GRANDPA JOE GREGORICH
(provided with help from Lori and Mark Gregorich)

This Gregorich family immigrated from the small town of Semic, Yugoslavia. It is not known at this time which family member was the first to come to the United States, but we hope to have that information soon.

John Gregorich (dates unknown) and wife Mary (born April 18, 1884 - died in May 1981) of Greenwood, Wisconsin were the parents of Grandpa Joe and Joseph Gregorich (born March 6, 1884 - died in April 1968) of Beaver Dam, Dodge, Wisconsin was the uncle of Grandpa Joe.

Grand-Pa John "Joe" Gregorich was born on August 22, 1908 and died August 7, 1993. He married Julia Tomac on August 3, 1932 and she is still living in Greenwood, Wisconsin. They have 6 children: Joe Jr., Robert, Raymond, Laverne, Bill, and Nancy.

Matt (John's brother) was born October 7, 1911 and died January 24, 1997.

A Gangster's Visit

By Judy Gregorich
As told by her father-in-law, Joe Gregorich

This true story occurred on April 24, 1934.

We lived on a farm outside of Greenwood, Wisconsin

The family was just getting up at about 5 o’clock that morning when Grandma heard someone open the front door. She went into the kitchen and saw a strange young man sitting by the stove. She came and told me there was a stranger in the house.

His car was parked in the shed. He asked, “Have you a radio in the house?” We said we didn’t.

I said to him, “Are you a C.C. Camp boy?” He answered, “Yes, I am.” He wore a checkered shirt, tweed pants, and heavy work shoes like the C.C. boys wore. He was so young and innocent looking, I had no reason to suspect he was George “Baby-face” Nelson—public enemy No. 1, wanted for bank robbery and murder.

He said his car had broken down and he would pay me to drive him to Madison, a distance of about 200 miles. I explained I couldn’t take him that far because I didn’t have 1934 license plates and did not want to be stopped by the police. Then he asked if I would drive him to Neillsville, 20 miles away. I said yes—but I had to do my chores first.

He followed my and watched as I milked and fed the cows—even followed my into the silo. He told me he was a bootlegger and pulled a large roll of money out of his pocket. He gave me $20 to make the trip to Neillsville.

We returned to the house and had a breakfast of eggs, buns, jam, and coffee. He asked if this was what we usually ate. I said times are hard. He gave me $10 and told me to buy some groceries. He held and played with our 7-month-old son—said he liked children and had two of his own. I showed him the headlines in the paper which were all about the search for Dillinger and his gang. He didn’t seem interested.

Before we left, he saw a razor in the house and said he would like to shave, but didn’t have the time. When we started to leave for town he said, “I gotta see that baby one more time,” and went back into the house—but I think he went back to make sure the others were still in the house and didn’t suspect anything.

He had hidden his car in the shed that morning. I asked him why he didn’t get his car fixed. He said because he was a bootlegger, he had extra-heavy springs in the back and didn’t want anyone to know.

When we were driving to town he turned to me and asked, “Do you think I look like Dillinger?”

I said, “No, but you could be one of his gang.” He laughed and said, “That’s good. I’ll have to tell my mom about that.”

He gave me a pack of cigarettes but I couldn’t get the cellophane off. He said, “Give them to me; you’re too nervous. I’ll open them for you.”

I stopped at the gas station in Greenwood and started to get out but he said, “You better stay in the car,” and the threatening look on his face warned me I better do as he said. I noticed he lowered his head and tried to hide his face when the owner came out to the car.

We started for Neillville and he asked if there were any motorcycle officers on the way. I told him yes, so he said, “We will go to Marshfield, instead.” I stopped a half block from Main Street in Marshfield and told him I couldn’t go any farther downtown without license plates, so he said goodbye to me there with a wide grin on his face. I bet he was thinking, "Wait til you find out who I really am."

I returned home an uneasy feeling and went out to the shed and took down the license number on his car. I took it to the Chief of Police in Greenwood, who called the Sheriff’s Department in Neillsville. They later identified the car as the one stolen for a mail carrier in Merrill, Wisconsin, on Thursday by George “Baby-face” Nelson. He had escaped from federal agents in northern Wisconsin on Wednesday, and in the gunfight had shot and killed three agents. He stole the car on Thursday and stopped at our house on Friday.

All that summer the family lived in fear that he or his gang might return. We were relieved when we read about him in the paper, seven months after his visit:

On November 27, 1934, in a bloody shootout near Barrington, Illinois, George Baby-face Nelson was shot 17 times but still managed to kill the two federal agents that shot him. He got away in his car and picked up his wife and a friend. His body, stripped nude to prevent speedy identification, was found in a ditch the next day.

This story was published in “Good Old Days” magazine, June 1991.

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