Roosevelt Symposium

Last Friday the annual Theodore Roosevelt Symposium  convened at Dickinson State College.  I managed to make my way over there again and listen to a few of the presentations. The topic this year - The Progressive in the Arena - stimulated me a bit.  During TR's presidency a movement began, a rising up against the big business's arrogant attitude toward the common person of this country.  A good deal of legislation passed to protect consumers.  A book written during this period by Upton Sinclar, The Jungle, really shook things up.

The Jungle described in vivid detail the unsanitary conditions that existed in the meat packing industry run by people who believed in survival of the fittest, buyer beware, and minimal regulation.  In his story he wrote of workers falling into rendering vats and being ground up with animal parts into lard.  This could not be proven, but other unsanitary practices were, such as dead rats being thrown into sausage grinders, bribed inspectors who ignored diseased animals being slaughtered, and filth and guts swept up and packaged as potted ham. I maybe should have expected as much, but the image of unclean meat caused me to have a nightmare that night.  I stood at a meat grinder and guided a long slab of meat which flopped over the backside of the machine.  When I looked back there, I saw dust, grease, dead flies, etc., lifted it up wondering what I should do, and wiped it off the best I could....A meat inspection act and the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906 passed a vote of Congress.

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My mind returns to the Oil Patch Tour we took recently.  One of the "experts" talked of the efficiencies in delivering oil to refineries through pending pipelines, something which is presently a political issue.  I believe the hang-up relates, at least partially, to environmental concerns.  The massive amount of crude oil presently transported by railroad tanker cars was discussed.  The name of Warren Buffett came up and his ownership of the BNSF line which he purchased not so many years ago.  Just  to learn a bit more I discovered Buffett and his corporation bought BNSF for the price of $44 billion (with a B).  Is it any wonder there is a battle for minds going on between those who would profit from pipeline activity and the Buffett people who need a payback on their investment.  The fight is taking place somewhere in the stratosphere where the oxygen is pretty rarefied.  It's impossible for me to breathe up there.

To add to the mix, the multi-billionaire who owns the major stake in ND oil just gave a whole bunch of millions of dollars to the University of North Dakota to establish a school of geology.  Can I use quid pro quo in a sentence here?  Even though this is an admirable act that will educate many needed geologists for the oil patch, it doesn't take genius thought to know he will want his back scratched, besides.  By the way, he's a pipeliner.

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Back to Teddy Roosevelt era and common folks reaction to being played to the tune of corporate thought. Wasn't Obama ACCUSED of being progressive as though it was closely akin to being socialistic in theory.  Not a one of us can live without driving on government financed roads, attending public schools, collecting social security, utilizing Medicare, possibly Obamacare.  What did one lady say a couple of years ago?  I want government to stay out of my Social Security.  The Progressive Movement during TR's time accomplished much: 16th Amendment - federal income tax, 17th - direct election of senators, 18th - women's suffrage, 18th - prohibition, trust busting, ICC strengthened, child labor laws, allowed initiative, referendum, & recall, workmen's compensation, etc.

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There is always a fight going on somewhere.  How about this -

I took my wife to a restaurant.  The waiter, for some reason, took my order first.  "I'll have the rump steak, rare,please." --- He said, "Aren't you worried about the mad cow?" --- "Nah, she can order for herself." --- And that's when the fight started.

My wife sat down next to me as I was flipping channels.  She asked, "What's on TV?" --- I said, "Dust." --- And that's when the fight started.

My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary.  She said, "I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds. --- I bought her a bathroom scale. --- And that's when the fight started.

My wife was standing nude, looking in the bathroom mirror.  She was not happy with what she saw and said to me, "I feel horrible; I look old, fat and ugly.  I really need you to pay me a compliment." --- I replied, "Your eyesight's damn near perfect."  And that's when the fight started.

When our lawn mower broke and wouldn't run, my wife kept hinting to me that I should get it fixed.  But somehow I always had something else to take care of first, the shed, the boat, making beer... --- Finally she thought of a clever way to make her point.  When I arrived home one day, I found her seated in the tall grass, busily snipping away with a tiny pair of sewing scissors.  I watched silently for a short time and then went into the house.  I was gone only a minute, and when I came out again I handed her a toothbrush.  I said, "When you finish cutting the grass, you might as well sweep the driveway." --- The doctors say I will walk again, but I will always have a limp.

A Bus Trip Through the Oil Patch

 

On Thursday we departed the Bismarck State College parking lot at 7:00 am and returned thirteen hours later, 8:00 pm.  Only twice did we step off the bus, once at the location pictured for noon lunch and once at a Cenex in Stanley, ND.  I stood in the middle of this man-camp dining facility and shot towards the kitchen/serving area, but this picture gives a poor scale; the room was very large.  Our walk-through of the man-camp was interesting.  Hallways ran out from the hub like tentacles.  Laundry, exercise room, computer room, etc. gave the workers the things they needed be satisfied.  This camp was said to be quite small, about 350 beds.  I asked what do you do about law and order if someone comes in drunk.  "Oh, we've got our own police force."  A joke overheard: If you want to find your car in the Dickinson Wal-Mart parking lot, just look for the North Dakota license plates.  The first six plates I looked at as we drove into this camp's parking lot came from six different states.

We learned that 193 rigs presently work in ND.  Two experts accompanied us: Lauren Donovan, a reporter for the Bismarck Tribune and Drew Combs working for the state.  He has worked around the world in the oil business, and she knows how to ferret out information from people to become very knowledgeable.

North of Dickinson, Donovan pointed out all the large facilities being constructed for oil business.  The farther north we drove the more truck traffic we encountered.  Communities we visited: Killdeer, Watford City, Williston, Minot, Stanley.  One question I've had for some time was answered.  So often I've seen long trailers coming down I-94 with just one rear axle.  I saw hundreds of them in the oil patch.  They hold liquid for the fracking process.

McKenzie County does not have a system set in place for zoning, or at least not a good one, so we saw many random collections of campers huddled together, here and there.  Step-on guides pointed out the  huge development of housing in their communities.  One said Halliburton was especially aggressive in getting their people into permanent housing, the better to retain workers.  Miles and miles of blue water line lay along the road waiting to be buried and put into service to supply the huge demand.

In Watford City a line of oil wells sat on the north side.  From them oil pipe goes down, then extends two miles horizontally to the south under the city.  Hard to comprehend.  Most anytime we'd come to a stop light, traffic would have backed up two blocks waiting for it to change.  All over we'd see patches of ground scraped clean of sod waiting for something to happen, whether it be a new oil well site, a storage yard, a parking lot, a site for new housing, etc.  The wife said, "We thought we had a lot of construction going on."  Nine thousand trucks a day pass through Williston.

Near Ross, the guide pointed north to the open prairie and told us one person's land sports 27 producing wells that bring him about five thousand dollars each per month.  The Cenex C-Store in Stanley serves up one million dollars of seven inch pizzas each quarter.  I saw a few walk out the short time we were there.  All in all, the oil patch boggles the mind.

Touring the Oil Patch

Thirteen hours on a bus yesterday touring the oil patch doesn't leave enough time to blog today since I'm off to Dickinson this Friday morning for a Roosevelt Symposium now.  (I know, the oil well is on its side.)  This blog will reappear sometime Saturday.

Touring the Old Wade Ranch

We traveled Wednesday to the Anchor Ranch and delivered several copies of Wade's Stories to the present owner, Duane Voigt.  Mary used to babysit the Voigt children, and so, with that pleasant relationship, we received a warm welcome from him.  Filling the air with several hours of stories, he told us that as a younger man his friends hung the nickname "Windy" on him.  A widower, often referring to Alma's memory and the life they made together on the ranch, he gave us a four-wheel drive tour winding among, sometimes atop, the buttes cresting the horizon.

As the afternoon wore on, I realized more than one story echoes in this rugged landscape.  Of course the Wade story reverberates.  Another, Duane's family, displaced from Elbowoods by the construction of the Garrison Dam and the rising waters of Lake Sakakawea, drove their herd of cattle overland in the 1950's to this place, a trip of about ten days.  Finally and presently, Duane's daughter and family, the present operators, have strung miles of six-strand barbed wire around the ranch, "buffalo fence" he called it, to hold their large herd of buffaloes.

Over the years, the Cannonball River has flooded and changed course because of spring thaws and heavy flooding.  The pickup slowly descended one dry bank of its old riverbed and strained to climb the opposite bank as we rolled slowly on the rough ground toward sites he wanted to show us.  He laughed as he told us how Wade's daughter placed a sandstone marker inscribed "Wade" on a steep hilltop.  She wanted to accommodate Duane and be sure the spot she chose did not interfere with his haying equipment.  For sure, it seemed like the pickup had all it could do to find traction to climb up there.  The marker, carved by an early craftsman, was used as the cornerstone of the old farmhouse and salvaged when that house was moved to a new location.  

He told us of another marker on the ranch and took us to it.  One of Wade's daughters wanted her ashes spread from a hilltop where the wind would carry them across her old home.  He said on the day of the memorial service he counted cars from thirteen states that had parked at the base of the  hill.  Inscribed simply, "Georgia 1914-1995," it is there to last the ages.  Duane said as the ashes were poured from the urn, a southerly wind took them straight-away from the hill and spread them across the prairie and the river.  I can only imagine this is just the way she wanted them to spread, and it seemed to me a beautiful way to spend eternity.

Many times yesterday I wished I would have had my recorder along because of the richness of the stories he told.  I told Duane he has a book inside him, too.  I hope we can do it someday soon.  The cattle drive he and his family made stands along as a story.

The Chautauqua Was in Town

The North Dakota Humanities Council sponsored another round of Chautauqua programs.  It's been a few years since last they did.  This series came under the general title of "The Civil War: Conflicts Across the Country," and runs four days.  The Episcopal church is Bismarck hosted the evening performances.  One unique feature about the church: its beautiful colored glass windows feature elements from churches destroyed in England during bombing raids in WWII.  In the blue glass borders surrounding the main design of the windows fragments of a head here, a foot there, an arm over there, etc., just bits and pieces of shattered glass that someone thought to preserve in this manner.  Very unique.  The colored glass came from English churches dating as far back as the 1400's. 

The first night's actor impersonated Little Crow, leader of the Minnesota band of Indians, during the 1862 Minnesota Dakota conflict.  The main circumstance of the Dakota uprising resulted from the fact that supplemental food, clothing, and money stopped because the Civil War started and Washington could not see to these treaty obligations.  The Indians became very frustrated and one hunting party of Dakota decided to attack a settlement.  Fort Abercrombie in North Dakota came under siege at this time.

 I enjoyed the portrayal of General Ely Parker on the second night.  He was a Seneca Indian, baptized with a Christian name, and wanted an education.  He studied law, but because he was an Indian was denied entrance into the New York bar.  He worked as a civil engineer at the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, and when the Civil War broke out, he tried to enlist but was denied because he was an Indian.  Somewhere along the line he and Ulysses S. Grant had become friends who did not hesitate to commission him as a captain in the army.  His promotions ended with a Brigadier General rank.  His language skills enabled him to accomplish one last honor.  Grant chose him to write the surrender document that Robert E. Lee signed at Appomattox.

Frederick Douglass took the stage on the third evening.  As a slave he was fortunate to be given an elementary education by his master's wife and received lent books from other white folks who saw in him one worthy of advancement.  He went on to become famous in his abolitionist efforts.

I'll go to the Chautauqua every time it is held.  They are well worth the time.
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I've been pushing my book and have made several contacts in organizations where I think I can sell more.  Monday night I'll be doing a short presentation at the Westerners Corral meeting.  The president told me to bring some books along.  He's bought one already, so maybe he'll put in a good word.  Different ones have asked where the book was published; they've liked the way it came out.  I'm well pleased with the product.  If anyone is interested, it was printed by 48hrbooks.com in Akron, Ohio.  If I get another book together (which is the plan) I will use their services again.
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Wednesday afternoon Mary and I plan to go to the ranch that William V. Wade established on the Cannonball River and tour it with the present owner.  I'll make sure to have my camera batteries charged up.
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Too much going on nowadays, and something has to give so that I can move forward with my story writing.  This blog, if it's to be worthwhile for me to write and readers to read, takes time and mental energy which I don't want to give right now.  So with that I'm changing from a  three-a-week format to once a week.  Sometime in the middle of the week I'll post.  However, this week it will be Friday before I'm here again with something, I hope, worthwhile.

Model T's and such...

I spotted a little mention of a big sale scheduled in Spearfish, SD.  A man named Les Schuchardt is selling his collection of old cars, he says while he's still around to watch them get sold.  To take a look at some of the treasures, do a google search by typing in Schuchardt car auction and it should get an interested looker to the auction bill.  I just finished watching the show American Pickers where it's entertaining to watch the two pickers start going through some people's junk collections.  It reminds me a lot of my dad.  Well, anyway Les Schuchardt did the same, only specializing in old cars.  This sale should bring a lot of  money.  The auctioneer said, "There is so much history that this man has.  That's why the national magazines are coming - it's a significant collection."
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I read with sadness about Minnesota's worst air disaster when a Cessna152, a small two-seater plane, crashed into a Norwegian cemetery early this morning.  Ole and Sven, working in search and rescue, have recovered 123 bodies so far, and expect that number to climb as digging continues into the night.
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In the Different Strokes for Different Folks Dept we have a situation where national champion NDSU isn't disciplining football players who passed a petition under fraudulent conditions causing the sec'y of state to disqualify two ballot measures in our upcoming state election.  They're going to let the legal system take its course first.  Supporters of the two disqualified measures probably don't care much about champions this morning.  In the meantime, onward to another championship.

Labor Day, 2012

The Department of Labor states Labor Day "is a creation of the labor movement and is dedicated to the social and economic achievements of American workers.  It constitutes a yearly national tribute to the contributions workers have made to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of our country."
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We traveled to Lisbon again yesterday to visit my mother.  While we sat there the RFD network played on her TV a program featuring a man in a wheelchair who was a horse-whisperer.  He was working with a two-year old stallion and got some amazing desired reactions from the horse.   When the program finished I asked Ma if she ever rode horse.  "Oh, yes, herding cows.  We had a pony named Tommy.  That's all I did in the summer, herd cows and watch kids."  She was the oldest girl in the family and baby-sitting duties passed to her while Grandma worked at other chores.
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A good TV show ran last night: A Steven Spielberg production of Into the West on the AMC channel. It was the first of a six-part series.  I couldn't help finding myself in the past with one scene in the Indian camp.  As I watched I thought, I, too, have washed myself in the smoke of a smudge pot and smoked the pipe as it passed around the circle.  It seems so long ago.
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A good response of orders for my book Paha Sapa Tawoyake: Wade's Stories came in this past week.  That was the easy part.  Now I have to get out and push, but I have contacts with several organizations and think many more will sell.  To repeat the ordering information - the book costs $10 plus .60 sales tax for in-state residents and $3 shipping.  My phone 701-667-1071; my address 1404 12th Ave SE, Mandan, ND 58554; my email lynnbueling@bis.midco.net.