Julius Austrian: Pioneer, Entrepreneur, Mensch

If you look in a dictionary, you'll find that the Yiddish word "mensch" literally translates as "man."

However, in its traditional meaning, "to be a mensch" is far more than a mere matter of gender.

A real mensch is a man of character; a man who is upright, honorable, and trustworthy; a man deserving of admiration.

A mensch is a man like Julius Austrian.

In the autumn of 1844, a young Jewish man stepped onto the shores of Madeline Island, determined to make a life for himself on the Lake Superior frontier. Julius Austrian had been born in Bavaria, but left for America at the age of 23. Disembarking in New York, he departed quickly for LaPointe, where he found a community in transition. The fur trade, which had dominated the regional economy for more than a century, was moribund, and the American Fur Company, the mainstay of LaPointe, was falling apart. New treaties were giving white settlers increasing incentive to move into an area which had long been Ojibwe territory. Rumors were circulating that Wisconsin would soon be admitted to the Union as the thirtieth state.

In short, it was a time of transition and turmoil... and opportunity, for those with vision to see it. Julius took a position at the island trading post, but within just a few years, bought out the owner, who preferred to trade at Mackinac Island. The young entrepreneur's stewardship of the trading post is a classic example of the adage, "Do well by doing good."

Austrian gained a reputation for honesty and generosity; both whites and Indians knew that they could count on him to deal fairly, and to help them when in need. One measure of the respect he quickly earned: his name appears as a witness on the treaty between the Ojibwe and the United States signed at Fond du Lac (near present-day Duluth) in 1847.

The final demise of the American Fur Company provided Julius Austrian with the business opportunity that ensured his continuing prosperity. In 1853, buying the lands that once belonged to the fabled company, he suddenly became one of the region's largest landowners. At the same time, he diversified his activities, opening a store in the newly established town of Bayfield, and joining with other investors to set up the "LaPointe Iron Company" to mine ore in northern Wisconsin. It appears that he even dabbled in farming: the 1860 Census shows him holding 150 acres of farmland in LaPointe Township.

An incident from this era illustrates the precarious conditions faced by settlers on the island outpost in this difficult stage of its history. Where once the Ojibwe had lived a self-sufficient life at LaPointe, the threadbare community now relied on outside shipments of food to make up for shortages. As winter closed in, and the lake showed signs of freezing over, Austrian stockpiled flour and corn meal, both for his own family, and to share with his Indian neighbors. A later account tells how one of these winters was especially long and hard, and the opening of navigation delayed by ice that lingered in the lake. Supplies were running low and real privation threatened the settlement. Guy Burnham, in his Lake Superior In History And In Story, takes up the tale from there:

The Indians were begging for food every day and it was hard to refuse them. The flour was used up and the corn meal nearly so. Still Mrs. Austrian would deal out small quantities. Finally they were down to the last sack, and then to the last pan-full. She saved the very last for her family, and made some corn bread from it. This was all they had to eat in the house. She gave the children half of this for their supper, but went to bed without tasting any herself.

About midnight she was awakened by the cry of "Steamboat! Steamboat!" And looking out the window she saw the lights of the Star appear approaching the dock. She said that now she felt justified in going downstairs and eating the other half of the corn bread that was left.

The "Mrs. Austrian" of this account was the former Hannah Leopold, of Detroit. Sister of a business associate, Hannah married Julius at the age of twenty, and shared the hardships of pioneer life with him ever after, raising a son and daughter on the northern frontier. Her obituary, published in 1910, claims that she was the first white woman to set foot in the newly established town of Bayfield.

What was it like being a Jew on the frontier? Julius Austrian left no writings to tell us of his feelings on the subject. Perhaps Julius and Hannah faced some of the same challenges described by Linda Mack Schloff in her study of Jewish pioneer life in Minnesota, And Prairie Dogs Weren't Kosher: the cultural isolation, the lack of access to traditional religious institutions.

Was Austrian ever faced with anti-Semitism along the shores of Lake Superior? Again, he does not tell us himself, but we know that one of his neighbors seemed unable to accept Austrian as anything but an outsider. Rev. James Peet, the sour missionary who chronicled his mercifully brief Bayfield sojourn in doleful detail, apparently developed a cordial relationship with Austrian, and was not reluctant to accept his hospitality. Yet his diary entries never fail to stress the chasm that Peet clearly perceived between them: more than once he records, "Took supper at Mr. Austrian's, the Jew." Even when presented with a magnanimous donation of building material for his church, Peet feels compelled to mark the event in similar terms: "Mr. Julius Austrian (a Jew) gave me... 800 feet fence boards gratis."

One would hardly realize, from Peet's condescension, that "the Jew" had been a respected member of LaPointe society more than a decade before the Methodist arrived, and stayed around long after the latter scuttled off in 1859. It is satisfying for a modern reader to reflect that Rev. Peet was soon forgotten in the town, but Julius Austrian maintained lifelong ties to the community, and was universally mourned on his passing.

Like many pioneers, however, Julius Austrian seems to have been a restless sort, and one town could not hold him forever. In 1862, after 18 years split between LaPointe and Bayfield, Austrian moved his base of operations to Eagle River, where his younger brother Joseph had settled; then nine years after that, relocated once again to St. Paul.

Throughout his latter years, Austrian kept up his connection with the Chequamegon country, returning to the area regularly, both for business and social purposes. In the 1870s, he built what some claimed was the first store in the city of Ashland, and about the same time advertised in the Bayfield Press: "Julius Austrian - Produce & Commission Merchant And Dealer in Coal and Pig Iron - St. Paul, Minn." and assured his former neighbors, "Particular attention paid to Lake Superior orders." In 1886, he returned to attend the festivities held at the Island View Hotel marking the thirtieth anniversary of Bayfield's founding.

As he entered his seventh decade, Julius Austrian cut back on his business activities, and committed his remaining years to performing works of charity. The Torah teaches that when one does a good deed, or mitzvah, one becomes closer to God. This was surely true in Austrian's case, as he labored to help the poor and needy; but his good works also hastened his journey to eternal reward. On March 18, 1891, while bringing food to a poor family in St. Paul, Julius Austrian was run over by a horse-drawn beer wagon, and died of his injuries: a bizarre end indeed, to a life of adventure and accomplishment.

To the life of a true mensch.

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Originally published in The ECHO, Sept.-Oct.2008