He was born the eldest son to Erik Larsen and Sidsel Andersdatter in Hamar Norway on November 24, 1862. That date is dear to me for my eldest son John was born on that day. That's where the 'Hammer' in John's name comes from. Erik and Sidsel lived at 54 Halock Gate in Hamar. Erik was a cabinetmaker and carpenter and Ludvig apprenticed his father. Here are Erik and Sidsel.
Erik (standing) with two brother, possibly Emil and Anton.
Ludvig longed to become a Lutheran minister, something impossible for a person of his class. So he saved his money and at age 18, made his way to Oslo (called Cristiana in those days), then onto the ship Rollo for Hull England. There he took a train to Liverpool and finally boarded a ship bound for America.
Weather was fierce and they were late, but the ship finally landed in New York. Ludvig put his large trunk on the dock and went to get a cart. He returned to find his luggage had been stolen, and he was left with only a small trunk containing his books, handkerchiefs, money, and new underwear. A nearby policeman sympathized, but said he could do nothing. While being examined and processed for entry into the United States, he was asked his name. In Norway, a child takes on the name of his/her father. As Ludvig was the son of Erik, he said, "Ludvig Eriksen."
The official replied, "Too many Ericksons. Where were you born?"
"Hamar."
"Hammer it is," the official said and Ludvig had not only a new country, but a new name. I wonder now how I would have felt in similar circumstances. All I can think is YIKES!
Luvig knew there were Norwegians living in Northfield, Minnesota and so he made his way there. On arrival, he stopped at a hardware store with a Norwegian name and asked for work. The man wasn't hiring, but said the Svien family had a big farm. Maybe they needed help. Ludvig hadn't eaten that day, but he hiked the ten miles to the Svien farm. It was supper time when he arrived, and Mrs. Svien opened the door. She invited him in to supper. He eyed the table in the dining room and although he was very hungry, he politely declined. Mrs. Svien insisted. The story is still told of the small young man who was not hungry and yet ate enough supper for three. The Sviens hired him. He worked, went to high school, learned English, and saved enough money to go to St. Olaf's College and eventually the Seminary in Minneapolis. He graduated in 1896 and was ordained in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.
He then went on to serve parishes in South Dakota. Here's his first Confirmation Class.
In 1896 he married Laura Olsdatter Anderson, but I'll tell her story another time. Here's their family. (The only car in the county.)
I tell this story to honor the courage of that young man of 18 who left behind all that he knew and loved--family and home--to follow a dream. I remember him as a small man in a dark suit. He always wore a hat outside. He and Grandma took naps after lunch. I can remember seeing them lying fully clothed on their narrow bed, side by side, sound asleep. He had an internal clock that went off at 10:00 in the morning and 3:00 in the afternoon. He could be seen walking briskly across the lawn into the house softly singing "lul-la-lul-la-lul." Grandma always had the coffee ready and a "bit of something sweet." He let me sit on his knee and drink coffee through a sugar cube. "Don't tell your mother," he said. I never did. Grandpa died in June 1944 and is buried in Meadow Ridge Cemetary in Faribault, Minnesota.
