As the Crow Flies

Snow keeps piling up around these parts. I told Mary we’re getting set up for a good three day blizzard; those high banks plowed off to the side of the streets would fill to the tops, and we’d have to sit waiting for heavy machines to come in to clear the roads. A December snowfall record has fallen — 42.3 inches, over twice the average amount. The local reporting station is located at the Bismarck airport, but as the proverbial crow flies that spot is only about two miles from here, so that amount more than likely holds true for our location, too.
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I can tell another story regarding the line a crow flies. For several years I’ve been gathering information on the old time ox-cart freighters who crossed my home area hauling their loads, much of it between Fort Abercrombie and Fort Ransom. Their two major routes meandered a bit, one followed the high water route and the other the low water route. The low water route followed a more direct path between the forts. When the Sheyenne River ran low some accessible fords let them make better time on their journey.

We used to put up hay on a virgin sod meadow on the farm where I grew up, and I remember my tractor bumped over deep ruts each time I mowed or raked across it. Dad told me it was an old prairie road, but little else was said. Lately I’ve gotten to wondering if those tracks may have been part of the low-water route so I have spent some time in the Heritage Center library looking at old maps. There I found an old atlas dated 1884 that lays out a beautiful picture of how the land looked. On it two principal locations gave me information I wanted. On Christmas Day I brought the subject up with Dad again and he told me that an old-timer told him the trail in question was the Owego to Sheldon road and that he had hauled mail over it for a time. Given that information I laid a ruler between the two settlements of Owego and Sheldon and its crow fly line intersects our old meadow perfectly. So I can’t claim to have found an ox-cart trail, but I proved something else that was personal to me and that is satisfying.

My research will result in my writing a long poem, and this one verse came to me:

Handed this piece of the past
that otherwise would fall prey
to the vast Pit of Forget,
I recalled the times when I,
astride my hayfield tractor,
double-bounced over the cusp
of those ruts and cussed at their
presence.

Presidential Stuff

George W. Bush is this country’s forty-third president, and most of us are ready for number forty-four. I believe Mr. Obama is taking the right course by being relatively quiet as we approach his inauguration. He says we have only one president at a time. Bush can earn his paycheck until then and take the credit or discredit for what transpires. It appears as though Obama closely studies the presidency of President Lincoln; there is probably none better to take as a role model.

Santa Claus brought me the book of the second president that I had wished for: John Adams by David McCullough. I have opened it to read a few pages, and it looks to be a great read. Adams has probably been overshadowed by the book-end presidents of Washington before him and Jefferson behind him, but my previous reading illustrated how important a leader he was at our country’s outset.

He was at odds with Jefferson throughout his presidency and served just one term after Jefferson defeated him. One quote attributed to Adams was “Thanks to God that he gave me stubbornness when I know I am right.” Because he was stubborn he kept the U.S. out of war when France attacked our ships at sea. He knew we were not prepared for a military action, but instead he proceeded with diplomatic action. When talks were taking place he approved the building of six new ships, one of which was the U.S. Constitution. He wanted to be prepared for the next incident. He was the first occupant of the White House and a note he left upon leaving was carved into the mantel of the State Dining Room: “I pray Heaven to bestow the best of Blessings on this House and all that shall hereafter inhabit it. May none but honest and wise Men ever rule under this roof.” He died at the age of ninety, the longest living president until he was surpassed by Ronald Reagan who lived to be ninety-three. Then Gerald Ford broke Reagan’s record when he lived to be 45 days older.

The Best Laid Plans...

The English poet Robert Burns wrote this line in the poem To a Mouse on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough: “The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.” To translate from the olde English he said “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” We discovered quite rapidly our responsibility lies here in North Dakota so we have canceled our planned bus tour to the Southwest.

Some days ago Mary’s dad, 92, slipped on the ice and fell breaking the femur bone quite badly in his right leg. He has been hospitalized ever since and will need close attention for some time. Recently a phone call from my dad informed us my mother, 88, was taken by ambulance to an emergency room in a Fargo hospital to reset a dislocated shoulder suffered from a fall. It was her second episode with the shoulder, the first being a visit to a local hospital and an overnight stay. Then, we also found out that my dad, 93, had fallen while taking garbage out to their dumpster and could not get back up and laid there about a half an hour before help came along.

We’re in the midst of a hard winter with lots of cold and snow. We have decided it is best to stay right here, stock up with lots of books, and offer as much assistance as we can to our parents.

Shoes and Stalin

More on shoes: I remember a time when I was guilty of throwing my shoe at a target, too. One day I sat relaxing in my house in Sheldon, and I saw movement in the entryway. Myron Boeder’s pet raccoon, an animal with a local reputation for being a fearless pest, had opened my screen door with his claws and strolled into the kitchen snooping around for some treats, I suppose. My shoes sat on the floor in front of me, and I reacted immediately by picking one up and flinging it hard in the animal’s direction. He moved much faster on the way out than on the way in, and thereafter I got in the habit of latching the door’s hook.
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A small article buried deep on page 4 of our local daily paper caught my eye with the headline Russian treason bill could hit critics. The lead sentence stated that “new legislation backed by Prime Minister Vladimir Putin would allow Russian authorities to label any government critic a traitor — a move that rights activists said...was a chilling throwback to times of Soviet dictator Josef Stalin.”

If the present Russian leaders act as Stalin did then citizens of that country will again be severely restricted if they want to speak out against government leaders and policies. To avoid punishment for treason individuals will have to restrain and censor their speech and actions. History says Stalin in his “Great Purge” killed off thousands of people whom he perceived as being dissenters, including many of army’s top generals.

Leon Trotsky rose to a high leadership position after the Russian Revolution. Then when Stalin began to exercise his murderous tendencies Trotsky fled the country, eventually settling in Mexico City where he continued to verbally assail Stalin’s tactics. Stalin quieted him though when he sent an assassin. Trotsky, unwittingly, welcomed this man into his home to hold a discussion. The assassin had a pick axe hidden under his topcoat and struck Trotsky in the head with it. His last words were “I think Stalin has finished the job he has started.”

Tragic-Comedy: Shoe Throwing

President Bush got a pair of shoes thrown at him in Baghdad, and I laughed along with all the jokes the comedians started making about it. In fact, I told Mary when I first saw the news of the incident that this will be a bonanza for the late-night talk shows. Well, I was right. The Huffington Post even features a video section where you can see several of the comedians accumulated in one clip: "Watch: Late-Night's Shoe Throwing Joke Bonanza." Last night Keith Olbermann talked to a comedian in a separate studio who ducked dozens of shoes thrown at him. But it's probably enough already!

I thought about it a bit and have concluded this is a tragic-comedy. Bush's demeanor at the time was admirable in that he tried to downplay it by saying something like that can happen in a free society. The tragedy is that we make our President into something like a buffoon and that the amount of respect paid to him has fallen to this level. Rodney Dangerfield made the quotable remark "I don't get no respect," and unfortunately that's where Bush is at. I'm glad a changing of the guard is near at hand.

Brrr!

Brrr! and Baby, it’s cold outside! With wind chill the temperature is 41 degrees below zero. Our short but severe blizzard moved on but didn’t want us mere mortals to forget, so it left us with temps registering in the lower levels of the thermometer after dumping a foot of snow. Yesterday after the wind lessened I cranked up my faithful John Deere snowblower to take the bulk of the snowbanks off the driveway and sidewalk and then went out this morning to clean up the sidewalk a bit, but I couldn’t stay out more than a couple of minutes. That air is just too sharp to be breathing while exerting. Thankfully it was a short storm. My standard for judging the severity of a blizzard always goes back to the one in March of 1966. It was the worst one in my memory. It was for other people, too, enough so that two gentlemen, Douglas Ramsey and Larry Skroch, published a book in 2004 entitled One to Remember: The Relentless Blizzard of March 1966 containing 661 pages of small type.

The tally of lives lost in that storm came to 18 humans plus uncounted livestock deaths. I spent the three day storm cooped up in a house in Bowdon, North Dakota that I shared with two other bachelor teachers. Believe me, the time passed very slowly. My mother got caught home alone, and luckily when the electricity failed the heating system in the house didn’t require blowers to radiate heat. Dad spent the time at a meeting in Fargo and couldn’t make it back. The cows didn’t get fed for awhile. In the book reference was made of my aunt Lorraine Devitt who stayed to work in a Lisbon nursing home for 30 hours straight before someone could get there to replace her so she could go home to rest.

As I write this I am listening to a radio talk show and hear several old timers call in to speak of the March 15 blizzard of 1941. A Google search turned up these statistics: only one inch of snow fell but 75 mph winds accompanied it and 39 lives were lost in North Dakota and 29 in Minnesota. As we’ve traveled around the country a bit the usual comment from people, upon learning we are from North Dakota, is “I hear it gets cold up there.” Duh.

A Blizzard and a Veteran

The threat of a blizzard roaring through our region this weekend hangs over us, and it makes me think about what needs doing before it hits. I’ve always said I don’t mind North Dakota winters so I’d better get mentally prepared for it. This morning I headed to the hospital again to visit the father-in-law who seems to be doing very well. Tomorrow will be a two-for-one visit since my sister-in-law will also be a patient on the same orthopedic floor with a knee replacement job.

I enjoy meeting people with interesting stories to tell. This morning we had to wait in the hospital hallway while nurses tended to Adam, and as we did so the gentleman in the next room stood in his doorway trying to get a staff person’s attention. After a bit one of the aides came and asked him what he needed, his answer was “Coffee, please.” He spoke to us in his Massachusett’s accent, and it wasn’t long before I realized he wanted to talk to someone. He told us he’d been hospitalized because he’d had a stroke. It didn’t take long before he said he was a veteran of the Korean War and was thinking of finding a veteran’s home. I mentioned the new one under construction in Lisbon but he didn’t care much if it was new or not but what kind of people ran it. We needed to report everything we said so it wasn’t long before I saw him dig a small hearing aid out of his pocket and fit it to his ear.

He walked with a limp so I asked if he had been in combat; he told of two bullet wounds in his leg and a bayonet stab wound in his shoulder. Yes, it was hand-to-hand combat. Was he a rifleman or a machine-gunner? He was a chaplain’s assistant. I was unsure if a clergy type carried weapons. He said, “I carried a .45 pistol, but I couldn’t shoot it with a Bible in my hand!” Apparently he had to set the Bible down since every able bodied man was needed to repel the waves coming at their hilltop position. By then, he had visibly tired and wanted to go back to lie down. I think I’m going to try and find him tomorrow and visit with him again.

Turns of Fate

We were reminded Monday evening of the speed at which a life can turn around. My father-in-law, 92, walked to his mailbox at the front of the house and slipped and fell on a patch of the treacherous ice that accumulated in our area. Wearing only a vest he was not prepared to lay in the below zero wind chill we had at the time. He hollered for his daughter in the house, but since his voice has weakened with age he did not make himself heard. Luckily, a house dog did hear him and signaled Sharon that something terrible happened. His persistence clued her to investigate after some minutes had elapsed, and she found him where he had fallen. She called 911, then us, and by the time we arrived at the scene five minutes later the ambulance and a fire truck were already on the scene.

In the ambulance he did not complain much about the pain, but rather how cold he was. Not to make the story much longer, he got hooked up with a good orthopedic surgeon who operated yesterday morning and put a rod into his badly broken femur bone, and, voila, Adam took his first steps on it today already.

Many of these old-timers possess incredible inner strength with a strong will to survive and do not let things such as this get them down. I think, too, of my parents who have been hospitalized and rose to live active lives again. For some reason the poem "Invictus" popped into my head as I thought about it all:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

(In Latin, Invictus means unconquered.)

A Fable

I don't spend a lot of time reading the countless stories that get forwarded in my email, but the following one made sense to me, so it is my blog for the day.

Once upon a time a man appeared in a village and announced to the villagers that he would buy donkeys for $10 each. The villagers, seeing that there were many donkeys around, went out and started catching them. The man bought thousands at $10 and, as supply started to diminish, the villagers stopped their effort. He next announced that he would now buy donkeys at $20 each.

This renewed the efforts of the villagers and they started catching donkeys again. Soon the supply diminished even further and people started going back to their farms. The offer increased to $25 each and the supply of donkeys became so scarce it was an effort to even find a donkey, let alone catch it!

The man now announced that he would buy donkeys at $50 each! However, since he had to go to the city on some business, his assistant would buy on his behalf.

In the absence of the man, the assistant told the villagers: "Look at all these donkeys in the big cage that the man has already collected. I will sell them to you at $35 and when the man returns from the city, you can sell them to him for $50 each." The villagers rounded up all their savings and bought all
the donkeys for 700 billion dollars.

They never saw the man or his assistant again, only lots and lots of asses!

Now you have a better understanding of how the WALL STREET BAILOUT PLAN WILL WORK !!!!

Research

On my way to Bismarck this morning I noticed ice floes in the Missouri River. Winter! My destination was the Heritage Center’s library to do some research on a few townships located in my home area: Greene, Owego, and Shenford. Since publishing my humble book of poetry I have suffered through a non-productive time. My mind has been blank except for a couple of decent poems I’ve been able to conjure up. I need many more if I’m to publish a second volume. Then out of the blue a whole trainload of ideas ran by which has prompted me to get excited about researching for them.

Idea # 1: As a young lad, I raked hay in an old meadow of virgin sod and always bumped across a pair of deep-rutted tracks that ran the width of the field. From where they came and to where they headed I often wondered. Then the epiphany struck — were they part of the old ox cart trail that ran from Fort Abercrombie to Fort Ransom? My trip to the heritage library to find old Ransom County atlases resulted in my copying a few pertinent township maps, namely Greene, Owego, and Shenford. With them I gained the section coordinate numbers to compare to locations listed in old research articles I copied several years ago when I became interested in one of the old ox cart freighters, Donald Stevenson. It is an interesting project. Some imaginative soul gave Shenford its name because of the crossing of the Sheyenne River was only SHIN-deep and can be easily FORD-ed. With the application for their post office the spelling Shinford was submitted, but it came back as today’s spelling Shenford. I don’t know if I can identify that two-wheel track in the meadow, but I’ll sure have fun trying.

Idea # 2: A few years ago I got extremely interested in a bucking horse in this area that was never be ridden except for one disputed time. It was before the modern rules of rodeo were written, so even with the cruel and unfair advantages riders possessed when they mounted him he fought back with fury. He was rejected as a World War I mount destined for the battlefields of France because of being unbreakable and escaped the glue factory because his owners saw money in him as rodeo stock. In the end he had been turned out to free range pasture and died unheralded in a blizzard. I wrote a long, rambling poem about him and read it at the Cowboy Poetry Gathering, but I know now I can make great improvement over that first effort.

Idea(s) # 3: Both Mary and I have collected numerous stories of ancestors who all suffered hardships. Their stories will soon be forgotten unless they are preserved in some literary form, just as the above two ideas need be.

Idea # 4: Many more will come my way. We attended our bank’s appreciation holiday feed last evening where we ran into two people we traveled with on our recent trip to Branson. They complimented me on the poetry book I gave to them and the couple they were with wondered if it was cowboy poetry. I stated some were but there are so many other good poems to write, too. So off I go.

Blood Letting

This morning I sat in the blood donor chair again and gave one unit of red blood cells and two of plasma. It takes awhile, probably an hour counting the intake interview, then they want you to sit in their waiting room for fifteen minutes before leaving. I don’t mind sitting the extra time because I partake of lots of their free pop and snacks. While the pump was drawing blood out of my body and circulating solution back in I had time to look around. One gentleman came after I was settled in and I couldn’t help but notice that he wore something remarkable - jeans with patches on the knees.

My mind turned to the archaic system of blood letting to cure sick people of their ailments, and those procedures weren’t very sophisticated. In fact, the barbers did a lot of the work including tooth extraction. Today’s barber poles with their red and white stripes reflect that. The pole represents the stick that the patients gripped in misery, and the stripes the bloody bandages that were wrapped around to dry. The shaped bottom of a pole represents the leech pot.

One of the first medical clinical trials on record took place in France in 1836. There a doctor treated pneumonia with blood letting, and some he didn’t. After a period of time he noticed the pile of dead bodies stood taller where they were stacked by the blood letting sink than the untreated pile. He determined that blood letting probably harmed the patients. Quite an epiphany, I’d say.

As far as famous people treated with the procedure I read where Andrew Jackson submitted. My history said, “Periodically, he experienced episodes of hemorrhaging and difficulties breathing, for which he was bled.”

Frosty Morning

A frost fog clouded the valley floor this morning; at the edge of this opaque whiteness emerged a herd of deer, a wonderful sight! We’ve counted close to a hundred deer at times that come to eat at the dormant alfalfa in this large acreage. Throughout the year several species of wildlife romp in that field: turkeys, pheasants, coyotes, deer, and who knows what else. At times they have visited Mary’s gardens, a fact attested to by the footprints we find.
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Since graduating from or attending colleges and universities, Mary and I receive regular mailings from their alumni offices in the guise, of course, of keeping us informed of our “beloved” alma maters. Their ability to keep track of us in our moves is really uncanny; they’d sure love to get a piece of our estates when we leave this old earth. Admittedly, there are bits of interest in these publications, and last week I received The Bulletin from Valley City State University where I read of the passing of an old history professor of mine, Dr. Donald Welsh. I remember especially one day in his class. It was a sad time in our country. I had learned just a few minutes earlier that President Kennedy had been shot. Dr. Welsh came in visibly saddened and told us our history class would not be held that day. For about a week a gloomy pall hung over everyone’s head.
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Who will replace Hillary now that she has been nominated as Secretary of State? I think one name I’ve heard mentioned was done in jest - Bill Clinton. I don’t think the U. S. Senate is a big enough field for him to play in, but it is not without precedent that a past president gets elected to congress. In my history book I read that our sixth president, John Quincy Adams, served seventeen years in the U. S. House of Representatives after his term of presidency.

I Had To Go Do It

Well, I had to go do it, shopping on Black Friday, that is. I was not, however, one of those to go wait in line for the 4 a.m. opening. We got to the mall around 8 a.m. and as the morning progressed we were joined by more and more people. I lamented a bit about not going to the gym instead, but after I finished ducking, sucking in my gut, doing pirouettes, stopping short for those who did the same in front of me, listening in on nearby cell phone calls, and on and on, I'd had enough exercise. To start the morning out I was very polite and said "Excuse me" each time I ran into someone or got banged by a woman's purse when she turned sharply. Mary told me it was time to go home after I told her that I'm going to stop being polite and start saying, "Get the hell out of my way," or "Watch where you're going, Lady" or some other more graphic expletives. Mary knows me pretty well by now so I had to agree.

We lucked out with finding a good parking spot since we happened on someone just backing out. I made a couple of trips taking things out to the car and felt a certain diabolical pleasure in teasing other cars who thought I might just be leaving. I'd open my trunk and they'd sit waiting for me to get in and drive away. Then I'd casually close the trunk, open the car door as if to get in, and then change my mind and walk back into the mall. I haven't quite gotten into the Christmas spirit yet.

To top the morning off, I thought about buying an item for a gift that was a "Door-Buster Special," but I held off because I wanted to ask Mary if I should. After finding her she agreed with me and we returned to buy the item only to see two store clerks cleaning out the basket because the time had come and gone for this special pricing. Merry Christmas

Interested in Learning

The recent election of a new president made me interested in learning more about all the presidents of the United States. One day while browsing around in Barnes and Noble, I spotted a book on their bargain table and bought it, The American President, A Complete History. In it seven or eight pages is devoted to the lives of each man. I’m finding each one an interesting read; last night I finished the seventh president’s story, Andrew Jackson. He was a very colorful character, liked by some, despised by others.

Jackson had to make his own way through life. He became orphaned by the age of 14 and learned to be combative. It was said of him that if a fight occurred at school he was usually in the middle of it. He participated in several duels and carried around a bullet slug in his chest received while killing his opponent in 1806. When Tennessee became a state he served as its first congressman and became a high ranking officer in its militia. In the War of 1812 he, to quote a line from a Johnny Horton song, “beat the bloody British in the town of New Orleans.” This was really quite an unfortunate affair as far as I’m concerned because the British had signed a peace treaty several days before the battle. News traveled slow in those days.

His reputation was that of supporting the common man. When Congress tried to recharter the Bank of the United States, he promptly, as President, vetoed the bill. If he would have had any power in the not yet existing state of North Dakota, he would never have gone along with our Bank of North Dakota, the only one of its kind in the country. His support for the common people did not extend to slavery or Indians. It was under his guidance that the ill-fated Trail of Tears, the relocation of Indian tribes, took place.

Our visit to his plantation site east of Nashville showed where he showed compassion to his favorite slave by letting him be buried close to Jackson’s grave. Compassion? While standing by the grave sites at The Hermitage, I looked northward to an open pasture area and saw a herd of black cows with white belts. It was a bit of information I passed along to my Uncle Russell while he lay in his hospital bed. I know he liked hearing the story since he's the one who founded the Buelingo breed. Now it’s on to the story of Martin Van Buren.

Thrift

I missed my keyboard Friday, but we felt we needed to drive to Lisbon to visit my mother in the hospital. When a member of the family falls ill everything else gets set aside. I've been thinking about blogging regarding a recent article in our daily paper titled "Americans Turning Toward Thriftiness." The first line of the article stated that frugality is making a comeback and that Americans are showing an enthusiasm for thriftiness not seen in decades. As we drove back home I thought that my mother and dad and Mary's mother and dad plus many more in their generation wrote a big chapter in that book.

My thought turns to a popular style of jeans where the knee, sometimes part of their rear end, shows through a rip or frayed spot usually manufactured to be that way. While we were growing up we earned the look the hard way. Small bales of hay required our walking along and throwing them onto a rack. Most of us used our thighs and knees to give the bale an extra boost, especially when the load grew higher. New pants hardly ever took their place. My mother and many others patched them, and when that patch wore through, they sewed another over that spot. A basket full of holey socks always waited on her attention, and an old light bulb sat in there, too, which she inserted to give some body to the sock as she sewed with needle and thread.

The article talked about people staying home more and cooking their own meals. We never did go out to eat a meal. Physical work on a farm dictated a large breakfast, an even larger dinner of meat and potatoes, and leftovers added to and prepped for supper. Cows were milked for fresh cream and milk, chickens were kept for fresh eggs and meat, garden fruits and vegetables were preserved for winter eating, and on and on.

This Christmas season will probably wash out some marginal businesses because of people tightening up. In the long run, though, it doesn't bother me because I think this trend towards thriftiness is good for the country as a whole. I probably won't do much different since I've always been thrifty. I had good teachers.

History

Last evening a program on public television caught my attention, so much so that I passed on the semi-final of “Dancing with the Stars.” The title of the two hour program — “The Bible’s Buried Secrets: Exploring the Evolution of the Bible, from the Origins of the Israelites and Beyond.” I find it intriguing how, with bits of writing and shards of pottery, so many conclusions can be drawn from the smallest of clues. Apparently some discussion has gone on whether or not King David was a historical figure or a mythic character. On a found bit of stone tablet, dated to about 1000 B.C., an inscription indicating “The House of David” proved to archaelogists that he did indeed exist. So many points regarding the development of the Bible and monotheism were made that I’m not going to try to summarize them. One interesting point though was the discovery of two tiny silver scrolls that pre-dated the Dead Sea Scrolls by 400 years that when unrolled revealed the Priestly Blessing still used today as found in the Book of Numbers, Chapter 6.

As I watched I was reminded of a book I’d read many years ago. James Michener’s The Source which, for the main point, centered on an archeological dig and told of successive discoveries made as the scientists reached deeper and deeper into one cities’ past. Michener, in all his genius, explored the evolution of the Jewish religion in this large novel.

I’m further reminded, given my and Mary’s interest in family geneology, of how difficult it is to ferret out information of family after two or three generations have disappeared. Most of us do not have to go back very far before we hit a solid wall which we cannot travel through. The average person who passes through this life does not make many waves and facts of his or her life are not recorded in history books. About all we can do is make generalizations about their lives by reading history of the period in which they lived.

The VP

The vice presidential candidates received more than their fair share of attention this year. The election is finally over so we can get back to more important issues, but the vice presidency intrigued me, though, and prompted me to do a little research on the beginnings of this office since I'd forgotten most everything I'd once learned in Political Science 101. The first vice president was John Adams. It was no question that George Washington would be elected president, and, after only a little discussion, Adams was chosen to serve as VP because of the solid reputation he'd earned with his domestic and foreign statesman experience. Also, his peers considered him to be a man of high intelligence who inspired a lot of the thinking that went into the Declaration of Independence, although Thomas Jefferson has received a lot of credit because he was the better writer. With input from Benjamin Franklin these three gave birth to the document. The Declaration did not meet immediate approval from the Second Continental Congress. There, Adams had to go to work promoting it because he was much the better orator; Jefferson was poor at speech making. It was adopted, as we know, on July 4. At this point Adams and Jefferson were still on friendly terms.

Washington retired from the Presidency after his second term, probably with a belly full of the bickering that had developed within his cabinet. Alexander Hamilton held the post of Secretary of Treasury and Thomas Jefferson was the Secretary of State. These two battled over their huge ideological differences, and as an outgrowth of it, the political party system began to take shape. Adams was in the background to this because as VP he had no voice in the cabinet, but he agreed with Hamilton who supported strong federal powers. Jefferson believed in strong states' rights, and when the election took place it was Adams versus Jefferson. The electoral college met to elect a president and chose Adams with 71 votes to Jefferson's 68 votes.

Adams was now the top man and Jefferson's second place made him the vice president, the only time in our country's history that men of opposing political parties held the top two positions in the government. Since Adams supported the Hamiltonian philosophy of government, he was at odds with Jefferson. The rift between these two former friends widened, and in the next election Jefferson went on to defeat Adams. Still, these two held enormous respect for each other, and after a period of several years of no communication between them, they started their friendship up again. It seems as though their destiny revealed itself with this improbable fact: they died hours apart on July 4, 1826

Makes Sense To Me

Somebody said something a couple of days ago that I thought made good sense even though it will never come to pass. It went something like this: Wal-Mart hasn’t made its money by attacking Target or K-Mart. They’ve made it by telling people what they have to offer. Now wouldn’t that be a refreshing way to run a political campaign? Instead of attacking their opponents and digging up as much dirt as they can, they would instead concentrate on what they have to offer. Too often it seems we have to guess at the outcome by voting for someone.
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We missed quite a snowstorm last week by getting out of here and going to Branson. Schools, businesses, and roads closed, and all we had to do in Branson was complain how cold it was down there. Every time we go on a trip we run into cold weather. Two years ago Texas threw lots of it at us, and last year Florida caught a lot of our group without warm clothing.
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Our friend Ole is really ugly. When he was born, the doctor slapped his mother. His mother was so ashamed of him, she borrowed another baby for the baptism. His parents had to tie a pork chop around his neck to get his dog to play with him. One night a woman stopped him on the street and asked him to follow her home. There she asked him into the bedroom. Anticipating some excitement, he followed. In the bed was a little boy sniffing and crying. “There,” said the woman, “I told you, Junior, if you didn’t stop crying and go to sleep, I’d bring the boogy man in!”

Branson

We returned last evening from our Branson, MO trip. As usual, it was a great time meeting new folks on the tour bus, attending shows and eating good food. A last minute schedule change got us out of Bismarck on Wednesday night because of the threat of weather socking us in. The hunch was correct. We enjoyed hearing about the blizzard without having to experience it. It takes about a day and a half to get there and Omaha, NE was the overnight point both coming and going. The Farmers Union tours are popular and the bus was filled to capacity.

A rundown of the shows we attended includes:

1. Baldknobbers Jamboree Show - Good music and comedy, the highlight being three hillbilly comedians, two of whom took out their false teeth and one who put in a set of buck teeth. We laughed so hard I had a sore throat yet the next morning.

2. Doug Gabriel Show - Good music furnished by Gabriel, his wife and kids, and some good backup.

3. Daniel O'Donnell - My favorite, a world class entertainer. He has a tremendous ability to connect in his folksy style with an audience, and I always enjoy hearing the little old ladies in the audience squeal when he wiggles his hips. His singing partner Mary Duff is good, too.

4. Dixie Stampede - An arena show featuring lots of horses. The audience sits on five rows of risers facing the arena and food is served. No eating utensils are furnished, you eat with your fingers. Those who have never attended before were surprised when a whole Cornish hen got plopped on their plate.

5. Red Hot and Blue - Billed as the hardest working entertainers in Branson, and they may well have been with their singing, dancing, costume changes, etc. as they performed music from different time periods.

6. The Promise - A Biblical show depicting the life of Christ. Excellent production on a large stage with lots of scenery changes. We visited with one of the actors before the show, and I remarked on the barely noticeable tiny microphone he had strapped on his head. He said they cost $10,000 apiece and the cast had 28 of them.

7. Shoji Tobuchi - Always a class act show! He has the most elaborate sets and costuming in Branson. He doesn't speak English well, but he talks a lot anyway and tells funny stories. He said he is a good fishing buddy with Mel Tillis and that Mel says in his show that he can't afford to fish with Shoji anymore because Shoji always eats the minnows.

It was our fourth time in Branson, and I'm sure there will be more in the future.

We're Taking Off

We're going to Branson, MO for a week and just got a message from our bus company that we're going to leave tonight because of the threatening weather. I'll be back at my blog in about a week.

Slavery thru 16th President

Finally, the last day of the political campaign is here! I doubt if anyone will miss the ads on radio and tv when tomorrow comes. I heard a tidbit this morning that I think is remarkable; it would have been legal for the first 16 Presidents of this country to own Barack Obama as property, i. e. as a slave. So that means the following list of men could have used a whip on him to go hoe the fields and pick the cotton: Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Adams, Jackson, Van Buren, Harrison, Tyler, Polk, Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, Buchanan, and Lincoln.

I'm not sure how many actually did hold slaves, but I know Jefferson did and has been linked with one of his slave women as bearing a child by him. Andrew Jackson was a slaveholder; I have seen his grave site at The Hermitage in Tennessee where, nearby, his favorite slave is buried.

The Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution officially abolished slavery and was adopted on December 6, 1865.

Headin' to Mpls

We gotta go celebrate grandson Luke's 3d birthday this weekend. I don't look forward to the drive, but we're gonna do it. I drove by the big bridge they dunked in the river yesterday; it's really strange to drive by on the new bridge and not have anything obstructing the view as I look north.

Ole dropped by and told a couple of stories about himself again: A Swede in our town was never able to develop a liking for Norwegians. So, one of his fellow Swedes was surprised one day to see the Swede give a coin to a monkey perched on the instrument of a Norwegian organ grinder. "I thought you didn't like Norwegians," said the friend. "Yah, dat's true," replied the Swede, "but they are so cute when dey are little."

Another: A Danish lady sent her husband downtown to get a pair of loafers. So he came back with two Norwegians.

One more; Ole proved he isn't so dumb --- An ocean liner was sailing the Atlantic when it hit an iceberg. Survivors were able to take to lifeboats except one boat taht was overloaded by three persons. Nobly, a Frenchman volunteered to sacrifice himself, leaping into the water with a shout, "Vive la France!" Next an Englishman stepped to the edge of the boat, bravely shouting out, "God Save the Queen!" and then jumped in the ocean. Finally, Ole the Norwegian stood up, reached over and grabbed a Swede. He shoved the Swede into the water, and then shouted out, "Long live Norway!"

The Bridge Came Down

The remaining two spans of what was once the only vehicle bridge spanning the Missouri
River between Sioux City, IA and Great Falls, MT fell into the water today after a series of about 300 detonations broke it into countless pieces. Both local television stations broadcast the event live and just before the plunger made contact, I turned the sound off my tv set to hear for myself the energy that was uncapped. As the proverbial crow flies, I sit about a mile away from the scene, and the slower sound took two or three seconds to get to me; it was loud, something like a kettle drum roll or a nearby thunder clap.

An employee of the state historical society stood with the reporter from the station I watched and gave interesting perspective about the bridge which bore the name Liberty Memorial Bridge, so-named to honor veterans of World War I. He said that with two years of the 1923 opening of the bridge, 2200 vehicles were crossing it each day. Designed for cars like the Model T or the Model A of the period, the span became increasingly out-dated with heavier vehicles crossing it in later years.

Animal rights people complained after the first event a couple of weeks ago. Clouds of pigeons swarmed out of the section that time with the explosions, and I heard some concerns also stated about the fish underneath. To appease the critics this time, bottle rockets were set off to scare the birds away, although it looked like thy just flew in a circle and settled back in. They said something was done about the fish's safety, too.

The best story of the day featured a 98 year old man who remembered the bridge construction when he was 12 years old. He said he asked a construction worker at that time how long the new bridge would last and was assured it would stand longer than he would. There he stood, though, in his walker being steadied by a man on each side, with the key words: there he stood.

1968

Today, for some reason, my thoughts ranged back to the time I spent in Alaska, 1968. Literature and stories of that place "where the world is young" had been gnawing at my imagination for a couple of years, so I just had to go find out if what I'd been hearing and reading were true. I arrived in Anchorage seven days later, driving through lots of rain and mud (the Alaskan Highway was not fully paved yet). I discovered a person needed a permanent address to even apply for work, and I did not want to jump through the hoops in front of me. With winter coming on, I did not think it a good time for me to be there, and with my financial resources steadily draining, I decided to get out of there. I thought a grand adventure would be to hitch a ride on an Alaskan ferry southward, so I drove the long road to Haines, the northern terminus of the ferry system, bought a ticket, and watched deckhands drive my Impala in the hold of the ship.

Prior to that I had a few hours to kill so I drove a few miles along the Lynn Canal and took the fishing pole out of my trunk. Never before and never since have I caught fish like I did that day. Those Dolly Varden trout bit and fought everything I threw at them, and I soon tired of it. Besides, a thickly wooded area surrounded me, and I remember worrying that a big bear might come out of the trees. I drove back to the loading dock at Port Chilkoot and turned my keys over.

The M. V. Wickersham was a sleek appearing, narrow bowed ship built in Sweden that carried up to 1300 passengers and 140 vehicles. She was a working vessel that served ports along the route with passenger and freight hauling. I found the receipt for my fare: $33.25 for me and $96.00 for the Impala. I rode for about thirty hours as we stopped at Skagway, Juneau, Sitka, Petersburg, Wrangell, Ketchikan, and Prince Rupert, BC. As we sailed along, I enjoyed sitting in the solarium lounge on the top deck with a beer in hand while I watched the world of the north country come at me through the glass. Mary and I went to Alaska by cruise ship to celebrate our 25th anniversary, but it did not compare with my first journey, more of which can be shared in the future.

"Shocked"

It'll be good to have both this political season over with, though I'm afraid we'll have to live with hard economic times much beyond the electing of new politicians. Alan Greenspan, past head of the Federal Reserve, said yesterday before some committee that he was "shocked" at what's happening in the economy and that he put too much faith in the self-correcting power of markets. He had been a champion of de-regulation all along, and it must hurt him now to admit to being "shocked." Of course, there are always cries of "Socialism" arising from the din if and when the Federal government steps in to correct some wrongs, and I think I even heard Sarah P. accuse Obama of being a socialist.

I have been re-reading a history book A People's History of the United States that I purchased a year ago at a gift shop in The Hermitage, Andrew Jackson's home. Authored by Howard Zinn, he writes from the point of view of the average, common person, not the big figures of history. It's a good read, and his populist point of view is refreshing.

Zinn writes, too, in my last issue of The Nation magazine an article titled "A Big Government Bailout" and makes the case that we have always had government intervention in our economy and gave examples, among them the establishment of tariffs to subsidize manufacturers, subsidizing manufacturers, subsidizing canals and the merchant marine, giving 100 million acres of land to the railroads, infusing cash into the aircraft industry after World War II, giving oil companies an oil depletion allowance, bailing out Chrysler Corp, bailing out the savings and loan industry, establishing the New Deal to rebuild the nation's infrastructure, establishing social security, etc.

Presently we have a lot of problems that everyone seems to be looking to the new President to solve. It'll take citizen participation to at least not answer the question of what is the biggest problem - ignorance or apathy with a shrug of the shoulders and say "I don't know and I don't care."

I'll Miss the Jokes

I'll miss this political campaign season when it wraps up; actually, what I'll miss are the jokes. Some of the issues aren't so funny, but there's always a comedian ready to jump on any opening. I like the one Jimmy Kimmel told: Sarah Palin had a good thought. She suggested that while Barack Obama is over in Hawaii visiting his grandmother, it might be a good idea for him to keep an eye on Japan.

Palin is a rich lode for the comedians. The spoofs they do about her on Saturday Night Live rate extremely high. I wonder what jokes they'll tell tonight about her $150,000 wardrobe when, after all, she is just another hockey mom. Comedy material dealing with her lack of knowledge of the constitutional duties of a vice president doesn't seem very funny,though. Contrary to her statements, a VP does very little constitutionally. LBJ found that out when he was JFK's VP. He thought he could continue to wheel and deal as before, but he frustratingly found himself shut out of any decision-making. She does not exhibit many of the characteristics I would find necessary in a potential leader, such as intellectual curiosity or being well read.

I can take a few stabs at writing comedy about her in the Ole and Lena style: Did you hear about the Norwegian secretary named Sarah. She is so experienced, she can type 20 mistakes a minute; or, Sarah was once a waitress in a nice cafe. One day a customer complained, "Waitress, I can't find any oysters in this stew." She replied, "Vell, yew vouldn't find any angels in an angel food cake, either, vould yew;" or, Sarah was elected to the town council as mayor. At her very first meeting, she suggested that they buy a new fire engine. When asked what the city should do with the old engine, she replied, "Vell, for one thing, ve could use it for false alarms."

With that, I shall quit because they won't get any better.

McCarthyism?

I got plenty disturbed last Friday afternoon watching "Hardball" on MSNBC with Chris Matthews. Politics is usually the topic du jour, and one of his guests that day was a U.S. Congressperson from Minnesota, Michele Bachmann, who accused Barack Obama and other members of Congress with having anti-American or unpatriotic views and should be investigated. Thankfully, Katrina vanden Heuvel, publisher of The Nation magazine followed Bachmann's rant and with an angry, impassioned response put it in very plain terms what this would mean - McCarthyism !

This country has operated quite well with divergent views since its inception, much like a pendulum swinging back and forth between left and right philosophies. If the U. S. of A. operated like Bachmann seems to want, we might as well call our system an oligarchy where a small group exercises control, much like we have been seeing in the Bush Administration and the financial system, both of which are corrupt and in shambles.

I am old enough to remember the period of McCarthyism when Senator Joe McCarthy of Wisconsin made wild charges, something that was not very comfortable to watch. He made the accusation that more than 200 Communists worked in the State Department and were committing traitorous actions. Subsequent investigations found no Communists, but he started the ball of rumor and innuendo rolling and went on to drag many before the House Un-American Activities Committee and asked the familiar question, "Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party?" His tirades continued until finally the Senate condemned him for "conduct unbecoming a member." I don't know what fate awaits Ms. Bachmann, but there is already a petition circulating to tell Congress to censure her.

Talkin' About Old Times

My father-in-law joined us for a supper of macaroni and hamburger hotdish last evening. He will soon be ninety-two years old, and like my parents he holds a huge library of memories inside his head. It is interesting to get them talking about their "old days," and I always try to preserve some of their stories on paper. How about this one we heard last night, for instance? No names will be mentioned here, but on a bull buying trip to Mandan, one of Adam's companions got drunk and rode all the way back home, 75 miles or so, in the trailer with the bulls because he wanted to get sobered up. Adam worried about him and checked on him several times, but apparently he rode back there all the way home.

These stories are all 60 to 70 years old. Here are a few more.

* A neighbor's house burned down because the man's kitchen matches were in the pockets of a pair of overalls that was hanging in an open porch. The wind kept slamming them back and forth and ignited the matches.

* A cow belonging to an acquaintance of his living in Mandan somehow got trapped in the city's ground level water tank and died there, a fact nobody knew about for some time as they drank the water.

* Adam rode the train a few times when he shipped his cattle by rail to Sioux City. His wife, my mother-in-law, always packed a big lunch which his companions always poked fun at until, of course, they got hungry and helped themselves to it. When they got to Sioux City, he said, you could buy a big steak dinner at the stockyards cafe for seventy-five cents. Then, cattle only brought about $50 per head.

* He made whisky a few times using as ingredients corn, potatoes, wheat, and chunks of sugar. He'd run it through the still two or three times, then test its purity by burning it in a spoon. If it all disappeared in the flames it was good.

* A hired man who Adam often hired at harvest time liked to drink, got drunk this one time, slept in the garage, and in the morning the new litter of kittens were crawling all over him. He tried leaving the garage later on and somehow got his head caught between the garage's sliding doors. There he hung, and Adam said he thought he was dead, but everything turned out all right.

* There are many more tales to tell and so many of them are tragically sad like the one where a relative in Russia drove a wagon load of prisoners to be executed and found out later on his father was in the wagon. They will be told at another time, however.

Redecorating

I'm back at my computer keys after taking a few days to redecorate my study. It took one false start (wrong color), a painting re-do, laying a new carpet, a little cussing at each other, and now it's done and I'm good to go. Mary works hard at these projects, and when she consented to helping me, she really dug in. I, of course, would not be able to do many of these things without her, but I do have to put in my two cents worth, although I mostly kept my mouth shut except to say, "Yes, ma'am."

This morning we hung pictures, one of them is a poster depicting our local national sports hero, the famous bucking bull Little Yellow Jacket. I admire him for being the accomplished sports champion that he is, besides the colors work well in here. The second picture up is my favorite of all time, "Found." In it a Collie dog howls for his master to come after he found a lost lamb in a snowstorm. I've always liked that picture for as long as I can remember. The folks had that scene hanging up when I was a small boy and still do. Familiar things feel good to me.

I've had a collection of black and white pictures grouped together that we hung up again, too. Four of them are of family members standing with teams of horses. Grandpa Bueling, a young man, stands in Plum City, Wisconsin in the early 1900's at the head of a large, strong team that he holds by their bridal straps. Dad's always said that he was a good horseman and broke a lot of them to work. Grandpa Sandvig, in another picture, sits on the seat of a hay mower hooked up to his team. He poses thoughtfully while giving the animals a rest. My mother and her brother, Marion, are young kinds, but in another frame, there they stand holding a mismatched team hitched to a hayrack. They look too young to have done much heavy lifting, but they probably were put to work doing something. One more horse scene shows my dad holding in one hand the reins of his team, Chub and Queen, and, in the other, my hand, a young toddler. I remember that team because they were still around as I grew older, and, under close supervision, got to drive them.

Two more pictures went into my grouping: one, a scene of Sheldon's main street taken sometime in the early 1900's, and the other, a picture of a man standing in a suspended wool sack who is packing the fleeces in it. He is a relative of Mary's, and it is the only picture I have ever seen taken of that kind of activity. It is meaningful to me because I used to do that and have always remembered how my shoes became soaked with the lanolin oil from the wool.

The TR Symposium

I drove over to Dickinson Friday and attended the Teddy Roosevelt Symposium sub-titled The Conservationist in the Arena. They had some top-notch scholars giving presentations, each of them full of interesting anecdotes. I started jotting down a few of them.

* Douglas Brinkley recently spent time with Lance Armstrong to prepare an article about him for some magazine. He said he found him to have such a strong inner strength that he wouldn't bet against him in the next Tour de France, a strength he compared to TR's of whom he is writing a biographical book.

* Dr. Donald Worster, history professor at the University of Kansas, said there are no checks and balances at work when the government acts as a business partner with corporatons. I think he was alluding to present day circumstances.

* Dr. Robert Morgan, author of Gap Creek, Boone: A Biography, plus other novels of Appalachian Mountain folks as well as some top rate poetry thought Daniel Boone and TR must have been close in temperament, both having a certain blood lust for killing wild game.

* Clay Jenkinson, our North Dakota humanities scholar, gave up many stories like these: TR took up jiu jitsu for awhile and said there was nothing more exhilarating than being thrown over the head of a 300 pound Japanese man; TR rode on a cattle train and ran along the tops of the cars to get to downed critters and prod them to stand up; TR thought it a great episode in his life when in Wibaux, Montana he downed a drunk bully with his fists and heard the drunks two pistols fire as he went down; TR said the most important time in his life was being a cowboy in Dakota; TR felt so strongly about conservation issues that he refused to give a speech in the Redwoods of California until signs welcoming him were removed from the trees he valued so much; they must have complied with his request because he was then attributed with this quote --- "I feel most emphatically that we should not turn into shingles a tree which was old when the first Egyptian conqueror penetrated to the Valley of the Euphrates."

All of the speakers spoke of the dichotomy present within TR. On one hand he became known as a conservationist, but on the other he loved to go on hunting trips around the world and shoot lots of animals. No one disagrees with the fact that TR was an imperfect man.

Dickinson State Univ., working in conjunction with the Library of Congress, has gotten the honor and responsibility for turning all of TR's papers to a digital format enabling scholars to research his life on-line. It is a huge task since the Library of Congress possesses 485 microfilm reels containing a half million of his documents. A representative of the LOC spoke to us and described the process. Anyone wishing to do research of TR will have to access documents through DSU's portal, a fact they are proud of.

Fall on the Missouri

The leaves started turning colors and falling from the trees in the Missouri River Valley. The beauty of fall never lasts, especially when the wind blows and the leaves start flying off like they are today. Mary keeps busy putting her gardens to bed for the winter, and our neighbor came over yesterday with his air compressor to blow out our underground sprinkler system lines. We can only wonder what kind of winter waits for us.

We had excitement around these parts on Monday. Demolition experts set explosives and dumped part of the Missouri River bridge into the water. A new bridge alongside the old one opened for two-lane traffic a couple of months ago, but the other two lanes were not in use yet because the west end of the old steel structure stood in the way. So down it went and construction to complete the new bridge goes on. I had driven by a couple of days previous to the explosions and saw workmen using cutting torches high up on the arches to weaken their joints.

We did not drive to the site when it was detonated, but television crews were there so we could watch the action live. I believe there were some 190 simultaneous explosions set off. Everything happened fast: we saw the twinkling of all the charges blowing, lots of dark smoke, and the almost immediate collapse of the structure. I couldn't help but notice the hundreds of birds taking wing from underneath to get out of there. In seconds it all lay in the riverbed. Workmen got busy right away to clean out the debris since they had only 24 hours to get it out of there. The bridge was 86 years old, and for a time was the only one across the Missouri. Prior to that barges ferried traffic across. After the smoke and dust settled a transportation department supervisor showed how the rust had worked and weakened the steel. He commented that it was worse than they thought it to be.

Clearing the Table

At 6:30 this morning we checked Mary into Same Day Surgery for a colonoscopy. The build-up to it with the fasting and drinking "witches' brew" yesterday made the actual procedure seem anti-climactic since it took only about 15 minutes. They gave her anesthesia so that took awhile to shake off, but the good news was that everything looked good and the doctor said she didn't have to do it again until ten years have passed.

The Friends of the Library held their regular sale of used books last weekend. As usual, I bought a bunch. Now I have so many that I had to build a new bookshelf yesterday to hold them all. It is time to downsize, of course, but how can I stop buying. At 50 cents a pound for hardcover books and a dollar a pound for paperbacks, it is one place where a twenty dollar bill goes a long ways.

I am still in the process of addressing and mailing my book of poetry to friends, relatives, and others. I sent one to Ted Kooser, a recent past U.S. Poet Laureate whom I have met and visited with. I hope he responds with a critique. I told him I'm a crusty old school administrator who can take the bad with the good, and I am looking for ways to improve. I have read and studied most of his work and admire his ability with words. This week Friday I plan to attend the Theodore Roosevelt Symposium at Dickinson State University. One of the presenters there is Robert Morgan who writes both prose and poetry. I hope to visit with him and slip a book into his hands. Well, I'm not too old to stop dreaming. And like it or not, I plan to keep on writing.

Back at It

I neglected my blog on Wednesday. I busied myself with printing my chapbook of poems and preparing it to mail out. I told Mary that I felt like I had just given birth. Of course, that immediately became a subject of ridicule. Then I told her that she didn't know because she'd never published a book. Again, I was corrected and I didn't think she'd ever stop laughing. A couple of years ago she published a family history book that became the top award-winning publication with the Germans from Russia Society. As she crowed and preened her feathers, I slinked away to do my own modest little thing.

Katie Couric interviewed the vice presidential candidates, and in one segment asked them to name their favorite movie. Joe Biden named "Chariots of Fire" and gave some insightful reasons why he felt so. Sarah Palin listed a couple, the names of which I've forgotten, but she liked them because they were about winners. It caused me to think what might be my favorite, and I would probably say "Saving Private Ryan." I've read a lot of history, but no amount of reading could let me imagine how horrendous the invasion of those beaches must have been. The scenes in movie were as close to realism as can be portrayed by actors and special effects, or at the least that is what I think. As time passes I realize I relate to the after effects the surviving veterans live with. So much gets said now about post-traumatic stress syndrome, but at the time it was not recognized as an ailment.

As a kid growing up I remember seeing many veterans spending a good deal of time in the bars drinking. I know now they were trying to dull their senses and memories of their wartime experiences. Unfortunately, they got pegged as drunks while scenes of death and destruction swirled in their heads. I'm sure battlefield veterans from any of world history's wars experience those same feelings and find it hard to function in a society that expects a certain homogenized behavior. I can only wish now that I had been more sensitive to these veterans. In brief that is why I think "Saving Private Ryan" tops my list of favorite movies.

Witless?

The years keep piling on me like a bunch of dirty football players, and I don't hear a whistle blowing. Along with that fact I find myself waking up in the middle of the night with an urge to go to the bathroom and then having trouble getting back to sleep. So I have discovered a pastime while I lie there: I turn on my Walkman, slip my earphones on and listen to George Noory's talk show "Coast to Coast." Last night's topic dealt with the future of artificial intelligence. It made me wonder that maybe in the future all we witless people will do in the future is push buttons.

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My question for the day is what was the motivation for Secretary of Treasury Paulson placing himself in the role of being singly in charge of $750 billion? There's the old adage that goes power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. I'm not surprised the bailout bill ran into trouble.

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I'm getting the cover printed at Staples for my "big" book. Even though I don't know if anyone will like it, I've had lots of fun with it. I've already started writing the next edition. The process is something like a blindfolded kid flailing away at a pinata until it bursts open and so many surprises fall out of it.

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My old Chevy pickup suffers from a blight of rust. It's 16 years old, runs well, but looks terrible. Our local O'Reilly's auto parts manager recommended a rust inhibitor that he said will stop the rust from eating. I worked on one side of the truck yesterday, and now I'm going out to do the other side. I hope it works.

Link's Legacy

Last evening we attended a premiere showing of the film "When the Landscape is Quiet Again: The Legacy of Art Link." It was good, and I intend to watch it again when it airs on Prairie Public TV on October 9. The event was held in the Belle Mehus Auditorium in Bismarck and will be repeated again in Fargo on Monday evening. The title of the film comes from a speech he gave in the 1970's which is regarded as his and North Dakota's "Gettysburg Address." During that period he found himself embroiled in controversy regarding the opening up of North Dakota to energy companies who wanted to come in and, unbridled, tear up the countryside, rape the resources they lusted after, and then leave, taking no responsibility for the mess they'd made.

North of Bismarck near Highway 83 is a plot of several hundred acres of land located at the junction of the road leading to the town of Garrison where there is good testimony to ruination. I don't know the history of it, but it is obvious no one took anyone to task for what had been created. Countless, huge piles of soil formed by large earth moving machines stand and leave that patch of ground absolutely no good for anything except for wildlife habitat, and the terrain is so rough and covered with brush that I don't think hunters can walk through it. Thankfully, land now must be returned to its original condition after the resources have been mined.

We saw Art and Grace Link in Medora a couple of weeks ago at Teddy Roosevelt's 150 birthday celebration. The organizers made it known that Grace, too, celebrated a birthday that day, her 90th. I have this anecdote: the day was windy, rainy, and in general not nice to be outdoors. Mary and I had just eaten in Medora's large cafeteria and were walking to our car. Here comes Art and Grace, he in a wheelchair and she pushing him at a very brisk pace to get into the restaurant and out of the nasty weather. A younger lady accompanied them, but she had to walk fast to keep up with Mrs. Link.

Last night when the Links were brought into their seats, the many hundreds who made up the crowd stood to give them an extended standing ovation. All of the stories related in the film illustrate why he is held in high esteem.

Ramblin' Along

"The will of the people is the only legitimate foundation of any government, and to protect its free expression should be our first object." Thomas Jefferson, First Inaugural Address, 1801

"We must keep steadily in mind that no people were ever yet benefitted by riches if their prosperity corrupted their virtue." Theodore Roosevelt, speech to July 4th, 1886 celebration in Dickinson, ND
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Sometimes it seems as if the old time politicians were the only ones who knew how to get things right. The Jefferson quote should have been referred to by those who wrote the "bail out bill" for Wall Street. I'm glad the legislators reacted to the language in that bill that says no oversight or legal recourse may be taken. It seems outrageous to fork over $700 billion and never have anything to say after the fact.

Roosevelt's words were spoken while he was still ranching in the Badlands, before he rose to national prominence. He held a strong moral ethic that was recognized in this region and was invited to be the main speaker at the July 4th gathering. A good book outlining Roosevelt's early career, including his stay in North Dakota, is Edmund Morris's The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt.

I'm rambling today, but there's so much floating around the air waves I have trouble concentrating on one thing. Talk radio always gets around to callers who say we should have a third political party, that we are not well served by the two major parties. I learned in Political Science 101 at UND that that probably will never come to pass in this country. If some splinter group comes up with an attractive idea, it simply gets adopted as a plank on a major party's platform which erases further need for a small third voice on the matter.

This is what Ole says: "Vhy don't yew play golf with Sven anymore, Ole?" --- "Vell, vould yew play golf with a sneak who moves da golf ball and puts down the wrong score?" said Ole --- "Vell, certainly not!" replied Lena. --- "Vell, neither vill Sven!" grumbled Ole.

Crisis

Finally we are starting to hear some debate on the financial crisis. I'm with the line of thought that we should slow down a bit, let our legislature respond (as is their job), and figure out the root of the problem. Quick reactions told us what's wrong, but it seems like an awfully large responsibility was given to an executive committee to decide and move on the problem. Of course, culprits get to walk away, and we are stuck with the bill. The kids went into the candy store, stole the place clean, and Big Daddy gets the bill. I don't think we were set up to operate as a constitutional monarchy, but that seems to be how it is being handled. Crisis talk always creates panic to change, but to what? To what a handful of people tell us?

Our systems have been so fully deregulated that the fat cats get to pretty much call the shots (Thanks Mr. Reagan), then after greed rears his ugly head with his ravenous mouth wide open, bad things start happening. I like the analogy of comparing deregulation to a football game. Take the referees off the field, say "Thanks, we don't need you any longer, go to it teams, and by the way, we trust you to play a clean game. May the best man win." Chaos would erupt, right?
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I had a great time at the Apple Fest in Bismarck this weekend. Hundreds of people roamed around the grounds of Buckstop Junction, and a few even strolled into the hall where I performed my program. Buckshot Hoffner has been the big push with establishing the non-profit organization, and now groups such as the Bismarck Cancer Center can use this old frontier town for events such as this. Mr. Hoffner is a grand old gentleman. He introduced me to the audience and, after I finished, he had very nice things to say. At the end of the day as Mary and I made our way out I told one of the organizers that they can call on me again next year.

The Wisdom of Lena

I've got an idea regarding the huge compensation packages some of these CEO's receive when they leave companies which are often times in poor financial condition. I would still want to see CEO's receive incentives for good work, but how about delaying payment of incentives to them until a year or so has passed, and independent auditing firms have had a chance to look closely at the books. That would surely stop any "snatch and run" tactics that some of them seem to employ and never get called out on except for getting a little negative publicity in the media which quickly dies away. I think a simple bipartisan bill passed in Congress delaying the payment of golden parachutes would solve a lot of problems.

This financial mess we're in seems too complicated, and I suppose my idea would be quickly shouted down as being illegal or unconstitutional or something. I just don't know, and a lot of the problem really bores me. I was a bit concerned about our bank deposits being insured under FDIC, but my bank told me on the other end of a phone line that we were fully insured with our modest accounts. So, while the government runs off a new batch of paper money, I will continue sleeping well at night. Just don't mess with my Social Security and Medicare!

I think Ole's Lena speaks with wisdom about this mess. She went to her doctor for a physical exam. After checking her over and giving some tests, the doctor said, "Lena, I guess you just have to realize you're not getting any younger." --- "I don't vant to get any YOUNGER," said Lena, "I yust vant you to fix me up so I get OLDER!"

World's Crazy

The world's gone crazy, wars, explosions, candidates telling us the other is a liar, banks going under, government bailouts, etc., etc. To hell with all of it, it's time for Ole and Lena to be heard.

Little Ole was doing arithmetic. "Dad, can yew help me vit my aritmetic? I am looking fer da common denominator." --- "Vell, uff da! grumbled Papa Ole. "Haven't dey found dat darned ting yet. Dey vere lookin' fer it vhen I vas a kid!"

Little teen-aged Lena was on the phone again. She talked for 45 minutes. When she finally hung up, Ole said, "Vot happened, Li'l Lena? Yew usually talk fer at least two hours." --- "Ya, Papa, I know, but dat vas a wrong number."

"Ole, dat's da fort time yew've gone back for more vedding cake! Doesn't dat embarrass yew?" asked Lena. --- Ole said, "Vell, vhy should it, Lena, I yust keep telling dem it's fer yew."

I don't want to think too deeply today. I'm practicing, over and over, the material I'm going to use Saturday for my half hour on stage at the Apple Fest. I don't know much about this celebration yet, but it's sponsored by the Cancer Center Foundation to help the Center provide high quality radiation services and assistance to patients and their family members. They offer payment for entertainment, but I checked the box on the contract that says: "I do not wish to accept payment for my services. I would prefer to donate my services as an in-kind donation to the Bismarck Cancer Center Foundation." --- Dat vay if I doo a poor yob I can say yew got vhat yew paid for.

TR's Birthday Party

We drove to Medora on Saturday for Teddy Roosevelt's 150th birthday party. Unfortunately, because of a prior commitment, he was unable to attend, but we all had a good time anyway, even if it was cold and rainy. Much of the activity was planned for the large outdoor amphitheater; however, last minute changes accommodated the large crowd anyway. I believe somewhere in the vicinity of 500 people attended. The gathering space in their community center is a regulation sized basketball court, and the wall to wall chairs covering the floor were filled.

Clay Jenkinson plays Teddy Roosevelt and does it very well. He impersonates other historical figures, too, but Saturday he was TR all the way. The first event portrayed the presidential inauguration of Roosevelt after the assassination of William McKinley. That scene, scheduled all along to be held in a small theater in Medora, filled to overflowing standing room only. Jenkinson's costuming, actions, and voice inflections held the crowd in silent attention for over an hour. After that we drove to the newly remodeled visitors center of the Chateau de Mores for a presentation by the Marquis and his wife Medora. There, too, the rain drove us indoors and the conference room could not hold the crowd wanting to listen, so they scheduled a second performance.

Time came for the main event of the day and the large crowd made its way to the community center. Music, poetry, Teddy, and a tasty buffalo feed finished the festivities, and I'm glad we attended. The next inviting event scheduled in October will be the Dickinson State University symposium titled "Theodore Roosevelt, the Conservationist in the Arena." I plan to attend. The western part of the state has latched onto Teddy's persona and achievements and that's not bad.

Ike

Hurricane Ike bears down on Texas and it looks like a big one. The ABC weatherman this morning superimposed an outline of the hurricane over that state; they were equal in size. Maybe comparisons will be made after the storm blows out, but I'm surprised little or no mention has been made of the Hurricane of 1900 that pretty well destroyed Galveston.

I remember reading about it a couple of times, so I went to look up some facts regarding it. Names were not hung on hurricanes then, but it maintains its reputation by being known as the Hurricane of 1900. It struck September 8, 1900 with 135 mph winds and has been cataloged as a Category 4. Best estimates figure 8,000 people were killed, so many that corpses were piled onto carts for burial at sea, but currents washed them back onto shore. Then funeral pyres were lit to burn the bodies. Free whisky was passed out to numb the emotions of work crews who had the job of collecting and piling the bodies for burning. It was the deadliest natural disaster in U. S. history.

100 Years Ago

I again made my way to the Heritage Center library to read filmstrips of Sheldon newspapers dated 1908 to see how things were going there one hundred years ago. I gleaned some interesting tidbits from the issues of January, February, and March. A weekly paper, it covered local through international news and gave the subscribers quite a good product for their money.

A.S. Taylor and Son: We have in stock too many good horse blankets at $1.80 each - Dan Torfin lost another horse from swamp fever yesterday and has another he doesn't expect to pull through. He has had six die since harvest representing a loss of $1,200 - The Wyndmere wolf hunt was not a success - There are a lot of bachelor homesteaders down in the southwestern corner of the state who want wives - A blacksmith of Mandan was kicked in the face by a broncho and the owner of the equine fears its leg so badly sprained it will never be of much use - An epidemic among the canines at Mohall beat the dog catcher out of his fees - Manager Chauncey Durgin is this week adding all new scenery to the opera house - Lew Howell's auction sale turned out quite auspiciously, the total amount realized about $2,400. A large crowd was present and the bidding was brisk, the horses bringing from $160 - $200 each.

Wolves are reported very bold along the Mouse River in McHenry County and some stockmen are losers - The people in the vicinity of Owego School No. 1 are well now, and arrangements are being made to open the school at an early date. The school house will be fumigated this week - El Paso, Texas: Pat Garrett, known the continent over as "the man who killed Billy the Kid," the noted outlaw and one of the last of the most prominent gunmen of frontier days was shot and killed in a dispute over a ranch lease - Yankton, SD: Fighting for his life with a hammer against a vicious bull, George Moon, a well-known farmer, drove off the brute but is in a terrible condition - Will Baguhn has been manufacturing considerable lumber on the banks of the Sheyenne River this winter.

Superintendent Hutchinson was in Owego on Wednesday trying to persuade the school board that the proper thing to do was to have another month of school this year - High school attendance still is regular although it will soon be time for the large boys to drop out on account of the spring rush. Permit us to urge the parents to keep their children in school every day if possible - For children's hoarseness use White Pine Syrup with Tar, P.J.Hoff's - Anselm now has a hotel, Mr. Grey partitioned off the poolroom and public hall into rooms - The county commission will pay three cents for each and every gopher tail. This will be good news to the small boy and indirectly to the candy merchants.

September 8, 1958

This time of year, each year, I see farm fields where silage cutters drive back and forth along standing rows of cornstalks. Chopped corn ferments and cures into rich winter feed, silage for herds of cattle when it's piled and packed on the ground or blown with a high rpm fan into an upright silo that looks like a missile standing on a launch pad. After the first day juice squeezed from the packed corn begins to puddle and prompt workers to joke about collecting it to make corn liquor, White Lightnin'. The syrupy sourness of it draws flies by the thousands, and a man's boots soak up the smell and slipperiness of it. It's been a long time since I worked with silage, but I remember those times well.

One time, a young man, who'd just gotten home from high school football practice and feeling proud that he'd finally learned to "hit" and please his coach, quickly changed into his work clothes and boots and drove the mile to a farm where he was to take his father's place on the silage making crew so he could come home to do the milking chores. Watching that day I can still see the sixteen year old kid, dumb as a pup, working to unload a wagon box full of chopped corn and then making a life-changing mistake.

A few leaves of spilled silage from the many wagon loads that day kept building up at the place where the wheels of the wagon came to rest at the blower's unloading apron. The catch release of the wagon's top-hinged rear endgate therefore stood a bit higher and harder to reach with each load. The solution was easy enough, something he'd done before, learning it from the men who did it. Luckily, he pulled the lever to stop the auger's spiral twisting but did nothing to slow the hum of the heavy fan driven driven by a tractor's pulley that spun it at hundreds of rpm's.

Now, here is the point I want to yell and wave my arms to catch his attention, "No, don't step on that platform with those wet boots to trip that catch!" Of course, there's no point in doing that. It would be futile! The scene occurred fifty years ago, fifty years ago today, to be exact. Warning cries can't be heard across those years, and it's no use wishing that he should have braced himself before the falling weight of the heavy tripped endgate caused his slippery shoes to slide and cause him to tumble feet first toward the hum of the fan. His left foot anchored against the metal housing of the fan, but his right found nothing except the forbidden mouth of a cave where the flesh-eating Grendel devoured his victims.

The man in the story has learned to live with the events of the day, but the boy still recoils in horror with the pain and the sight of the shattered bones sticking from his mangled flesh and the gangrenous infection that nearly took more than his limb. Fifty years ago today; it has not been forgotten!

Old Local History

It's fun to read old community history books. Our state dates from 1889 and that makes us 119 years old now; most of these books include early settler stories, even ones pre-dating statehood. I have in front of me now the Grant County history book printed in 1976. I took note of some of the nicknames people were known by: Rattlesnake Dick, Negro Pete, and Old Bull. Rattlesnake lived in the Dogtooth Hills near Raleigh, Negro Pete, a black man, homesteaded somewhere in the county, and Old Bull seems to have gotten his name somehow from a famous Norwegian violinist.

Help wasn't readily available. People needed to take care of themselves. One story told of how a man and his team of horses were filling in an old well. The horses' footing caved away and they slipped into the bottom of the well. He did what he had to do - shovel dirt into the well until the horses rose high enough to step out.

A young boy wanted his sisters to help with his milking chores each morning, but they'd always sleep in, sleep in, that is, until the day he threw a dead rattlesnake into their bed. After that, all he had to do was make a hissing sound at their door.

Cat Coulee John lived in Sims when he was a little boy. Instead of going to school, he preferred to herd, for pay, the cows of families who lived there. One lady never paid anything so he'd always drive her cow into muddy swampland. Another lady who never wanted to give him pay got her cow milked out onto the ground where it soaked away.

Donald Stevenson settled in the area. He owned a freighting company and hauled goods all over the region. One winter his train of oxen and wagons got caught in a blizzard near, I'm quite sure, the area where I was born and raised, Sheldon. A roaring three day storm prevented rescue of the unprotected animals and men, and 21 oxen died. Two men with a dog sled carrying mail froze to death. Recently I had a hand in getting Stevenson elected to the ND Cowboy Hall of Fame when I spoke in support of his election before an annual meeting of those members.

A couple, married in 1906, received a wedding gift of eleven head of cattle from parents. They, along with other families, drove them from Zeeland to a river ferry crossing near Fort Yates. Women, children, and belongings were taken across first. On the second trip carrying the men and the cattle, the ferry struck a sandbar and lodged there until the next day. They all spent a nervous night because they were afraid of the Indians who lived nearby.

The stories go on and on. I read them often to remind myself that the people who settled this country were usually deprived of the things we take for granted.

A Minor Story...

Our local media carried a somewhat minor story a few days ago about a locally based writer, Clay Jenkinson. He has earned a well-regarded status as both a writer and impersonator of various well-known historical personages, including Thomas Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt, Meriwether Lewis, etc. His book Message on the Wind: A Spiritual Odyssey onthe Northern Plains received mention in the recent September issue of Forbes Magazine as "making a superb companion in the waning days of summer." I own that book, have read it, and enjoyed it. I mention all this because of the epigraphs Jenkinson uses in that book; they are all passages from Tom McGrath's poetic work. Apparently McGrath has high esteem in Jenkinson's eyes since he used a number of these quotes in his book.

The foregoing is a feeble introduction to mention an article my son Brandon and his girlfriend handed me this past weekend. The Moorhead State University Alumnews carried a lengthy piece written by retiring professor Mark Vins entitled "Coming of Age at Moorhead State: the McGrath Years." While the article does not speak exclusively of McGrath, Vinz seems to have felt McGrath's presence on campus was a defining and notable period during Vinz's thirty year tenure.

From what I have learned about McGrath and his work over the years and why he has earned a dedicated following, I believe his stature was earned by his outspoken willingness to speak truth to power and how he detested "fat cats" who took advantage of the less than powerful working class. His poetry was the vehicle he used to make his views known. I will quote Vinz: "Tom McGrath retired in the spring of 1983, his life during his MSU years every bit as tumultuous as the times. He was an outspoken man, a man of extremes, but also an incredibly generous man, a profound influence on so many, and the source of some of the best poetry of the era - his long poem in four volumes, Letter to an Imaginary Friend, judged by many to be one of the great works of recent American literature."

Pictures: Dowser, Cap, & a Wanderer

We drove over to Lisbon yesterday to visit my folks. The photo albums came out, started circulating, and I chose a few pictures to bring home to make copies of. I was always fascinated with Dad's ability to take a willow stick and use it to dowse water. One snapshot pictures him doing just that. He'd begin with the forked stick aimed straight at the ground coming from the bottom of his clenched fists. Then he'd raise his forearms until his wrists and fists touched his chest, thereby making the stick parallel with the ground. He'd start walking slowly in a meandering course. Invariably something in the earth, presumably water, would start attracting the stick, and I would watch somewhat amazed while the stick started twisting and wrenching in his hands until it pointed straight down. Often times the wrenching was so severe that it strained and ripped the green bark of the twig and proved to me it wasn't some trick of his where he'd let the branch swivel loosely down. He always gripped it tightly! He said yesterday, "I don't know how scientific it was." I know there are a lot of naysayers, but I do know of a national dowsers organization whose members are believers.

In another picture, a little boy, me, in a photo booth, sits posed and looking off to one side. He's dressed neatly in a double breasted jacket and sports a beanie cap on his head. It was the cap that brought Ma to ask if I remembered it. "No, I was too young to remember that." She told how I always wanted to wear it. One day we were visiting at her relatives' Ted and Molly Strand's farm and I came crying that my cap was gone. They searched, and I must have steered them in the right direction. They found it laying at the bottom of a hole in the outdoor toilet. Apparently that is where it stayed.

The last picture is of me sitting in my maroon '66 Impala, turning the key to start it, and wearing a black nylon jacket and a straw cowboy hat. I remember it well, late August, 1968. (The old barn still stands straight in the background; the tornado hadn't taken it yet.) The occasion: I'm heading north to Alaska. Dreams of making it big up there raged like a storm in my soul. I had been reading magazine and books, watching movies, and dreaming, then dreaming some more of going there. The summer's custom combining concluded, and on the previous day I drove to Fargo and bought a sleeping bag, plus other items I thought I would need. The story of what transpired as a result of that trip is much too long to tell here, but it was the first day of the rest of my life.

Service to Citizens

Rare is the politician who serves his term of office and then quietly goes home to retire. The popular example from ancient history is of Cincinnatus retiring after serving the citizens of Rome. With enemies attacking their borders, he was drafted and appointed by the Roman senate to be dictator, and, by exercising a little muscle, surely could have remained in that job until he died. After the danger passed, though, he resigned to go home and till his fields again.

George Washington's tenure as president could have been a lifetime job, too. He was the hero of the infant country, had the support he needed, and could have had himself crowned king, but he served his term and went home to Mount Vernon. (Some folks still liked the idea of having a king.) His act of resigning the job established the concept of limited terms, the wartime presidency of FDR being the exception.

Ulysses S. Grant lived quite destitute until he published his autobiography, the last of which he wrote on his deathbed. It was only through the income from sales of that book that his widow had something to live on. His book, by the way, is considered very highly as one of the best autobiographies ever written.

Harry Truman was a member of the club. He could have carved out a moneymaking career after his term but chose to go home to Independence,MO and live a modest, quiet life. At the time he didn't have a presidential pension; that perk had not been passed into law yet.

I don't know if there are other worthy examples. Contemporary politicians seem to be wealthy before they run for office or rub shoulders with the elite after the fact to make their bundle then. It's refreshing to see the Obama-Biden ticket, both came from humble backgrounds and neither is rich. Biden has been around a long while and never connected with the influence peddlers (His reported net worth is less than $200,000.) Obama's service work has not landed him in the rarefied air of wealth either.

Comeuppance

I liked Michelle Obama's speech Monday night at the Democratic convention. She came across to me as being very intelligent, yet comfortably plain spoken. The time or two I'd heard her speak before did not resonate that well with me, but I can imagine some of the pressures the spouses of candidates go through. They are unable to perform well all the time. I think many in this country have unspoken reservations about their color of skin and how dangerously close the Obama family might be to inhabiting the White House.

In some ways we can't be faulted for having reservations. As children we were raised in a culture that taught us songs like "Ole Black Joe," made us laugh with radio characters like Amos 'n' Andy, and read us stories like "Lil Black Sambo." Reservations became learned,then ingrained. I had a comeuppance on a cruise ship headed to Alaska nine years ago. Just prior to a big formal dinner event, we found ourselves riding in the ship's elevator heading to the dining room deck. Mary wore a nice dress, and I pulled on a blue blazer jacket thinking I was well enough dressed for the occasion. A black couple rode with us, he wearing a tuxedo and she a formal dress. I knew there was a rental shop on board so I casually asked him if he had rented his duds. He spoke in a very cultured voice when he answered. "No, I brought it along." I felt embarrassed for thinking the lesser of him. I've only worn a rented tux two or three times in my life; this gentleman owned one. When we entered the dining room we noticed our attire fit in with many of the diners, but we had all been upstaged by this couple. Later that evening in the ballroom I again noticed the well-dressed couple having a great time with their friends, all of whom were dressed formally.

Prejudice is a two-way street. It comes back at a person. I worked many years in a setting where I was in the minority and suffered through their put-downs. Ask Native Americans how they like Tonto. Ask them if they like celebrating Columbus Day. Ask Japanese-Americans if they were fond of being sent to internment camps during WWII. Ask Black-Americans to say nice things about their slave heritage. As time passes, and with room for even more open-mindedness, I do think strong feelings of the past have begun to moderate, and that can only be good for all of us. Go Obama!

Who Knows?

What would you get if you crossed an atheist with a Jehovah's Witness? Someone who knocks at your door for no reason at all.

What waits for us on the other side is a mystery. Our Christian teaching tells us, but that promise is not the same for everyone who lives on this planet. Many plan for the afterlife with different interpretations. What was it again that Moslem suicide bombers go to? One thing is for certain: we will all find out in the future. Strangely enough not everyone agrees with our beginnings either. An article appearing in my local paper reawakened curiosity I have had for a long time. Since I don't have an aptitude for either mathematics or physics, I've never been able to interpret for myself the findings or theories that scientists hold, but instead I've needed to read the ideas of scientists who phrase in language that this layman can understand.

The major areas of persuasion in the ongoing argument of how we came to be include theories of creation, evolution, and intelligent design. The subject of the aforementioned article is a physics professor at Montana State University. I never think of MSU as being on the cusp of scientific research, but Neil Cornish studied with Stephen Hawking at Cambridge University in England. That alone gives his work credibility with me. He speculates, "there is a cosmological horizon that we cannot see beyond - what came before the big-bang... " I think maybe he subscribes to the intelligent design group. Anyway, the subject set me scrambling to my bookshelves to pull out references to the topic. I find it fun and stimulating to read ideas that give body to the theories. Everyone thinks they're right, of course. so an argument constantly rages.

In the book Honey from Stone the author states, "knowledge is an island. The larger we make that island, the longer becomes the shore where knowledge is lapped by mystery...The extension of knowledge is the extension of mystery." I once heard a Jewish rabbi say, when asked how God came into existence, that that argument entails an infinite regression, and no one can think in rational terms that far back.

The arguments stated with my limited thinking are 1. Creation - God made it all in seven days, 2. Evolution - a gradual development to our present state from the simple to the complex, and 3. Intelligent Design - God set the evolution process in motion. Of course, the Atheist or Free-Thinker viewpoint should be mentioned as rejecting religious beliefs as incompatible with reason. And I'd better not forget to list agnostics, deists, and infidels. Maybe I'd better stop thinking about it and just have faith in a better day a-comin'.