Code Talkers

Here is a picture of the Enigma Code Machine with which the Germans in World War II placed their confidence thinking that coded messages produced with it could never be read by anyone other than those who possessed the secret. But its secrets were cracked and our military went on to read important details of Nazi war planning. I wrote in the last entry where a retired curator of the Smithsonian told us that Indians were successfully used as code talkers in not just World War II but also in World War I.

It so happened as I was doing some research for another topic in the archives of The Stars and Stripes newspaper I ran across this article from the Friday, January 10, 1919 issue that bore the headline Boche Wire Tappers Run Into New Code.

It read as follows: "Because of the nature of the country over which American troops fought in the Meuse-Argonne offensive, the Germans found it easy to cut in on our field telephone wires.

The commander of one brigade of artillery attached to an American division was particularly annoyed by enemy wire-tappers in a heavily wooded section of the Argonne. Code messages from artillery observers were being intercepted by Boche listeners-in, and the commander knew, as all armies know, that no code is impregnable when experts get working on it.

The artillery commander took up with the colonel of one of the line regiments the question of the Huns' wire tapping activities. And the colonel hit upon an idea.

Two Indians, both of proud Sioux lineage, members of one of his companies, were assigned as telephone operators. One was to go forward with the artillery observer, the other to remain at the brigade receiving end of the wire which the artillery commander was certain the Germans had that day tapped somewhere along the line.

The two Sioux, both intelligent, willing men, were sent for and given instructions. Those instructions were to transmit, in the language of their fathers, all messages given them at their respective posts.

Now, when two Sioux Indians get talking together in their own tongue, what they say sounds very much like code, but isn't. Anyway it raised hob with the code experts of certain Prussian guard units.

The Sioux stuck on their jobs for three days and nights. They and the artillery commander and their own colonel enjoyed the situation immensely. If the Germans got any fun out of it they kept it to themselves."

Indian Warriors

MSgt Woody Keeble
Medal of Honor Recipient

Yesterday the Jenkinson-Skogen duo hosted another of their Conversations at BSC, the topic being "Changing Interpretations of Native American and Western History." Their guest was Dr. Herman Viola, curator emeritus at the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History. He discussed some very interesting points regarding the service of Indians in the U. S. military.

Navajo code talkers in World War II generated a lot of interest in the past because of their ability to mystify the enemy, but he said code talkers actually originated in World War I and soldiers from many tribes contributed knowledge and use of their language to fool the German translators. Thousands of Indians volunteered in World War I, and they weren't even considered citizens. But they were an asset; the Germans were afraid of them, they took scalps.

The warrior code of showing no fear in the face of an enemy and counting coup lived on. Viola's story of this was amusing. In World War II an Indian wanted to do the ultimate and capture a horse. It so happened he was in hiding with a small patrol when they spotted an SS unit ride up, corral their horses, and bed down for the night. He asked permission from his officer if he could approach the horses in the dark. He and another man crept up to the horses and the Indian gave him instructions that when he was mounted he would holler his Cherokee war cry and the other was to open the gate. Apparently the action succeeded.

Another instance of this happened in Viet Nam, the only problem: the Viet Cong never used horses. One night an Indian waiting in ambush spotted an elephant loaded with supplies being led along the trail. He eliminated its handlers and captured the elephant. When he got home and reported this to the tribal elders to get his acknowledged credit, they told him, "Nice try, but it wasn't a horse."

Dr. Skogen, a retired Air Force officer, at one-time in his career taught at the Air Force Academy. He took a class of cadets in full uniform on a field trip to a powwow. When they entered the large hall they were impressed with the large number of U. S. flags hanging on the walls. They learned they hung in commemoration of their many tribal members who had served in the military. Skogen said the cadets expressed surprise at the patriotism shown by the Indians.

Woody Keeble, whose picture is at the top of this post, earned many medals for heroism in World War II and the Korean War. They included the bronze star, silver star, distinguished service cross, and the medal of honor, plus two purple hearts. The medal of honor was awarded for his bravery on a Korean battlefield where he was seriously wounded but refused to leave for medical attention. Instead he stayed with his men and went on to destroy three machine gun nests. A member of the Sisseton-Wahpeton Sioux he worked many years at the Wahpeton Indian School.

North Dakota Skyscraper

Structures like this silo disappear regularly. Not many people have use for them anymore. The cupola on the roof has withstood the prairie storms and survived in good shape. In the background to the left sets another old time standby, a boxcar. Old railroad boxcars found new life in many farm yards. I've never heard how much the railroad charged for them, but I presume they came pretty reasonably priced.

Today's farms look completely different from this one. Sterile looking metal buildings are the construction of choice. I'm sure that's the efficient way to build. The old hip-roofed barns disappear. Keeping them shingled is prohibitive. Besides, farm tractors can't be driven through the small doors.

Architecture suffers to make way for the modern. Beautiful old churches embellished with their bricks, murals, and color stain glass stood maintained for years as a matter of pride in these small communities. New churches followed the way of the farmstead where many of them stand as a metal building with maybe a nice facade on them.

Not everyone notices things like this or cares about them. Younger eyes see them as being modern.

Hot Days in the Hayfield

Last evening at an Olli Institute session of "The Military on the Western Frontier," the instructor displayed a large collection of period firearms, bayonets, uniform clothing, and other equipment. I found it interesting when he compared the different firearms, their effective ranges, who used them, etc. One piece of equipment he brought was a cloth-covered canteen that kept water cool when he soaked its covering.

I used to drink out of a container like that, too. A gallon crock jug wrapped in burlap and tied on with twine acted much the same way, especially when placed in the shade of a swath. Quite large and heavy, a person could either put it to his mouth by placing it between his two hands and hoisting it up, or by hooking a finger in its handle and rolling it over to the crook of his uplifted arm. I preferred that way myself, maybe it was more macho.

Speaking of water, the Missouri flows freely again. I didn't see any ice on it this morning when I crossed it. We drove four miles west to a truckstop for breakfast last Saturday morning and saw absolutely no snow on the hills. Any run-off just won't be there this year; therefore no floods are expected.

Imagined Discussion

Each time I'm in that cafe
I want to ask that lady
"Just who are you?" She stares out
from her portrait frame - I think
she'd talk if I'd take her down.
I can only imagine
what she'd want to say: "I lived
on that place with the small barn
that you snapped a picture of.
We built it with high prices
received during World War One,
and used it for a horse barn
with lean-to added for hens.
You found it in that hollow
southside of the interstate
where the wind skipped on the hills
and howled away in disgust
when it failed to molest us.
But the years flew by, I died.
They found my picture, faded,
in a bin, gave a dollar,
then they hung me on this wall.
Now stranger, beware, some day,
they may hang you beside me.
We'll watch them eat the buffet."

Ma's Birthday

Today, February 17, is my mother's birthday. She is 92 and was born in 1920. The picture above may or may not be posed, but I suspect she and her brother were actually doing some kind of chore with the team of horses. From stories all that generation tell, when they got to be the age of them in the picture, they had to start working. For some reason, I told people she would be 93, but when I mentioned it to her I was darn-well corrected, "No, I was born in 1920!" I need to be forgiven for little mistakes like that since I just turned 70 myself.

In 1920 the world was trying to right itself after being upset by World War I. Some of the stories from that year: The Yankees purchased Babe Ruth from the Red Sox for $125,000 - The League of Nations was established. - Silver was $1.37 an ounce. - The 18th Amendment providing for prohibition went into effect. - Baseball outlawed all pitches involving tampering with the ball. - The Panama Canal opened. - Babe Ruth set a home run record with 54. - Pancho Villa surrenders. - The 19th Amendment establishing women's rights enacted. - U.S. Airmail service began. - Man O' War won his last race. - Warren Harding was elected president. - Enrico Caruso gave his last performance. - Bob Hope became an American citizen.

We visited my mother on Wednesday. We were told by some at the funeral we attended that they were going to visit with her today so she will not be alone. So we will go down that road again in about three weeks to make another visit.

Looking at a Rocking Chair

Walking uphill, out of breath,
I opened the door labeled
The Eighth Decade and stepped in
to rest. I thought I would stay
awhile and picked up a pin -
A Septuagenarian
its letters so boldly spelled.
Instructions said, "Put it on,"
which I obediently did.
I saw a history book
I don't remember writing . . .
but that author's name was mine.
I read line after line, some
sad, some disgusting, and some
delightful, all genuine.
Yes, I needed to admit
the story's mine, I wrote it.
I limped over to a chair,
focused my remodelled eyes,
and scratched the itch on the scar
where my prostrate gland had been.
The book was long and its plot
read slightly convoluted,
and soon I took a long nap;
I will make a book report
at another time. The book
hasn't been completed, anyway,
but, oh-oh, who'll read it then.

My Valentine

Around this house a pot of begonias works well for a Valentine's Day present. She does love flowers, and it's a good thing she can raise plenty of them for herself.

We saw a very good George Clooney movie this weekend: The Descendants. We were drawn to it because it took place in Hawaii and thought maybe we'd see some of the scenery we just traveled through. The movie was one that the wife and I analyzed for some time after because of the different levels of family life it dealt with. It started with the tragedy of a wife and mother who was injured and in a coma ready to die. The Clooney character had lots to deal with, but he did it in a way that we could not predict. It was very satisfying and I'm glad we went.

We're off to a funeral in Lisbon tomorrow for someone who died too young in a tragic accident. We'll be able to visit my mother after and celebrate her birthday a couple days early.

Deep Snow Winter

As I sit looking out the window I see no snow, whatever. It's drier than a bone, like they say. It sets one to wondering if that will be the outlook for the coming spring and summer. The picture posted here shows a steam locomotive that tried to plow through deep snow. The snow proved way too much for it and it derailed. I think of all the poor devils who had to go out with shovels and clear the packed snow away from it. I visited the Heritage Center libraryyesterday and browsed through the end of the year issues of The Sheldon Progress for 1886. The winter of 1886-87 went down in history as being one of the most severe on record because of the hardships it caused. Cattle by the hundreds of thousands perished in the deep snow and bitter cold.

The newspaper articles began to mention that winter's hardships as we have come to know it. For instance, the editor wrote "a team of mules attached to a cutter took a glorious tumble in the street opposite our office. The mules were not shod sharp and being driven on the smooth ice of the street, one of them went down and the other rolled clear over him." A couple weeks later this mention: "Tuesday afternoon as the snowplow came through, it ran into a little bank of snow close to the depot, and before the smiling agent could wink, he was nearly buried." One more of several: "A good many supposed that Dr. Henning went to Lisbon Tuesday, but he didn't. The train got about four miles west of town and struck a drift. The genial doctor waited until his patience was exhausted and then started on foot to Sheldon, arriving here just as the snowplow, followed by the east bound freight arrived. Soon after he left the train the plow from the west arrived and relieving the train pulled it into Buttzville, where it met the freight coming east. But the doctor says the walking is good and exercise beneficial, so we are all happy."

Old newspapers and their fearless editors make for very entertaining reading. I liked this one: "A Shenford man says that if the people could find out for a certainty who cast that 'one vote' for 'Gil' there on election day, they would promptly duck him in the Sheyenne." They proved to be a forgiving lot because two weeks later I spotted this: "The man who voted for 'Gil' here on election day could not read and we will excuse him."

On this little laptop computer I have the Skype program with which we can visit via a video phone call to my son and his family in Minneapolis. Last night just for fun I "called" without having made any prior notice. Lo and behold my five year old grandson happened to be sitting at that keyboard. It took him by surprise when his grandpa's face appeared on the screen. The look on his face: priceless!

Full Moon over Mandan

Last night, February 7, a full moon hung in the cloudless sky. These days, with light pollution from the city lights, the moon is about the only object one can see to appreciate. Stars don't stand out like they did when I was a kid growing up in the country. Sometimes then I would be outside looking up and being overwhelmed by the many points of light. Recently in Hawaii while doing a night tour of a volcano, I felt and saw the same scene. As darkness settled our knowledgable guide started pointing out various constellations. I'm glad I experienced it again.That same moon was shining down on the frontier fort of Abraham Lincoln, too.

Last evening the teacher of the class on the military frontier spoke of the hardships that troopers endured out here. The cavalry parade ground stood right in front of Custer's house, and he told us of the terrible mud conditions in wet seasons and the dusty clouds in dry seasons. Both were hard to tolerate. Someone said that dust is just mud with the juice squeezed out. Almost the same when you look at it that way.

Frost on the Trees

Saturday morning we made a trek through Lisbon to visit my mother and then on to Alexandria, MN to celebrate the granddaughter's birthday. Trees and foliage all the way hung heavy with thick coats of frosting. Visibility wasn't a problem, so we had a beautiful new world to view for many miles.

This morning I attended a presentation at the Institute about the history of two little towns west of here: Sims and Almont. A married couple living in that area take seriously the job of preserving their local history and presented an interesting perspective. Almont still consists of a small population, but Sims can be called a ghost town with only two people still calling it home. The term "ghost town" is appropriate, too, since a ghost is reported to reside in the vacant parsonage. It so happened that two sisters attended this morning who were children of one of the pastors. They reported to us that the presence of this spirit was comforting; they were not afraid of it. Such things as footsteps, cold breezes, furniture being moved around, etc. were the signs of its presence. One of them had a picture painted of the house from a photograph, and upon receiving it remarked that he painted in the ghost in an upper window. The artist didn't know what she was talking about until the lady pointed to the cloudy figure he had unconsciously included.

Baxter Black, my favorite cowboy poet, told this one. A rancher called a veterinarian one day and said he had a cow with a broken leg. The vet wasn't going to waste his time on an animal he knew was doomed. "Shoot the cow," he told the rancher. A while later the rancher called back. Now he had a cow with a broken leg and a bullet wound.

Problems

History has taught me to keep trying to solve our problems; we will never be without them.
Former Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor

Problems develop constantly and some go unsolved, just ignored. I couldn't help but think about a letter to the editor yesterday written from Williston. The gist of it was "the good people" in that community can hardly cope with the oil boom. The writer said about 1,200 of them have left. It wasn't long ago that the state relished the coming of new money and jobs created. Now the negative side of it all begins showing up. This boom might just last and forever change the character of the state and its residents.

I can't complain much about the problems I have. I eat pretty good, live in a decent house in a nice neighborhood. One of my biggest problems I think about now is how to finish this darn poem:

Upon opening that book
a scrap of paper fell out
on which I'd written the line
of an unfinished poem:
"The first time I saw those elk
wintering at the bottom
of the Grand Teton Mountains
I almost hit a bull moose
cantering along the road
east of Dubois, Wyoming."
That line, forty some years old,
illuminates memories
resting just below the lip
of the horizon where dusk
turns to dark.
This old, scarred desk
creaks as I rest my elbows
and think of more lines to add.
Maybe I should write of French
trappers starved for women who
saw those mountains and thought they
looked like big tits, or hunting
elk in the Wind River Range
discovering at day's end
my rifle had no front sight...

Classes at the Institute

I feel fortunate living here and being able to participate in the offerings this community offers. The Osher Life-Long Learning Institute located here as the second location in North Dakota after first being established in Grand Forks. It exists in many of the states - how many I don't know - and provides non-credit classes to seniors which are limited in subject matter only by the imagination of those who suggest them.

The winter session just started up again where I found three offerings to attend: The History of Rock and Roll; Myths, Fables, and Legends; and The Military in the Dakota Frontier. After attending each of them one time now, I am still excited about going.

A retired University of Mary music educator conducts the rock and roll session. Also, he now works full time for the public broadcasting system as a disc jockey playing classical music. He likes rock and roll, however, and almost blasted us out of our seats with some high-volume recordings to illustrate his points. He brought in a guest musician to demonstrate a few electric guitars.

A retired public school English teacher offers the Myths, Fables,and Legends class. She has developed a personal interest in material of this type and presented us with a highly organized session. It will be a good one, too.

An active Captain in the North Dakota National Guard teaches the military frontier class. I am especially interested in this one, and told him of the research I am doing to support story writing. After the class another fellow who is an active amateur historian and I hung back to talk to him. We told him the members of the class were a pretty well-educated bunch. One man is a retired district judge, another is a retired UND history professor, and "that lady sitting over here on this side," a sitting supreme court justice. After being apprised of all this, he remarked, "Oh, God, I think I'll just stay home." The class holds high promise.