I have often said I was born 40 years too late because I have always been fascinated by “old school” life - whether it is vintage clothing, classic cars, or simply the way people lived in those days. There is something about that era that draws me in including all the stories of my Slovenian immigrant grandparents.
Northern Minnesota became home to many immigrants of which I am a proud descendant of four of them. The iron mines and logging camps offered steady work for anyone willing to roll up their sleeves, and Slovenians were certainly no strangers to arduous work.
Among those immigrants in the early 1900s were Joe and Katherine Spreitzer, the parents of my dear friend, Josephine “Jo” Pruse. They left behind a Communist-controlled homeland where opportunities were limited, and private property ownership was denied. They crossed an ocean because America represented something they had never truly known - freedom.
They arrived in Ely carrying little more than their faith, determination, and a willingness to work. They did not fully know what freedom would look like in America, but they believed in its promise. They earned everything they had through honesty, perseverance, and unwavering faith. God was at the center of their lives. As a child, I did not fully understand why these immigrants were so devoted to church. Today, I do.
Joe and Katherine were married at St. Anthony’s Catholic Church in Ely on July 8, 1906 by Father Joseph Buh, who would later become Monsignor Joseph Buh and whose cause for sainthood is now being discerned by the Catholic Church.
Together they built a home, a family, and a life. They welcomed 14 children into the world. Josephine, better known to everyone simply as “Jo,” was the youngest daughter and the 12th child born into the bustling Spreitzer household of four boys and 10 girls.
Little did anyone know that this youngest daughter would one day become one of Ely’s living treasures, carrying with her more than a century of memories, stories, faith, and wisdom. And that is where my friendship with this remarkable 102-year-old woman truly begins.
Jo was a childhood friend of my mother, Julia Chimzar Mavetz, and my aunt Catherine Chimzar. Catherine graduated from Ely Memorial High School in 1941, Jo followed in 1942, and my mother crossed the stage in 1943. Long before I knew Jo, she was already woven into the fabric of my family’s story.
Jo was born in 1924, the very same year Ely Memorial High School first opened its doors. One hundred years later, in July of 2024, Ely celebrated the school’s centennial with a massive allclass reunion. Since Jo and the school shared the same birth year, the planning committee knew they had found the perfect ambassador. They proudly selected her to serve as the Grand Marshal of the Fourth of July parade, making her the living symbol of a century of Ely history.
Jo had celebrated her 100th birthday just a month earlier and almost overnight, she became Ely’s favorite celebrity. The attention never seemed to faze her. That is just not who Jo is.
She is a woman who is witty, intelligent, and as sharp as a tack. She certainly does not act her age, whatever that is supposed to mean. She laughs easily, pokes fun at herself, and when something strikes her as funny, her giggle is that of a little schoolgirl. It is impossible not to smile right along with her.
At 102 years old, Jo still possesses the curiosity, humor, and sparkle that many people lose decades earlier. Spend five minutes with her and you will quickly understand why so many people adore her.
As I began putting together this column, I asked Jo a handful of questions about the life she has witnessed over the past 102 years. Her answers were timeless. As an old soul myself, I smiled because they echoed so much of what I heard growing up from my own parents.
When I asked her what had changed the most during her lifetime, she did not hesitate.
“Technology,” she said. “And everything that changed after the war. That is when secular humanism started.” Then she paused, smiled, and added with one of her trademark giggles, “It’s hard to believe I wasn’t alive when our country started… but I wasn’t.”
Jo has been a devout Catholic her entire life. Her parents were among the many European Catholics who settled in communities across America. They found opportunity here, but acceptance did not always come easily. Catholics often faced prejudice and were viewed with suspicion by many Protestants. In those days, the idea of a Catholic serving as President of the United States seemed impossible.
When John F. Kennedy ran for president in 1960, he felt compelled to assure voters that he would govern according to the Constitution and not under the direction of the Pope. His narrow victory over Richard Nixon marked a turning point in American history. “Things are much better now,” Jo reflected. “It’s not as rabid as it once was.”
When our conversation turned to changing social values, Jo quietly shook her head.
“I never dreamed the world would become like this,” she said. “I was so naïve because of the way I was raised.”
In the Spreitzer household, certain subjects simply were not discussed.
“Sex wasn’t talked about,” she laughed. “My mother used to go through my older sister’s movie magazines and tear out every page that showed couples kissing.”
Her mother, she said, was very strict.
“We did not learn about a loving God. We learned about a punishing God. Each of us had our own personality, but mother hoped one of her girls would become a nun.” Then came another one of Jo’s perfectly timed punchlines. “‘Nun’ such,” she said, bursting into laughter.
None of her four brothers were encouraged to become priests. With 14 children and a 40-acre farm on the east end of Boundary Street, every pair of hands was needed at home.
When I asked what it was like growing up during the Depression, Jo became thoughtful.
“You learned pretty quickly who had and who didn’t,” she said. “School taught you the difference between the haves and the have-nots.”
Growing up in such a large family made them stand out.
“We were trusted,” she said proudly. “I started babysitting when I was nine years old.”
Only later in life did she fully appreciate the sacrifices her parents made.
“I never realized how hard they worked or how much they worried. They were always concerned that one of us would bring scandal to the family. That would have been a disgrace. We definitely had the fear of God put into us.”
Jo’s father briefly worked underground at the Pioneer Mine until a friend, Charles Trezona, urged him to leave because it was too dangerous for a man with such a large family to support. He accepted a position with Ely’s water department (called Ely Waterworks), operating the pumps that supplied the city’s water from Burntside Lake, near what is now the wastewater treatment facility.
But the family’s heart remained on their 40-acre farm. “My father worked like a dog,” Jo remembered. Together with his sons, he cut down trees, peeled the logs, milled the lumber by hand and built a beautiful barn. It stood for countless hours of sweat and determination until tragedy struck. Someone intentionally burned it to the ground. Even after all these years, Jo still speaks of the loss with sadness.
Our conversation returned to Monsignor Joseph Buh, the priest who married Jo’s parents. She had always heard stories about the remarkable missionary priest who devoted his life to northern Minnesota Catholics. One story especially touched me that whenever a new baby was born in Ely, Father Buh would prepare soup for the mother and deliver it personally— regardless of the family’s religion or nationality.
He was equally well known for traveling by foot, snowshoes, horseback, buggy and eventually by train to minister throughout the Northland.
Jo shared one favorite story.
One day Father Buh forgot his railroad pass. The conductor refused to let him board. But when it came time for the train to leave, the locomotive simply would not start. Finally, the conductor relented and allowed Father Buh aboard.
The engineer tried again and the train started at once. Jo and I laughed together at the possibility that there was a little divine intervention involved.
When I asked if she remembered the end of World War II, her face lit up.
“Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “All the boys were coming home, and it was quite something.” Many returned home and used the GI Bill to attend college. Others went directly to work rebuilding their lives.
Her future husband, Bernie, returned to Ely after serving in the Navy and signed up to attend Dunwoody Technical School in Minneapolis.
Jo and Bernie were married at St. Anthony’s Catholic Church in 1947. Bernie still had one year remaining in the Navy, and for Jo, it marked the beginning of a whole new chapter.
“I had never left home,” she said. “I’d always been under my mother and father’s thumbs.” For a young woman who had spent her entire life in Ely, marriage meant not only beginning a family, it meant beginning a life of her own.
“A Real Friend is a Second You...” Our conversation swiveled to the subject of marriage, motherhood, family, and what life had taught her after she and Bernie celebrated an extraordinary 71 years as husband and wife. Their love story did not begin with grand romance – it began with letters.
While Bernie was serving in the Navy during World War II, the two corresponded “rather platonically,” as Jo described it with a smile. Bernie had been dating someone else before entering the service, but when that relationship ended in marriage, to someone else, Jo said she happened to be there at just the right time.
“I guess I was on the rebound,” she laughed. “But I did not care. It was perfectly okay.”
One of my favorite stories involved Jo’s mother. Long before Jo fell in love with Bernie, her mother did. Not romantically, of course, but she thought he was exactly the kind of young man she would like to see around. Bernie worked as a grocery delivery boy for Zup’s. Jo’s mother especially admired that he never swore like so many of the other boys his age.
Whenever Bernie came to the house, Jo admitted she would disappear. “I’d run and hide,” she laughed. “I didn’t like watching my mother talk to him.”
When I asked Jo the secret to a happy marriage, her answer came without hesitation.
“You have to be compatible,” she said. “It helps to share the same faith and similar values. Marriage is a partnership. It is give and take. You must be responsible.” She was also quick to point out that two people do not have to be identical to have a successful marriage.
“We were different,” she said. “Bernie was stricter with the children than I was.” Then, with another twinkle in her eye, she added one final observation. “He was conservative, even though he was a Democrat back then. Democrats in those days were okay, they were not so crazy.”
Whether readers agree with her or not, it was another reminder that Jo has lived through more than a century of American history. She has watched political parties, social norms, technology and the world itself change in ways few people alive today can truly appreciate.
When our conversation turned to motherhood, Jo did not hesitate. “It was my biggest calling.” In fact, when I asked what she wanted to be as a little girl, she answered emphatically. “A mother!” Her answer surprised me only because it came so quickly.
Speaking from her deep Catholic faith, Jo believes motherhood is one of God’s greatest gifts to women.
“God created a man and a woman to have a family,” she said. “For me, that’s our greatest vocation.”
Then, unable to resist adding a little humor, she smiled and said, “God equipped us and made us fancier than men,” followed immediately by one of her trademark giggles.
With motherhood being her greatest inspiration, nothing brings her more joy than talking about her four children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. The pride she has in each of them is unmistakable, and she never hesitates to express the deep love and admiration she holds for her family. They are, without question, the center of her world.
Despite having such a large family, she knows every one of their names, stays involved in their lives, and celebrates each milestone and accomplishment with genuine excitement, as though it were her own. Her unwavering
love, steadfast devotion,
and heartfelt pride in her family are among the many qualities that make her such an extraordinary woman.
Her advice to younger generations was simple. “Engage with people. Always try to help them.” She also encouraged people not to fear making mistakes. “That’s your best teacher,” she said. “When you make a mistake, you learn not to do it again.”
Then came another lesson from her kitchen. “And remember to put baking soda in when you’re baking,” she laughed. “If you don’t, it doesn’t rise to the occasion.” She suggested laying out every ingredient before beginning a recipe because, as she knows from experience, it is easy to forget one.
When I asked if she had ever imagined living to be 102, she answered before I could finish the question. “No! Never, ever!” Then her expression softened. “I am still amazed God is keeping me down here this long. Sometimes I feel a little deserted.”
That answer stayed with me. Jo now lives with severe vision loss that has left her nearly blind. Ironically, that challenge is what brought us together. When she needed someone to occasionally fill in to read the weekly church bulletin to her, I volunteered because I had recently retired. What began as a favor has become one of the greatest blessings of my life.
Our weekly visits have grown into time filled with homemade food, laughter, stories, hugs and conversations that somehow nourish both of us. I have discovered a friendship unlike any I have ever known with someone my own age.
When I asked what it was like to outlive so many family members and lifelong friends, she admitted it was sad, but her faith quickly answered her sorrow.
“God promised we’ll see each other again,” she said. “It’s only a brief interruption.”
Then she said the words that became the title of this column. “A real friend is a second you.” I don’t think I have ever heard a better definition.
Jo has given me far more than I have ever given her. Her wisdom, unwavering faith, generous heart, and quiet joy have become gifts I never knew I needed. And she never misses an opportunity to make me laugh.
One day, after struggling with something, she looked at me with a grin and said, “Maybe if I swear, things will happen.”
Another memorable Jo story is when my boyfriend Curt and I brought a freshly baked apple potica to Carefree Living, where Jo now lives. As we were leaving, Curt helped the ladies to their feet, handing out walkers and canes along the way and Jo was the last one up.
Curt leaned in for a goodbye hug and an innocent kiss on the cheek. At that exact moment, Jo turned her head, and - oops! - his kiss landed right on her lips. Without missing a beat, Jo looked up at the ceiling, laughed, and said, “Well, Bernie…did you see that one?” We all burst out laughing. Even accidental kisses can make for unforgettable memories.
For the past 10 years, she has shared a wonderful friendship with fellow Ely resident Gina Vespa. Their friendship began in an unforgettable way when Jo walked into the Ely Wells Fargo Bank and told Gina she needed to make a “transfusion.”
With a smile, Gina replied that she was in the wrong place and that the hospital was “over there by the water tower.” Jo, who has always been able to laugh at herself, took the mix-up in stride. What began as a humorous banking encounter soon grew from a business relationship into a treasured and lasting friendship.
These days, Jo resides at Carefree Living, but with a grin she will tell you it is actually “Careless Living.” It is classic Jo, always ready with a clever quip that leaves everyone around her smiling.
Another time she told me that when she and Bernie were married, Father Mihelcic asked, “Do you take Bernard Spruce to be your lawful husband?”
“I almost laughed,” she said. “I thought to myself, ‘No… but I’ll take Bernard Pruse!’” Even today’s headlines do not escape her wit. As we talked about the news recently, she shook her head and declared, “Sodom and Gomorrah was like a walk in the park compared to what’s going on now!”
That is Jo. Always sweet. Always cheerful. Always filled with the spirit of the Lord. These days, her version of happy hour is watching Mass on EWTN. “The priest drinks the wine,” she says with a grin, “so I don’t have to.”
At 102 years old, Josephine “Jo” Pruse continues to remind everyone fortunate enough to know her that faith endures, laughter heals, friendship is one of God’s greatest gifts—and that a real friend truly is a second you.
