Karelian Fever struck in the United States and Canada in the early 1930s, affecting mainly, but not exclusively, first generation Finnish-Americans.
  Finnish immigrants were divided roughly into two categories: the church Finns and the hall Finns; the latter tended to lean to the left politically and some even were Communists. When recruiters went to the halls to extol the virtues of the Russian way of life, many were tempted to leave America. The Depression was making life very difficult for farmers, miners, woods workers and small business owners; they were "experiencing the ruthless exploitation of capitalism."
  An interesting situation prevailed in Karelia, a Russian province located near the southwestern border of Finland. Dr. Edvard Gylling, a brilliant Finnish Communist, had become the prime minister of the province and hoped to make it a mainly Finnish-speaking area. In the first Russian Five-Year-Plan strategists assigned production quotas for Karelia which Gylling knew could not be met without financial help and skilled workers from other countries, specifically the United States and Canada. So the call went out for Finnish-speaking construction workers, loggers and fishermen to come to the workers' paradise and bring money and equipment with them. (Incidentally, Gylling was executed in 1937.)
  Inasmuch as the first generation American Finns could read English only with difficulty, they got a very slanted picture of conditions in Russia from the Finnish Communist papers the Tymies and Eteenpain.
  According to Mayme Sevander who has done serious research on the topic, as of 1996 she had identified 5,596 people who responded to the call, selling their belongings here and taking the profits to Karelia. Boatloads of several hundred sailed together to the strains of Internationale and the waving of red flags. They were an idealistic people, willing to work hard to establish a new society. The largest groups left in 1930-31, but by 1934 the size of the groups had diminished to as low as eight or ten.
  Of the almost 6,000 who emigrated, 1,346 returned. Seven-hundred-ninety men and sixty-three women are known to have been executed during the Stalin purges; many others died in labor camps of starvation during the Finnish-Russian War and during World War II. Some still live in Karelia. (See From Soviet Bondage by Sevander, 1996.)
  Let's look at the case histories of some who left from the Upper Peninsula and were able to return by varied ruses. It was difficult for people to leave after the purges in 1937.

Carl (Kaarlo) Tuomi from Rock led a life that was stranger than fiction. He went to Karelia with his mother and stepfather when he was sixteen years old. His father was executed during Stalin's vicious and extensive purges; his mother starved to death. According to columnist Thomas Sowell, "Stalin's man-made famine in the Soviet Union during the 1930s killed more millions than Hitler killed in the Holocaust." (See The Mining Journal, Sept. 6, 2000.)
  Carl fought in the Russian army all during World War II, then settled in Kirov where he first went to a teachers' college, and then taught there. He also drove a bread truck at night to support his family.
  One night there was an extra tray of bread on his truck. Put there accidentally? He took it home with him. Some months later he and a friend accidentally cut some firewood on government land. The KGB picked him up but promised not to punish him for the two crimes, if he would keep an eye on the faculty at his school and report any anti-Soviet activities. Unfortunately, he failed to report some sentiments expressed by a friend of his; but someone else did, so Tuomi was called before the tribunal again. This time they said they'd overlook that infraction if he'd serve as a spy in the United States. The alternatives were not good so he went to Moscow and studied the art of spying. In 1959, he left for the U.S. without being able to tell his family where or why he was going.
  Tuomi was flown to Canada where he took a train to Port Huron. The FBI knew of his coming and tailed him for several months before arresting him in Wisconsin. Again he was faced with alternatives. They said they could ship him back to Russia where the KGB might take a dim view of his capture, they could drop him through a hole in the ice on Lake Michigan or he could become a double agent, sending to Russia whatever information the FBI gave him. He chose the latter option.
  The FBI sent a phony death certificate to his wife so that she might remarry if she wished. He did remarry and for years spent his summers in Minnesota and his winters in Lake Worth, Florida.
  Tuomi felt sad about many of the things that had happened in his life but said he was able to give the United States government information about the Soviet build-up prior to the Cuban Missile Crisis, so perhaps his trials and tribulations had at least one very positive result.
  After glastnost when Gorbachev gained power, Tuomi was able to contact his three children, all teachers by that time, and invite them to the United States for a visit. I had an opportunity to visit with them at the Holiday Inn in Marquette (See MM, June 1989.)

  Matt Wiitala of Redgranite, Wisconsin, decided with a friend that it was time to leave Karelia because Stalin's cruelty had reached unendurable levels. They knew they would not be granted permission to leave, so on June 22, 1938 he and Charlie Berg Lintunen took a train from Petroskoi, the capital city, to an area where they had worked in the woods. They then set off on foot with a compass and a bit of food, headed for Finland. It was a dangerous venture; if they were picked up by the Russian border patrol they would be severely punished. Also, local inhabitants were rewarded with fifty rubles for reporting anyone attempting to leave Karelia, so they had to avoid all human contact.
  Wiitala and his friend sloshed through swamps, walked as quietly as possible through the woods, swam or waded across rivers, even tying a couple logs together for a makeshift raft at one spot. They slept on the ground, shivered, suffered innumerable mosquito bites and for the last three days had nothing to eat.
  Finally they crossed the cleared border strip where they were picked up by the Finnish border patrol and arrested as possible spies.
  Russia normally drove people they were sending to gather information in Finland almost to the border so they could slip over under cover of darkness. The Finnish police recognized that the two men they had arrested had walked a long distance, for they were covered with insect bites; they were very hungry and cold; their feet were in such bad shape that after they got their boots off they couldn't get them back on. They were genuine refugees.
  Wiitala was able to get back to the United States with financial help from relatives but his partner went his own way and they didn't see each other again. (New World Finn, Nov. 1999.)

Laila Korpi, originally from Ishpeming, went to Karelia with her mother in 1934, a few years after her father had gone. Her dad was assigned to a lumber camp; her mother became a mail carrier; and Laila was permitted to enroll in a Finnish drama school where she also studied dance, her first love. The Finnish people in Karelia at that time had an active social life.
  In a few years, the school closed, the speaking of the Finnish language was forbidden and Finnish books and magazines were burned. The time of terror was upon them.
  Laila had married Olavi Siiki, a second generation Finnish American from Detroit whose search for an ideal society had led him too to Karelia. He was very active in drama circles, even skiing to distant fishing villages and lumber camps to provide folks there with some entertainment.
  They had been losing friends, friends who simply disappeared and were not heard from again. One night in 1937 the dreaded knock was heard at their door and Olavi was led away. Her father, too, was arrested and taken perhaps to prison, perhaps to a labor camp or perhaps to be shot.
  After her husband was arrested, Laila was told to get out of their apartment and she lost her job. After all, the wife of "an enemy of the people" didn't deserve any sympathy. Olavi's parents volunteered to care for the baby Oliver while Laila and her mother wen to Kostramo to live. Life was harsh. Their fist winter in Kostramo was very cold. They didn't have a bed in which to sleep so they laid boards from trunks to chairs; put on all their warm clothes including mittens, shoes and tams; and piled under and over them whatever warm things they could find.
  During WWII, Laila was shipped to Siberia to work on a collective farm where all the other workers spoke only Russian; she perforce learned to speak Russian.
  She was moved to various factories and eventually found herself again in Petroskoi, where she taught English at the elementary level for nine years and later worked in a drafting department until her retirement at age fifty-five.
  Through the efforts and the generosity of her cousin Emmy Kulkki of Gwinn, she was able to return to the area of her birth, living in Snowberry Heights until her health deteriorated, at which time she was transferred to the Palmer Nursing Home. Her old ballet slippers, which she had carried with her through the many years, hung by their ties on the wall by her bed.
  Her son Oliver moved from Russia to Alaska and called her regularly. She never saw her grandson nor her three great grandchildren again, which was a sorrow to her.
  Although she had been an atheist, while in Snowberry Heights she attended church regularly, anxious to learn what religion was all about. When she died, a service was held for her at St. Mark Lutheran Church in Marquette, where I was privileged to deliver the eulogy.

Eino and Maria Keranen, grandparents of Laverne Chappell, a well known Marquette writer, never told her about the Karelian period in their lives until she was in college doing some research for a class in Russian history.
  The Keranens, natives of Finland, owned and operated a small forty-acre farm in Watton. Like many others, they yearned for something better, so during the years of "Karelian Fever" they sold their farm, packed up their young daughter and son, and with their worldly possessions they set off.
  They knew life would be difficult during the beginning years, but they found it to be more difficult than they could have imagined. No housing was available so the men had to fell tress and construct a log barracks. Some barracks provided a separate little room for each family, but theirs had only one big room for sleeping and a communal dining room.
  The lack of privacy was bothersome. The scarcity of food was irksome. Although decisions which would affect their group were made at group meetings, they quickly learned that certain comments and suggestions were not welcome and, in fact, led to the disappearance of the unwary.
  Together and very privately they discussed ways they might extricate themselves from the unexpectedly unpleasant situation.
  Their daughter Iria needed medical attention. It was possible that the forty-mile ride to school each week in an open truck during frigid winter weather and the poor diet may have caused, or at least contributed to her poor health. They decided to seek permission to take her to Finland where she might receive the care she needed. Fortunately, Mrs. Keranen had a lovely, warm winter coat with a fur collar that a number of women had eyed covetously; she also had her prized sewing machine. With those two items, they were able to bribe a Russian interpreter at the commune to expedite their trip to Finland. Actually they sold her the items and bought tickets to Finland with the money.
  Naturally, after they reached Finland, they didn't go back to Russia. They came back to Watton. They were able to reclaim their forty-acre farm with its modest house and barn, for the man who had "bought" it had made no payments beyond the first one, nor had he paid the taxes.
  They lived a quiet life on the farm, not talking to anyone of their unfortunate trip to Karelia. Were they embarrassed? Were they afraid the KGB or NKVD might be looking for them?
  It was basically a happy life, but in the back of their minds lurked the fear that at any time a car might drive down their lane with KGB men in it coming to punish them for leaving Russia without permission.

Lauri and Sylvi Hokkanen, a young, recently married second generation Finnish American couple also caught "Karelian fever." She had taught in a one-room school for a few years and he had worked in the woods, owned a little sawmill and a grain grinding mill. So in spite of the Great Depression, they were surviving rather well on Sugar Island, a small island in the St. Mary's River near Sault Ste. Marie.
  They were hall Finns, attending all through their childhood a variety of activities at the leftist hall, including political lectures by Communist leaders.
  Lauri and Sylvi left for Karelia in 1934, when "Karelian fever" had just about subsided. There was no band, no singing of the Internationale, no waving of red flags when their little band of less than a dozen boarded the ship, Smolny, for the journey across the ocean to Karelia. They really didn't have much to take with them except for a Simmons hide-a-bed and Lauri's tools, but they were young and strong.
  Upon arrival, they were assigned to a lumber camp in Uhtua, north of Petroskoi, There the bedbugs made sleep almost impossible.
  They did a variety of types of work. Sylvi, the former teacher, drove a horse around and around in a circle to turn a mixer to make brick slurry. She also served as a cook for log drivers downstream. Cooking was not a difficult task, for so few foods foods were available. They had porridge for breakfast and soup made of canned meat and dried potatoes for the other two meals.
  Sylvi hoped to teach in Karelia and was therefore pleased to be given an opportunity to attend a teachers' college in Petroskoi where she majored in Finnish and Finnish literature. She also had to study the Russian language and Russian literature and history, and philosophy—the philosophy of Communism. The most surprising course requirement was "War Study," which entailed a study of the rifle and rifle practice to get them ready for the final conflict with "capitalist exploiters."
  Lauri left the sawmill where he had been employed, accepting a transfer to a ski factory in Petroskoi. His skill in auto and marine engine repair was valued as was his ability to play the trumpet in the ski factory band.
  They lived in a barracks where they had their own cubicle for six years. They suffered long queues to buy whatever food might be available, and rued the lack of privacy. Sylvi had to get a Russian passport to continue with schoolwork, so almost unknowingly they gave up their U.S. citizenship.
  In the fall of 1936 she began teaching, earning 1,000 rubles per month, two times as much as her husband earned with all of his overtime. But her job of teaching Finnish literature and language ended abruptly just a year later when all Finnish language activities and materials were banned. So she got a job teaching in an all-Russian school. But it was an unmitigated disaster, for her Russian language was not acceptable.
  Late in 1937, a friend of theirs was arrested and taken away. Why? They were afraid even to speculate. In 1938 the same thing happened to many Finns and Finnish Americans whom they knew. The wives of many were transported to an island in Lake Onega and put to work in the lime quarries, and some were simply turned out of their homes and told to get out of town, e.g. Laila Korpi.
  The Hokkanens decided it was time to go home. They told the Soviets that their parents were ailing and needed their help. Surprisingly, they received permission to leave. They knew of only one other similar request that was granted at that time.
  A war was raging in Europe, so they came back to Sugar Island by way of Japan. They were permitted to take only twenty American dollars with them and their personal belongings, which consisted mainly of old clothes. After six-and-a-half years in Karelia that wasn't very much to have saved.
  They visited their folks on Sugar Island but then went to Detroit where Lauri got a job in a tool and die shop where he worked for twenty-nine years until his retirement, at which time they moved back to the island.
  They didn't talk much about their experiences in Karelia either, thinking that people might not be interested or perhaps, like Lauri's mother, simply did not believe what they said. In 1991, their daughter, Anita Middleton, helped them recall that time of their lives and publish a book, Karelia, a Finnish-American Couple in Stalin's Russia, 1934-1941.

The Hugo and Liisa Pelto Family story is the last story told here, one about those who did not return to the United States. It's included to provide a hint as to what's happening in Karelia today.
  Liisa Timonen was coming to the United States from Ii, Finland, in April 1912. She missed the boat from Southampton, and she also missed tragedy, for the boat was the Titanic. Some years later when she was working as a maid for one of the copper barons in Calumet, the lady of the house would not give her permission to leave the house on Christmas Eve. So Liisa missed tragedy again, for she had hoped to go to the Italian Hall. That was the night of the disaster, when someone called "Fire" and seventy-four people were killed in the rush for the exit.
  Liisa married Hugo Pelto and moved to Waukegan, Illinois until the Great Depression convinced them both that they could help build a workers' paradise more easily in Russia than in the United States. In 1931, they left with their fourteen-year-old son, Toivo (my second cousin), for Karelia. Our family received a picture post from him on which he wrote "This is a picture of the big shit [sic] on which we're sailing to Russia." We wondered whether the misspelling was a deliberate expression of opinion or a Freudian slip.
  It was in Karelia that Liisa's luck ran out. She lost her husband. Hugo was the assistant director of the Economic Division of the Petroskoi schools, but within five years he was accused of being an enemy of the working class and of conducting anti-Soviet activity with university students. After being tortured for eight days, he signed a confession admitting guilt to all charges. He was executed by a firing squad in February 1938.
  Liisa was deported east with her son Toivo, but managed to return to Petroskoi a year later only to be moved out again, this time to Volgodan, where she died of starvation and heart disease.
  Toivo was in a prison camp from 1939 to 1947. Upon release he married a Russian woman and they had a son, Viktor. Toivo worked in a foundry as a technology boss, retiring in 1968 and returning to Petroskoi, where he died a peaceful death.
  Viktor Paaso is currently a professor at the University of Petroskoi and the educational director of the Karelia Memorial Association, the purpose of which is "to rehabilitate the victims of the terror by erecting memorials to honor their memory and to increase the social benefits of their survivors."
  Mayme Sevander, a resident of Superior, Wisconsin since 1996 and a former resident of Karelia, reflects on the lives of those who were able to return to their homes in the United States and Canada. She feels that those who were still relatively young when they returned, such as the Hokkanens, were able to put the experience behind them and build happy new lives here. However, for older returnees like Laila Korpi who spent fifty-seven years in Karelia establishing family roots there, the adjustment was much more difficult. They tended to lead lonely lives in the U.S., acknowledging they had made a big mistake going to Karelia but wondering whether perhaps they had made another mistake in coming back.
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