Almost Another Month Gone

I'm working on a slide show for my presentation on the William Wade book on March 13.  Wade came west to the Missouri River country working as a bullwhacker on a Don Stevenson wagon train.  He joined up in Minnesota, so he more than likely traveled once, or maybe a few times, on one of the two routes between Fort Abercrombie and Fort Ransom.  The longer route called the highwater route followed the bend of the Sheyenne River whenever the river ran too high to ford.  The low water route followed a much straighter line between the two forts.  It was from that fact that Shenford Township earned its name, originally called Shinford when the water only came up to a man's shins.

I attended the annual meeting of the North Dakota Cowboy Hall of Fame on Saturday where among other things they voted on a slate of candidates for this year's inductees.  In the Great Westerner category William Wade got an official nomination along with Marquis de Mores.  Voting will take place over the next several weeks and the winners in all the divisions will be inducted at a ceremony in June in Medora.

It was easy to tell that this was a gathering of cowboys.  All four urinals in the men's restroom showed signs of snoose being spit into them.

The menu that night featured one mighty fine 8 oz top sirloin steak that could be cut with a butter knife.  The entertainer at the banquet was Monte "Hawkeye" Henson, a three-time world champion bareback bronc rider.  He sang and told jokes like this one: "Did you hear about the Indian orgy?  It was intense!"  I know, it took awhile for some in the audience to figure it out, too.

Before the entertainment began, the president of the group grabbed the microphone and said, "Folks, I want to call your attention over there to a Kodak moment."  There the three-time champ Henson stood visiting with a four-time champ, Brad Gjermundson.  I used to follow rodeo a bit, so I thought it was a big deal.

I donated two of the Wade books to place on their silent auction table.  I left early, but one of them had a $50 bid and the other $39.

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The Bismarck Tribune sent me another book to review: Lady at the O.K. Corral - The True Story of Josephine Marcus Earp. Here is how I started it: "This reviewer recently visited Tombstone, Ariz. and suffered through frequent 'gun battles' on the streets and walked through Boothill Cemetery reading grave markers that told of violent deaths.  (Here lies Lester More.  Four slugs from a .44.  No Les, no More.")
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See you next week!

My Mother Still Tells Good Stories

This is a Christmas picture taken of my mother who resides in Lisbon, ND at the Parkside Lutheran Home.  Her 93rd birthday was last Sunday, the 17th, and we visited to celebrate.  Of course, my 71st occurred two days earlier on the 15th, so we reminisced over that.  I can't remember much about that day in 1942, but I asked her how the weather was.  She thought it was fine, but said she hadn't been feeling well for a couple days previous to that so she probably doesn't remember much either.  Dad took her to my birthplace in Enderlin, the house of a midwife.  ....  Enderlin celebrated a Diamond Jubilee in 1966 and published a history book.  This little snippet appeared in the history of the Opheim family.  "Caring for the sick has always been her greatest enjoyment and the doctors of the area relied on her for assistance when the stork was imminent.  She counts as 'her' babies 117 boys and girls now scattered all over the country,"  Mrs. Opheim's home hosted my birth.

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She told us this story of how when she was born, she came to be named Maxine.  Her mother wanted to name her Lois, but a relative talked her out of it, saying that isn't a very good name.  It so happened that a few years later this relative had a girl, and guess what, she named her Lois.

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The editor of the Bismarck Tribune sent another book for me to review: Lady at the O.K. Corral - The True Story of Josephine Marcus Earp.  Over the years, I have wondered, but only a bit, what the O.K. stands for.  With just a little bit of research I discovered the those initials came from the U.S. President Martin Van Buren who bore the nickname "Old Kinderhook."  Reading a bit more I found that is also where our term "okay" comes from.
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Here is how my review begins.  "This reviewer recently visited Tombstone, AZ and suffered through frequent "gun battles" on the streets and walked through Boothill Cemetery reading gravestones that told of violent deaths (Here lies Lester More.  Four slugs from a .44.  No Les, No More.")  The guide in the Birdcage Theater proudly pointed to bullet holes in the walls and the curtained cubicles where ladies plied their trade.  This city celebrates its lawless past.  The savvy undertaker even advertised, "Ask about our layaway plan."

In several Tombstone establishments hangs a picture of a beautiful young lady wearing only a filmy garment whom they claim depicts Josephine Marcus Earp.  Now, this lady has become the subject of an interesting biography, Lady at the O.K. Corral.  etc. etc."
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I had a good laugh the other day when I watched a clip from the David Letterman show.  There stood President Obama playing golf and shooting a long putt which soon became obviously a miss.  There flew a drone overhead that shot a missile down to score a hit and blow a small hole in front of the ball.  Bingo.  Obama will always be remembered for shooting drone missiles, and the visual of it made me laugh.
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I am scheduled to present a session at the Osher Institute on Wednesday, March 13.  The director told me that interest has outgrown the standard classrooms and that she has moved us to a larger room.  Therefore, anyone can come, not just registered Osher members.  So if anyone reads this, you are invited.  1:00-2:30.

A Bit About a Lot

On Sunday the plan was to go to Lisbon and do some birthday celebrating.  The boys and all were able to come then, too.  Then came a blizzard and we all stayed home.  Weather conditions were pretty good here so we decided to go to a movie that we'd been wanting to see since it came out: Les Miserables.  How long since we had attended a musical, neither of us could remember - maybe never as a married couple.  In this movie not a single spoken word was uttered; they were, in its entirety, sung.  The movie was well worth the price of admission; we both liked it.  The book on which the story was based was written by Victor Hugo sometime in the 19th century.  France experienced a good bit of political and social turmoil during this period and the movie did a good job portraying it.

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Interesting items can always be found in the Heritage Center.  I returned again to the Baguhn papers.  He wrote some good stuff and here is one that I thought approached the Ole and Lena type, although it might be true.  An old timer in early settler days was a Norwegian named Henry Larson.  It was at Herman Schultz's place that he learned German thinking it was American.  Next he went to Dan Cornwall's, and there he tried to get Dan to understand when he spoke German. It didn't work.  Then he tried Norwegian.  He couldn't understand that either.  Then he said to Nicolai Arntson, working for Cornwall, also.  "What kind of an American is he?  He can't even speak English."  

Another example of failure to communicate is this one.  He wrote, "Some are living today (he meant the 1950's) who could neither read nor write in their youth.  Their state of being was much the same as the Indian, spoken of by Mrs. Cavalier in the long ago 1850's, who shook his head and was saddened to think that he could not talk with the paper as the white man could."

Wives must have been cheap to obtain.  Baguhn told a brief story of a trade made by a half-breed Indian named Joe Marlow who gave up a pony, a stack of hay and a winter's supply of flour for a fourteen year old girl.

For some years now I have been interested in the early freighters or bullwhackers who criss-crossed the countryside and learned a word that I will file away for future use - booja (bouillion) was cooked in their camps.  They knew the trails, were hardened to the long wearing and tiring walking beside their oxen.  The monotony of the trail was made less so by hunting for game to provide meat for the booja.  Around their campfire they could pass the liquor jug, smoke their pipes, and eat of the prepared booja.

He called the contents of the brown jug the conquering hero of those lonely, long, and dusty trails.  Its firewater subdued the Indian as nothing could.  In one case Indian used it against Indian.  Joe Marlow camped with some fellow half-breeds who were driving a herd of ponies taken from the Sioux.  He plied them with liquor until they passed out, and then drove some of the horses off for his own profit.

A Proposition in Old Tucson

This madame sang to me at a dance hall in Old Tucson.  At least I didn't have to go up on stage and dance with the younger dance hall girls like some of the audience did.
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I ran into a quotation the other day that made me reminisce: "War is God's way of teaching Americans geography." by Ambrose Bierce.  The Korean War started when I was about 10 years of age, and I still remember wondering where in the world Korea was, enough so that I went to a world map to find out.  Iran, Iraq, and Afghanistan have become familiar in recent years.  Remember the line in a country song sung by Alan Jackson that he wrote and sung after 9-11, "And I can't tell the difference between Iran and Iraq."   A few days ago Timbuktu entered the news, but where is it?  Answer: Mali, North central Africa.

Now, it has so happened that our illustrious North Dakota legislature recently voted not to make World History a requirement for high school graduation.  Sure, it can be offered as an elective, but World History is a close cousin to World Geography in my estimation, and, given the widespread illiteracy among many citizens of world affairs, this class seems appropriate to have been made a requirement.  Oh, well...

Regarding Ambrose Bierce, he wrote a short story that really sticks with a reader.  Called "Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge," it features a convicted traitor being marched by Union soldiers to a gallows constructed on a bridge spanning Owl Creek.  The condemned man's mind conjures up pleasant scenes from his life, and makes the reader wonder just what is the outcome of this story.  It can be found online and is well worth a read.
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A trip to the Heritage Center's archive library uncovered a couple interesting things.  the collected papers of an early historian Fred Baguhn contain these items:  Charley Banks was the leader of the Sheldon gang and it was tough on country boys.  His father later sent him to military school, and when he came home got him a Stanley Steamer.  With it he delighted in going down the farmers' corn rows and seeing the ears pop off.

And one more: James Holes said the country was entirely wild.  Countless millions of grasshoppers swarmed everywhere.  The woods were full of great owls and prairie wolves were sneaking around the prairies.  The hooting owls and the barking wolves broke the monotony of the nights.  The mosquitoes in summer and blizzards in winter did much to make life miserable, but notwithstanding we managed to get enough out of life so none of the first settlers committed suicide... 
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Having been a blood donor several times in the past,  this story bearing the title "Blood Donor" caught my eye when it crossed my desk.  It seems an Arab sheik was admitted to a hospital in Fargo for heart surgery, but prior to the surgery the doctors needed to find a supply of his rare blood type in case the need arose.  However, it couldn't be found locally, so the call went out.  Finally, in the little town of Sheldon, a Norwegian was located who had the right blood type.  The Norwegian, whose name was Ole, willingly donated his blood for the Arab.

After the surgery, the Arab sent Ole, as appreciation for giving for giving his blood, a new Ford pickup, a  gold Rolex watch encrusted with diamonds, and a hundred thousand dollars.  

Many days later, the Arab once again had to go through some corrective surgery.  His doctor telephoned Ole who was more than happy to donate his blood again.  After this surgery, the Arab sheik sent Ole a thank-you card and five pounds of lutefisk.  Ole was quizzical that this time the Arab did not reciprocate with gifts similar to the first time.

He phoned the Arab and said, "I thought dat you vould be yenerous again, and dat you vould give me anudder bunch of nice things.  But you only gave me a tank-you card and some lutefisk!

To this the Arab replied, "Ya, but now I haf Norvegian blood in my veins so I gotta tink tvice before I spend my money."