Taking Book Orders

A UPS shipment of books from my publisher has arrived and orders are now being taken.  The book costs $10.00 + $3.00 postage + .60 sales tax for North Dakota residents.  Depending on what state you order from it will cost either $13.00 or $13.60.  Kindly drop me an email: lynnbueling@bis.midco.net if you'd like one, and I will promptly send a copy (or several if you wish.)

The title of the book is Paha Sapa Tawoyake: Wade's Stories.  I visited with a couple  employees at United Tribes Technical College one day last week to establish the Lakota meaning of the title.  To the English language it translates Finder of the Black Hills.  This does not mean William V. Wade discovered the Black Hills, but on one occasion he accompanied a party of Lakota Indians who were riding to that area to attend a meeting with Washington bureaucrats.  One day he was riding on ahead and spotted the Black Hills in the distance and shouted the news back to his companions.  Knowing a bit about Indian humor, I'm sure they conferred the title in good-natured fashion.

My wife was born and raised on a ranch immediately adjacent to Wade's ranch south of Raleigh, ND.  The North Dakota Cowboy Hall of Fame just a few years ago inducted this ranch, The Anchor Ranch, into the hall of fame in the "historic ranch" category.  I have owned an original copy of the book for several years that Wade wrote and began wondering if it shouldn't be republished.  I took on the task (with the blessings of a couple of his descendants) and added my own introduction plus an addenda of additional articles of historical significance.

I wrote this comment on the back cover of the book:  William V. Wade lived a life of adventure along the MIssouri River when it was still wild country.  He knew and interacted with frontiersmen before they became the stereotyped characters we recognize in today's literature.  Wade tells stories of Custer, Sitting Bull, Gall, Liver Eatin' Johnson, and others as only one who personally knew them can tell.  After marrying and starting a family, he settled down to life as a cattle rancher on the nearby Cannonball River and wrote these accounts near the end of his life.

I am satisfied, even proud of the book's appearance after working with a publishing company that turned out a very professional looking volume and cover design. 

Monday Morning Musing

Quite a few sights caught my camera's eye the evening we attended the Westerners Corral meeting at the railroad museum.  I remember the "speeder" that ran up and down the NP tracks and the section crew that rode it.  I can't remember if it looked exactly like this model, but that is what this is.  They have a couple of the little flatbed cars that hooked behind this, too.

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The CBS Sunday Morning show featured Glen Campbell on his last concert tour.  It's his last because, if nobody has heard, he started developing Alzheimer's Disease a few years ago and it has progressed far enough along that he and his handlers think it's time to quit.  He is still quite conversant and plays and sings fairly well.  He seems to be resigned to his fate and on stage he made some little flub, then said, "If you do things perfect, they expect it that way all the time."  Good philosophy, I'd say.  Campbell always was a favorite entertainer of mine.  Between him and John Denver, I don't know which I like the better.

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Neil Armstrong, the first moonwalker, passed away a few days ago.  He was a well respected man and was said never to have taken advantage of his celebrity by earning "hero" money from it.  Besides, he refused to sign autographs if he thought others were going to profit from it.  He remained a professional working man all his life.  He said something to the effect, "I guess we'd all like to be remembered, not just for the fireworks, but for the ledger of our work."  Rest in peace.

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I visited the archive library in the Heritage Center again last week to look for a factoid from the 1923 Sheldon newspaper.  On the page I located it on, there were a few examples of the kind of jokes the paper saw fit to print at that time:  The average man can stretch his arms about five and one-half feet.  Nature provides for everything.  That is ample to illustrate the size of the average fish we catch ....... Nephew - What I want to get into, uncle, is some line where one can make a quick turnover.  Uncle - Well, you might get a job frying griddle cakes .......

My Baby!

My publishing company sure moves fast!  I asked for and paid extra for a printed draft copy of my book.  On Tuesday afternoon I gave preliminary approval after viewing the draft on my computer.  It arrived UPS overnight delivery from Akron, Ohio the next morning, Wednesday at 10:30 AM.  It boggles the mind.  

I told my wife I feel like I just gave birth.  "NO!  No! That's nothing like giving birth!"  Leave it to the wife to set me straight.

On the back cover I've placed this statement: "William V. Wade lived a life of adventure along the Missouri River when it was still wild country.  He knew and interacted with frontiersmen before they became the stereotyped characters we recognize in today's literature.  Wade tells stories of Custer, Sitting Bull, Gall, Liver Eatin' Johnson, and others as only one who personally knew them can tell.  After marrying and starting a family, he settled down to life as a cattle rancher on the nearby Cannonball River and wrote these accounts near the end of his life."

Some might wonder why the interest in this fellow.  This is what I wrote in part in the introduction: "Wade's stories have gathered dust on my shelves for these many years until recently when my wife and I read them through again, the upshot being her reminding me of her knowledge of the Wade family.  You see, William V. Wade established the large Anchor Ranch on the Cannonball River, and it was there on the opposite north bank of the river that my wife was born and raised on the ranch her parents owned south of Raleigh, ND."  Besides that, this is good history.  I found a good deal of supporting material to include in an Addenda.

Ordering info will appear next week; the shipment is due on Wednesday.  Then I'll be able to start on another batch of stories set in and around Ransom County.

(I don't know what happened to the picture I posted but won't take the time to figure it out)

I've been busy

This is the cover design of the book I have been working on.  I am scheduled to get an overnight ups delivery this morning of a printed exam copy (which I paid $40 for) and then I presume I will get the books next week.  Ordering information will be posted on this site soon.

State Train Museum

Happy Birthday, Mary Lou !!!
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On Monday evening we attended the local Westerners Corral supper meeting at the state train museum.  The picture is of the depot the musuem had moved in from Steele.  It has been a few years since last we visited and it was good to see they have added more exhibits to the grounds.

An interesting story one of their board members told dealt with the steam engine in Enderlin.  They have been wanting to add an old time engine to their collection and tried to go after that one.  They thought they had the deal made, as he said, "They were just one day away from closing the deal."  At the last minute, someone in Enderlin vetoed the idea, so that was the end of it.

As he told his tale, I couldn't help but remember all the railroad activity in Enderlin.  I'll never forget the smoke and steam spewing out of those engines as when they pulled a fully loaded freight headed southeast from town where it had to climb an incline to get rolling.  Often times another engine was pushing and smoking and steaming on the rear end to give it a boost.  Such a sight!

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Ole, Lena, and Little Ole went to the big city for the first time.  They were walking down the street and looking in the windows of the big stores.  Little Ole spotted something that caught his eye and ran into a building.  Big Ole and Lena followed him.  They all stood in front of a shiny door.  A chubby, elderly, gray haired lady walked up and pushed a button by the door.  It opened and she walked into a little room.  The door closed and the numbers above the door went up, and soon came down again.  The doors opened and a beautiful well-built girl walked out.  Little Ole asked, "What kind of machine is dat, Dad?"  Big Ole said, "I don't know, but push dat button and shove your mom in."

  

Lotza Odds & Ends

Home builders in Bismarck-Mandan aren't afraid to build on hilly terrain.  This picture taken from the deck of Mary's sister and husband looks north to neighboring houses.  I've always thought the rock-walled terraces were attractive but miserable to mow.  They are both.

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My dear wife came into the bathroom this morning as I was shaving and proudly displayed our rain gauge; it showed yesterday's rainfall measuring a bit over two inches.  Things will sure freshen up now.

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 An article in the Sunday paper printed some man-camp numbers. An outfit named Target Logistics runs an operation at eleven locations with 4,390 beds.  A smaller company, Capitol Lodge, lists 560 beds.  I know there are other facilities in and around the oil patch, so I don't know the total number they can accommodate,  but whatever, the numbers are high enough to boggle the old North Dakota mind.

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Speaking of the oil patch, we have signed up for a guided day trip later in September with the Osher Institute.  We've been wanting a first hand look at the area, and now I don't have to drive a car in it.

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Lloyd Omdahl's Sunday column bore this headline: Can North Dakota handle being rich?  He reports that, heck, we're not just going to have a two billion dollar state surplus, but a four billion dollar surplus.  (That's with a "B")  I liked his reference to our "mattress-stuffing legislature," in other words, let's spend some money on us common folks.

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I had a chance meeting in our Target store a few days ago with the man who lives on the historic Anchor Ranch adjacent to the south side of the Cannonball River.  I told him I was about to publish a book about the man who established the ranch - William V. Wade.  Wife Mary was born and raised on the north side of the Cannonball.  Wade wrote a very interesting book about his experiences up and down the Missouri River, and after contacting his descendents who liked the idea, I've decided to re-publish it with additions of my own. I'm hearing lots of interest in the project.  Ordering information will be posted here soon.

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The Missouri River claims one or two people every year.  She just got one again a few days ago.  A man jumped off the railroad bridge for sport.  The first time he came up.  The second time he didn't.  They are still looking for him.

Brothers

I clipped an article from my mother's Fargo Forum last Sunday in Lisbon with the headline: Ransom County was home of war hero.  It wasn't much of an article; it didn't mention once the town where Myron Ranney and his family lived - Sheldon.  He was a member of the now famous Easy Company of Band of Brothers fame.

The article did serve to jog my memory a bit and made me go back and read some of that history.  Ranney's parents were buried in the Sheldon Cemetery and the stone above bears witness to that.

In his army role as a sergeant, Ranney was characterized by Stephen Ambrose as a "mutineer" when a rebellion took place against an intensely disliked officer, an event that caused Ranney to be busted to a private.  He went on to quickly earn his stripes back, however, after he landed and fought in Normandy.

Ambrose related to Ranney's being one of a squad that destroyed a German gun emplacement aimed at Utah Beach.  They all received medals for bravery, Ranney's being the Bronze Star.

In the Sheldon Community History book published in 1981 Ranney wrote an interesting article, but he mentioned little of his wartime experiences.

The last paragraph of Ambrose's book Band of Brothers is a quote from Ranney.  "In one of his last newsletters, Mike Ranney wrote:  In thinking  back on the days of Easy Company, I'm treasuring my remark to a grandson who asked, 'Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?'

"'No,' I answered, 'but I served in a company of heroes.'"

That which we are, we are...

I have this excerpt from a poem hanging on the wall of my office:

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and though

We are not that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are . . .

                         from Tennyson's Ulysses

I think that rather well describes my high school graduating class of 1960.  We had a great time at our reunion on Saturday night.  Age does show.  At one time, lots of beer and drinks would have been consumed.  We have become sedate.  On Saturday night I doubt whether anyone drank more than the one they carried in from the bar.  We've spread around the country a bit: Washington, Minnesota, Florida, South Dakota, and North Dakota.  Fifty two years ago it seemed like the future was there for us to experience forever.  Of course, now at the age of seventy, we do a lot of looking back.

Members of some other classes were invited also.  A couple of them I absolutely did not recognize.  One fellow, three classes ahead of me, stood there, very bald.  Finally word spread of who he was, and I went over to visit with him.  I told his wife that at one time he had this curly, wavy hair and looked like a real stud.  She got a kick out of that.

One of the fellas still works steadily at road construction.  I asked why work so hard at his age.  He said that when his wife divorced him she took all his money.  Others have divorced and some spouses have died.  Some who could have come but didn't, apparently didn't  give a darn.  After a few hours of visiting everyone picked up and left.  Here I sit back in Mandan, thinking about other things.  

Olympics

I've been pulling for Michael Phelps to break the total Olympic medal record - plus some if he can get them.  He did it and still has a couple events to get more.  Phelps functions well with his handicap, ADHD, a disability which many don't overcome.  Go, Michael.  And how about that Flying Squirrel, Gabby.  Poetry in motion, I'd say.

I doubt if those badminton teams kicked out of the games have gotten any sympathy from anywhere.  They tried to lose so they would be paired with easier teams as they moved through the brackets.  Apparently it was so obvious that the paid ticket holders started booing.  I can't blame them, they wanted to see some competitive spirit.
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A friend sent these observations to me.  They seem appropriate since we have a class reunion Saturday.

Reporters interviewing a 104 year old woman: "And what do you think is the best thing about being 104?"  She replied, "No peer pressure."
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Know how to prevent sagging?  Just eat til the wrinkles fill out.
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It's scary when you start making the same noises as your coffee maker.
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These days about half the stuff in my cart says "For fast relief."
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The Senility Prayer:  Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.

Two Teachers

This coming weekend we will drive to West Fargo to attend a reunion for several Sheldon High classes, '56-'62.  How those years were arrived at I've never heard, but since my class of '60 falls in there, I'm going.  In thinking about a reunion it is natural to remember teachers.  A year ago I became reacquainted with the son of my first high school English teacher, Mrs. Slatta.  I emailed him a week ago to ask if her status was the same as he told me it was last year - alive at 103 years of age.  Yes, she is still alive and enjoying playing the piano and listening to books on tape, a necessity since she is blind.  He sent me her address in Oregon, and I sent off a friendly note to her today.  I'll be sure to take the address along in case someone else wants to do the same.

And then there was our math teacher, Miss Hanson.  I have run into her a couple of times since 1960, and since I knew she resides in Bismarck, I decided to give her a call.  When she answered the phone, I said, "Miss Hanson, what is the Algebra assignment for tomorrow."  "Oh, Lynn Bueling, how are you?"  

I told her I wanted to touch base so I could report to the reunion that she was alive, well, and happy.  She replied, "Yes, I am alive, I am well, and I am happy!"  Talking to her on the phone was very enjoyable, and I'm glad I did.

Our little town where we graduated no longer can host any gatherings of the type we well attend.  So off to West Fargo we go.  It's a sad story, but one we have to live with.