “bums” that jumped off the train above our house, so they ate before they continued their journey on the train.
Dad had a little Tom Sawyer in him also. He would saw off a piece of wood, look at his watch in amazement and say I sawed that in however many minutes — that’s a new record. Every kid would then want a turn, Dad timed them — all were trying to beat his time, to set a new record. In no time the wood was all cut. He was always carefully supervising to see none were hurt and they learned the proper way to handle the saw. He was big on safety, even when Lee Rhodus was let down by a rope into a shaft above the house to retrieve home run baseballs! We couldn’t afford to lose a baseball. The boys collected Puffed Wheat and Rice box tops to get baseballs. They were 9” out-seam balls, (the size of a softball). Dad mended them until my brothers learned to sew; then a couple of my brothers carried that tradition forward by making them from old socks and Dad’s twill work pants.

There were stories of Tomte, the mythological creature from Swedish folklore that was typically associated with the Winter Solstice and Christmas season, living in the houses and barns protecting the family and animals. Their favorite animal was the horse, which lead to the tradition of the Dala Horse being in most Swedish homes.
Those stories in turn became the Cornish stories about the Tommy Knocker of the superstitious Cousin Jacks at the Mine. Both Elfin figures were kind at times or mischievous if they were not treated right. The Tomte moved about quietly while the Tommy Knockers made loud noises in the mine.
Another superstition of the miners would lead some to leave the underground if a female came down into the mines. Dad was not superstitious and one day he took Lowell Thomas’ secretary on a tour of the 3100 level. The water was so deep he held her hand to balance her so she could walk the rails and not damage her shoes or clothing, suggesting she make her tour short for her safety and comfort.
Those stories in turn became the Cornish stories about the Tommy Knocker of the superstitious Cousin Jacks at the Mine. Both Elfin figures were kind at times or mischievous if they were not treated right. The Tomte moved about quietly while the Tommy Knockers made loud noises in the mine.
Another superstition of the miners would lead some to leave the underground if a female came down into the mines. Dad was not superstitious and one day he took Lowell Thomas’ secretary on a tour of the 3100 level. The water was so deep he held her hand to balance her so she could walk the rails and not damage her shoes or clothing, suggesting she make her tour short for her safety and comfort.

Our Christmas began on Santa Lucia Day, Dec. 13, without the flair of the eldest daughter dressing in a white robe with a red sash and a crown of candles. Breads and cookies served with coffee ended with the Epiphany. While Dad stayed home, we visited Santa Clause at the Fire Station on Christmas Eve where we received a stocking of hard candy, an orange and an apple. When we returned home Santa had been there and left a present for each of us under our tree, which each year stood in the living room window. There were also wreaths with electric candles in all the windows. We enjoyed traditional Swedish foods if they were available. Swedish potato sausage, made by an Irish butcher, Dave Flanagan; raw pickled herring (Sill) prepared by Mom; Lutefisk in a mustard crème sauce, which I liked but was not a favorite of my siblings; various kinds of breads and cookies and puddings prepared by Mom. Dad’s favorite holiday meat was prime rib roast; I learned recently that, too, was a Swedish tradition. We visited with another Swedish neighbor one night during the Christmas Holiday where Mr. Erickson and Dad sipped a shot of Southern Comfort whiskey and we were served wine in beautiful stemware wine glasses; always accompanied with delicious cookies.
Dad never added sugar to his coffee; he put a sugar cube in his mouth and the coffee was sweetened as he drank. During the war, when he wasn’t able to get the cube sugar, he made his own from granulated sugar, baking it in the oven; some of it he would “burn” so we would have candy. We always had a jar of hard candy on the table. We were always on hand to dip a sugar cube in Dad’s coffee.
I always thought it was fitting Dad was born on the Winter Solstice because he was a rugged outdoorsman, not only spending time working and playing but also spending hours with us on the front porch at night explaining the science of the earth and the night sky, its constellations, planets, the seasons and weather, telling us stories about Thor and his Billy Goats of Scandinavian folklore. During lightning and thunder storms, he taught us to respect but not fear the storms; he was always teaching us as well as entertaining us with all his stories. In the winter he built igloos with us rather than snowmen.
Dad never added sugar to his coffee; he put a sugar cube in his mouth and the coffee was sweetened as he drank. During the war, when he wasn’t able to get the cube sugar, he made his own from granulated sugar, baking it in the oven; some of it he would “burn” so we would have candy. We always had a jar of hard candy on the table. We were always on hand to dip a sugar cube in Dad’s coffee.
I always thought it was fitting Dad was born on the Winter Solstice because he was a rugged outdoorsman, not only spending time working and playing but also spending hours with us on the front porch at night explaining the science of the earth and the night sky, its constellations, planets, the seasons and weather, telling us stories about Thor and his Billy Goats of Scandinavian folklore. During lightning and thunder storms, he taught us to respect but not fear the storms; he was always teaching us as well as entertaining us with all his stories. In the winter he built igloos with us rather than snowmen.

He was a spiritual man, the outdoors with its beauty and mystique was our church. During lunch break at the mine the miners eagerly gathered at the station to listen to his discussion about religion with Baptist Minister Paul McDowell.
Dad was articulate with a twist of an accent, as was Mom, and he was always up for a lively discussion on any subject. When you thought you knew his stand he would suddenly argue the opposite point of view on the same subject. Mom was more quiet and shy.
Dad and Mom appeared before the “powers that be” to apply for citizenship once and we never knew the reason other than it had to do with how they were treated and Dad’s not having served in the military, they never became United States citizens. Each January they registered and obtained their ‘Green Card’ in compliance with the law. The matter of my citizenship was raised when I ran for public office but didn’t get anywhere.
Just before the mines closed for the final time, Dad had a lease sinking the Ajax below the 3100 level. He shipped two cars of the richest ore he had ever found. The company took back the lease in order that their employees could work it. They failed to find anyone who would take on that dangerous adventure. One last effort was begun by two local miners in the '80s. When they lost their lives, that ended the pursuit. When the price of gold escalated, Dad would have liked to go back down to get the ore, but appeared satisfied he had finally struck it rich although it was just beyond his reach.
Dad was articulate with a twist of an accent, as was Mom, and he was always up for a lively discussion on any subject. When you thought you knew his stand he would suddenly argue the opposite point of view on the same subject. Mom was more quiet and shy.
Dad and Mom appeared before the “powers that be” to apply for citizenship once and we never knew the reason other than it had to do with how they were treated and Dad’s not having served in the military, they never became United States citizens. Each January they registered and obtained their ‘Green Card’ in compliance with the law. The matter of my citizenship was raised when I ran for public office but didn’t get anywhere.
Just before the mines closed for the final time, Dad had a lease sinking the Ajax below the 3100 level. He shipped two cars of the richest ore he had ever found. The company took back the lease in order that their employees could work it. They failed to find anyone who would take on that dangerous adventure. One last effort was begun by two local miners in the '80s. When they lost their lives, that ended the pursuit. When the price of gold escalated, Dad would have liked to go back down to get the ore, but appeared satisfied he had finally struck it rich although it was just beyond his reach.

After the mines closed, Dad, with my brother Axel, returned to Boulder Canyon joining a friend, Leo Zitnik, to mine at Gold Hill for a short time. After that Dad worked for the City of Denver for a few hours until they told him to lay pipe in a deep ditch without the walls being “shored up.” The miner in him told them it was not a safe venture and he quit the job. He returned to Victor and worked for a time for James Keener, timbering the Blue Bird and American Eagle Shafts which were never reopened.

In 1957, Dad and Mom purchased the Erickson house at 223 N. 6th Street so they would have more modern conveniences. Dad sold the home where they had raised their family to Virgil Wilkinson who dealt in real estate, which deeply distressed Mom. She did her best to encourage either of my two oldest siblings to buy the home; however, they left Victor for a better life and had no intention of returning. Her sadness seemed relieved somewhat when Jack and Arlene Young purchased the house.
Arlene’s sister, Ardis, husband Ken Garver and family spent summer vacations here before they purchased the Roberts’ cabin and planted their family’s roots in Victor. I think it was important to her that “her home” was filled with a family comparable to her own; they seemed to fulfill that need for her. Families have continued to fill the house since that time and I’m certain she would approve of the current family and the work they have done on the home.
Arlene’s sister, Ardis, husband Ken Garver and family spent summer vacations here before they purchased the Roberts’ cabin and planted their family’s roots in Victor. I think it was important to her that “her home” was filled with a family comparable to her own; they seemed to fulfill that need for her. Families have continued to fill the house since that time and I’m certain she would approve of the current family and the work they have done on the home.

Dad developed pernicious anemia in the '60s and was near death's doorstep when he finally went to Dr. Denman, who knew right away what the problem was. From that time throughout his life he was given monthly vitamin B12 shots. My children were very fortunate to live just across the street from their grandparents. They were always there for each other.
Following two strokes, Mom passed away in Wheat Ridge Sept. 11, 1966. Dad seemed pretty lost and lonely from that time forward.
Dad was interviewed in Victor by BBC, Penrose Library, a university in Arizona and Nancy Woods for “Grassroots People”. There were a couple of quotes that hit me pretty hard from her book: “If I had it to do over, I would not have been a miner. I would have become an educated man.”
I guess he did not realize what I did, that he was a highly educated man and his fate in “settling to be a miner” was a genuine loss to this “land of opportunity.” The story appears to reflect that he felt as though he was “stuck” in Victor; that he had not achieved the life he had hoped for when he left Sweden. I felt as I read his story he regretted not going back home. I also felt, thinking back, that if Mom had ever told her story it might have revealed similar regrets.
Following two strokes, Mom passed away in Wheat Ridge Sept. 11, 1966. Dad seemed pretty lost and lonely from that time forward.
Dad was interviewed in Victor by BBC, Penrose Library, a university in Arizona and Nancy Woods for “Grassroots People”. There were a couple of quotes that hit me pretty hard from her book: “If I had it to do over, I would not have been a miner. I would have become an educated man.”
I guess he did not realize what I did, that he was a highly educated man and his fate in “settling to be a miner” was a genuine loss to this “land of opportunity.” The story appears to reflect that he felt as though he was “stuck” in Victor; that he had not achieved the life he had hoped for when he left Sweden. I felt as I read his story he regretted not going back home. I also felt, thinking back, that if Mom had ever told her story it might have revealed similar regrets.

Dad had the opportunity for a long phone conversation, planned by his children, with his brothers and sisters in Sweden for his 75th birthday. Mom never had the opportunity for that experience.
Dad was pleased when Ernest tried out for the Chicago Cubs. I remember Axel Robert (Gabby) trying out for the Colorado Springs baseball team because he didn’t feel he was good enough to try out for the major leagues. Dad no doubt would have been excited to know that Gabby’s "Sun City West Team" won the National Senior’s World Series in later years.
Dad must not have realized, however, that without our parents’ great sacrifice of coming to America, those and other successes of their children might not have been.
Dad was pleased when Ernest tried out for the Chicago Cubs. I remember Axel Robert (Gabby) trying out for the Colorado Springs baseball team because he didn’t feel he was good enough to try out for the major leagues. Dad no doubt would have been excited to know that Gabby’s "Sun City West Team" won the National Senior’s World Series in later years.
Dad must not have realized, however, that without our parents’ great sacrifice of coming to America, those and other successes of their children might not have been.

In the book, “Grassroots People,” he told Nancy, “When I leave Victor, I’m not going to town, I’m going to heaven and look around.” He did leave Victor for a few years to live in Arvada with my oldest sister and brother-in-law. Dad passed away April 29, 1983, months short of his 90th birthday. This has always been bittersweet to me because he deeply believed if you made it through the winter you should be entitled to the summer.
He was laid to rest beside his “Golden Girl” May 3, 1983, in Crown Hill Cemetery.
He was laid to rest beside his “Golden Girl” May 3, 1983, in Crown Hill Cemetery.

Submitted by Shirley Beach, October 2016.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Shirley Beach, daughter of Axel and Betzi Olson, was born at Cripple Creek, Colorado in 1938, raised in Victor and graduated from Cripple Creek-Victor High School Class of 1956. She moved to Ouray, Co., returned to the District in the fall of 1957, and lived for a short time in Cripple Creek. She has resided at her home in Victor since 1959. Shirley has two children, nine grandchildren, twenty-two great grandchildren; and one great great-grandchild -- some of whom she has been blessed to inherit through marriages.
In high school she worked for the Isis Theater and Harshbarger & Son Stationery Store, discovering her passion for integrity in government at age 15 while she was employed by Teller County Clerk & Recorder, Ruth Thomas. Later employment with County Clerk and Recorders Ralph “Speed” Dial, Norma Altman & Johnny Johnston enabled her passion to take on even deeper meaning.
In 1976 she was hired as Administrative Secretary to the Board of County Commissioners, continuing as a Deputy County Clerk for recording the proceedings of Commissioner Meetings. With the help and encouragement of the three Commissioners, and others who shared her belief, she was elected Teller County Clerk and Recorder in 1978, serving in that capacity twelve years. She served as Victor’s City Clerk-Treasurer 1991-1995 and again 2007-2009.
Seeking additional understanding of human behavior and addictions, she was employed by an agency in Canon City 1995-2004. While she learned, she served Victims of abuse and sexual assault as well as the homeless in conjunction with the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless in Denver.
May of 2004 she returned to Victor full time working as a Seasonal Information Specialist with Mueller State Park. Shirley enjoys reading, the outdoors with all of Nature’s Wonders, especially sunrises, sunsets, the night sky and the mountains, walking, and music of all genres. In her journey through Life she has walked beside the well-known, politicians, statesmen, etc, as well as the unknown; struggling with unemployment, health, addictions and abuse issues. She is comfortable in the belief she has lived for and with the true fabric of America which her Parents may have been seeking as immigrants.
CLICK HERE TO READ "Memories of Mr. & Mrs. Axel Olson" by KC Garver, son of Ardis & Ken Garver -- part of the Olson's "Extended Summer-Time Family".
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Shirley Beach, daughter of Axel and Betzi Olson, was born at Cripple Creek, Colorado in 1938, raised in Victor and graduated from Cripple Creek-Victor High School Class of 1956. She moved to Ouray, Co., returned to the District in the fall of 1957, and lived for a short time in Cripple Creek. She has resided at her home in Victor since 1959. Shirley has two children, nine grandchildren, twenty-two great grandchildren; and one great great-grandchild -- some of whom she has been blessed to inherit through marriages.
In high school she worked for the Isis Theater and Harshbarger & Son Stationery Store, discovering her passion for integrity in government at age 15 while she was employed by Teller County Clerk & Recorder, Ruth Thomas. Later employment with County Clerk and Recorders Ralph “Speed” Dial, Norma Altman & Johnny Johnston enabled her passion to take on even deeper meaning.
In 1976 she was hired as Administrative Secretary to the Board of County Commissioners, continuing as a Deputy County Clerk for recording the proceedings of Commissioner Meetings. With the help and encouragement of the three Commissioners, and others who shared her belief, she was elected Teller County Clerk and Recorder in 1978, serving in that capacity twelve years. She served as Victor’s City Clerk-Treasurer 1991-1995 and again 2007-2009.
Seeking additional understanding of human behavior and addictions, she was employed by an agency in Canon City 1995-2004. While she learned, she served Victims of abuse and sexual assault as well as the homeless in conjunction with the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless in Denver.
May of 2004 she returned to Victor full time working as a Seasonal Information Specialist with Mueller State Park. Shirley enjoys reading, the outdoors with all of Nature’s Wonders, especially sunrises, sunsets, the night sky and the mountains, walking, and music of all genres. In her journey through Life she has walked beside the well-known, politicians, statesmen, etc, as well as the unknown; struggling with unemployment, health, addictions and abuse issues. She is comfortable in the belief she has lived for and with the true fabric of America which her Parents may have been seeking as immigrants.
CLICK HERE TO READ "Memories of Mr. & Mrs. Axel Olson" by KC Garver, son of Ardis & Ken Garver -- part of the Olson's "Extended Summer-Time Family".
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Please Share Your Memories and Family Connections to Victor & the World's Greatest Gold Camp by
Contacting Victor Heritage Society, PO Box 424, Victor, CO 80860 or e-mail [email protected].
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