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.

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.

Reading some History

Pick up any community history at random and you'll usually find the same kind of stories - no matter what town.  The stories tell of a hard life with few luxuries.  Take these for example: "There was no indoor plumbing in those days so behind every home was a privy or biffy and were most inconvenient and uncomfortable on cold wintry days when everyone made a run for it and never lingered any longer than was necessary" ...  "This house had two rooms, one was to live in for the family and the other was for the ox team and the cow" ... "The ocean voyage took 16 days on very rough seas" ... "Peter used a walking plow and plowed strips of sod which were so rooted that they made good building blocks" ... "The first lights were rags burned in a dish of tallow which soon gave way to tallow candles and then to kerosene lamps" ... 

"Because John didn't have a horse, he walked 12 miles to town to get groceries.  When he got there he bought a wheelbarrow, loaded a 100 lb. sack of flour in it along with some sugar, coffee and maybe a few other items and proceeded to walk back pushing the wheelbarrow all the twelve miles back home" ... "They had some big prairie fires in those days with large open stretches of prairie and no graded roads to where they would stop" ... "I cut Charles' hair one night as he wanted to go to a dance, and he looked so wooly" ... "In the spring of 1908 he bought a team of oxen and on Sundays they would hitch them to the wagon and drive over to preacher Johnsons to church" ... 

"The horses were driven around in a circle moving the gears that turned the shaft that run the threshing machine" ... "One fall a prairie fire came through and burned up all of Dad's hay stacks.  He had to go some where else and put up some more hay so he could winter his livestock" ... "They lived in a sod house and when it rained hard it also rained inside.  So to keep flour dry as there were no cupboards yet, they set it in the doorway between a room where the rain didn't drip down so much and sat on it" ... "To them it seemed the wind would never stop blowing.  The only change was that some days it blew harder"

Each of the above quotations came from a different family.  Tough living!

On the Road Again

I made another trip to Dickinson yesterday.  I just can't quite get "retired."  In fact, another trip in a couple of weeks is in the plan.  Driving westward on I-94 for some reason reminded me of the first time I drove over it.  I was young, hadn't had my driver's license very  long, and was called on to drive my Grandpa's little green Falcon to Fargo so he could see his doctor at the VA hospital.  He'd had strokes that kept him from behind the wheel.  It was a grand adventure, even though the interstate was by no means completed, maybe 15 or 20 miles was complete.

Dickinson is super busy!  Street work adds to the confusion plus lots of new building construction activity.  It looks like a boomtown.  I wonder what it will look like when it "busts."

When I got home, two pieces of anticipated mail awaited.  One was a package of three books from the Western Writers of America that sent them to me for review, the other a large manila envelope with information and pictures about the man whose biography I am preparing.  It sure helps the cause having  his family descendent assisting in the process.

Difficult Lives

Mary attended the annual Germans from Russia convention last weekend, it being held in Bismarck.  She has put a lot of time, effort, and some expense into research and writing.  Because of my proximity to her efforts, a lot of the stories have become familiar to me, too.  Years leading up to, during, and after the Russian revolution in 1917 were years of many sad, tragic stories. Under Catherine the Great German settlers were recruited to come to the Russian steppes and farm the rich land.  While there they successfully farmed and prospered.  But those years surrounding the revolution proved to be unsettling.

One good book telling some of these stories is We'll Meet Again In Heaven: Germans in the Soviet Union Write Their American Relatives 1925-1937 by Ronald J. Vossler.  The book's dedication states: "This book is dedicated to the Germans living in Russia who were starved, deported, shot, frozen, and worked to death under the Soviets."  That pretty well says it all.

Opening the book at random, a letter pops out saying the man cannot work any longer because he froze his hands and feet, and, then because he couldn't work, they wouldn't give him anything to eat.

Another story told of them going to bed with as many clothes on as they could bear in case the authorities came in the night to take them away.  At least they would have what was on their back.  They feared the sound of the clip-clop of horses hooves in the night pulling a wagon known as the "black crow" in which prisoners were hauled away.  One story we have heard was of a young man forced to drive one of these wagons and unknowingly had his father as a passenger whom he drove to his execution spot in the forest.

Carve it away til you find a horse

I used to carve figures like this but haven't done so for three or four years.  I reached the point where I wasn't improving much, or maybe it was that I lost interest.  A piece like this might take up to a week to finish, but then when I took it to a show and put a price tag on it, usually just to cover my time, browsers thought it was too much.  So my tools were put away three or four years ago and now lay in the drawer collecting rust.

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Today's the big day at Penn State.  Yesterday they hauled away Paterno's statue, boo-hoo.  That happens when gods get made out of ordinary people.  Warts get found ... Interesting letter today in Tribune wondering why a $300,000 dollar ND college president needs a 3% raise ... The Olympics will start soon, I hope they keep it positive without finding things to gripe about ... It won't take long for the massacre in Colorado to fade away, I think they call it 24 hour news cycles ...  I almost melted in the recent heat, I'd rather dissolve in cool rain ... A headline says the debate over fracking uses bad science, sometimes no science at all, I still wonder about it ... and so it goes here in Mandan ...

Most everyone likes Ole and Lena stories.  From time to time I receive one through an email.  This one came yesterday:  Ole was turning 78, was overweight, so his doctor put him on a diet.  The doctor said, "I want you to eat regularly tow two days, then skip a day and repeat this procedure for two weeks.  The next time I see you, you should have lost at least five pounds."

When Ole returned, he shocked the doctor by having lost nearly sixty pounds!  "Why that's amazing!" the doctor said, "Did you follow my instructions?"  Ole nodded, "I'll tell you, though, I thought I vas gonna drop dead on dose third days."  "From the hunger, you mean?" asked the doctor.  "No, it vas from all dat darn skipping!"

In the Archives

I spent the morning yesterday at the Heritage Center archives.  I always enjoy good time spent there and usually find useful information.  In reading an article in North Dakota History: Journal of the Great Plains I spotted a reference where the old pioneer I am writing up crossed paths with Teddy Roosevelt.  Since Dickinson State University has established, in conjunction with Harvard University and the Library of Congress, an electronic data base of Teddy Roosevelt's papers, I came home to see if I could find the letter in reference.  Sure enough, one sent to George Bird Grinnell, and on the bottom in his own handwriting he made a brief statement to his friend Grinnell.  After about half an hour trying to decipher his scrawl, I finally understood what he was trying to say and it was appropriate to what I was looking for.  Great find!

Writing a few book reviews for the Bismarck Tribune caused me to get another job.  The editor of the Western Writers of America ROUNDUP magazine wrote asking if I wanted to start reviewing some for them.  OK, I responded.  We'll give 'er a try.

This spot was reserved for another visit with Ole and Lena, but somehow they remain silent.  The news this morning is horrific: the gunman opening up on a crowded movie theater in Colorado.  A person can't even wrap his brain around it looking for some rationale why a person would do that.  Too many people are running around in the "life imitating art" mode.  Too many violent movies, video games, terrorism in the news, whatever.  Without some solid, positive goal in sight, this is what he accomplished: 14 dead, 50 wounded.

Mental Manure

 This picture of a large statue, 7 or 8 feet tall,  along the Missouri River has nothing to do with the rather crass title of this blog.  It is quite a nice work done by Indian students at the United Tribes Technical College in Bismarck.  Artists in that school have created several.  Unfortunately they have been damaged at times by vandals.  This one has a large dent in the ball; the ball represents the world, I think, and the eagle often appears in their renderings of the spiritual world.

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The last issue of the AARP magazine featured an article about life changing rules that can be helpful.  The one that caught my eye was rule number 3 - Your Brain Craves Challenges.  The opening line was "If your brain is a garden, new activities are mental manure: the fertilizer for new brain cells."

It so happened that that same day I received that magazine, our local paper printed an article with the headline "Memory strategies help fend off forgetfulness."  Articles like these are not uncommon where they tout using your brain to create new pathways in the brain.

The futility of it may brought to the front with this story, though.  Not long ago a science researcher who has devoted her career to finding a cure for Alzheimer's received the diagnosis of her developing Alzheimer's herself. There she is, using her brain cells more than the average person, and she has developed the disease.  The interviewer asked her if it wasn't particularly hard being at this stage of the disease and still being able to realize what is happening to her.  She agreed it was.
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If senility goes with aging, there are some benefits:
- Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can't remember them either.
- You have a party and the neighbors don't even realize it.
- Things you buy now won't wear out.
- You quit trying to hold your stomach in, no matter who walks into the room.

- Now what was it I was going to do next?

Her Pride and Joy!

I set out to write about "mental manure" but got sidetracked into taking this picture and posting it.  As we drove into our garage after a day in Fargo, the wife said, "Look at my lilies!  They've opened up, you've got to take a picture of them."  It was 98 degrees outside; I wanted to get into my central air.  "Sure, I'll do it in the morning when it's cooler."  "No, they're Day Lilies, they're only open for one day!"  So this picture is the result of that repartee.  I must admit, they are nice.

There's one lady in town whom Mary has become acquainted with who raises day lilies (until they're coming out of her ears).  I believe I heard she has over 150 varieties of them.  When you drive by her yard in the spring all you see is small markers with the variety written on them.

When we were in Hawaii we visited an orchid operation; their showroom displayed many varieties.  I've often thought they would be nice to have, but no.  She tells me they're too hard to raise.  OK.

The subject of "mental manure" will have to wait until Wednesday.

A columnist in the Bismarck Tribune writes a column on Mondays regarding various topics and destinations on the internet.  Under the headline Where to find simple answers he listed several that look interesting, such as The Universe in 10 Steps, Explain it in 60 Seconds, Minute Physics, Simply Explained, and Explain it Like I'm Five.  I checked them out and plan to return.

So much to read, so little time...

One of those ten books I toted from out the used bookstore in Dickinson on Tuesday was A Study of the 1876 Bismarck to Deadwood Trail.  Published by the Butte County (SD) Historical Society, it  contains lots of good information.  The trail or road followed the most direct overland route between the two places of Bismarck and Deadwood.  At the time of the trail's heyday, Bismarck was the end of the rail line, a fact which meant that freight headed to the Black Hills gold rush could go no further, so it was off-loaded onto wagons and made its way slowly pulled by oxen.

When the railroad bridge across the Missouri was completed and freight hauled further west, closer trails to the Hills were established. The bridge pictured above sets on the original pilings constructed for the first span.  An interesting picture I have seen shows eight steam engines each with their tenders parked on the bridge.  The caption explains they were exhibiting the strength of the bridge. Luckily it was strong enough.  The fact that the original piers still stand in use attests to the quality of construction.

A closer look at this picture shows a sandy beach with people strolling on it.  This beach has not always been there.  It resulted from the deposits of last year's huge flooding in the river.   It has become such a popular spot this summer that the police can hardly control the traffic and parking problems that have arisen.

Another book I found, Whoa...Yuh Sonsabitches, written by a local rancher named Edgar "Frosty" Potter lived somewhere in the Flasher vicinity and wrote of the old days living on the ranch established by his father.  There are so many stories in it, but one caught my eye last night as I paged through.  He wrote, "The big horse barn was made out of two-inch by twelve-inch cottonwood planks hauled from old Fort Lincoln south of Mandan.  This was, of course, after General Custer had taken on the Sioux and Cheyenne in the Battle of the Little Big Horn."  So that's where it went!  The old settlers didn't let things go to waste.  I imagine the lumber from the buildings went many directions, first come, first served.  Fort Ransom suffered the same fate.  After the army abandoned it, those buildings were dismantled and hauled away to build other structures.

On this Friday, the 13th, this blog entry should end with Ole and Sven taking their first train ride. They had brought bananas for lunch.  Just as they began to peel them, the train entered a long, dark tunnel.  "Have you eaten your banana yet?" Ole asked excitedly.  "No," Lars said.  "Vell, don't touch it then," says Ole, "I yust took vun bite and I vent blind!"

Dickinson

Teddy Roosevelt gave a speech here where this statue stands.  In keeping with the legend that has grown up around here, the sculptor included his eyeglasses setting on a book, a gunbelt, and a speech in his hand.  It is on the grounds of the Stark County Courthouse in Dickinson and is just one year old.

North Dakota can't claim many folk heroes, but the ones it has sure get a workout.  Add Sakakawea, Lawrence Welk, and Roger Maris to TR's name and you've about run through the list.

The Hall of Fame in the state capital building exhibits portraits of a good many other people who have been honored, but who cares about Peggy Lee, Angie Dickinson, or Bobby Vee?

At any rate, there stands ole Teddy holding the speech with which he addressed the crowd.  I don't know if it was any good or even if the people could hear it as he gave it, but we're not gonna forget it!

I was called back to work again yesterday  to drive my old passenger to Dickinson for a meeting, so while I killed a few hours waiting for the return trip, I went to the nearby courthouse with camera in hand.  And, I found more to do, too.  First, I went to a hundred year old Episcopal Church building which has metamorphosed into a neat coffee shop.  One coffee and caramel roll later, I found their old Carnegie financed library with a beautiful interior: pressed tin ceiling tiles, solid oak woodwork, a large brick fireplace, etc.  Its shelves held a fairly large section of North Dakota history and biographies, and I spotted a few I had once owned, but for some reason forgotten by me now, I got rid of.  For example, there stood Whoa...Yuh Sonsabitches, a book written about the old days in North Dakota.  I longed to own it again.

Right close by I found  another place to stop - a used bookstore owned by the library as a fund raiser.  The helpful volunteer worker steered me to a section of Western literature where I began filling a bag with books.  Luck smiled down on me this day for there was a copy of Whoa...Yuh Sonsabitches.  It went directly into my bag; it had a one dollar price tag.  When all done I laid a ten dollar bill and a few coins for tax on the counter and lugged out ten books.  I have another story to tell about my book finds, but it will wait for Friday's blog.

Reading the Sunday Editorials

 I don't know who this character is, but he unexpectedly worked his way into my blog site.  Not knowing anything about him, I suspect he knew how to pick a good  wife.  With all that flesh hanging on him she probably feeds him pretty well, too.

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Lloyd Omdahl served as the lieutenant governor when George Sinner was governor of North Dakota. He was a political science professor at UND, maybe still is for all I know, and now writes a pretty sensible column.  Yesterday's proves the point.  It dealt with the theme of polarization in politics, something which applies nationwide, not just North Dakota.  He contends that the Congress in Washington is not at fault for the large division between left and right wings.  Instead he says Congress merely reflects the population's thinking as a whole.  And the population's rift has grown because of their fears.  He gave a whole list of reasons why people are afraid:
- The attack on the Twin Towers let us know we can be attacked on our soil
- The collapse and stagnation of the economy concerns retirees and investors uneasy
- The real estate bubble
- Unemployment
- Demise of unions leaves workers with little security
- National debt

Omdahl may well be right in his conclusions.  I believe the only time people enjoy talking politics is when the topics are agreeable all the way around.  Boy, if someone interjects a contrary opinion the fight is on and tempers can flare.
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My father-in-law is 95 but can still visit about some of the "old days,"  Yesterday I asked him if he ever knew William Wade, the one who established the Anchor Ranch adjacent to his property.  He doesn't hear well and replied, "Weeden?  Oh yes, they were good neighbors.  Mrs. Weeden was the daughter of Wade so I thought that was close enough.  He then told me about how he would help them castrate their calves and about the resulting "oysters."  The Anchor Ranch  has been added to the Cowboy Hall of Fame's roster of historic ranches in their Hall of Fame.

Water wagon, etc.

You don't see many of these water wagons around anymore.  This one appeared one day not far from where I live, so I made sure I got a picture of it.  The  present owner must think it will make a fixer-upper for display.  It surely comes from the old steam engine days on the farms when they needed to  take water to slake the thirst of the boilers.  Fully loaded, I'm sure it was a heavy load to pull for a team.  Not much got said about these wagons by my Dad or any of the other old timers I've listened to.

The parade in Mandan was a big one.  It is claimed that 5,000 people take part in the parade itself; that's not counting the thousands lined up on the street to watch.  The route is over five miles long and there are so many entrees in the parade that the beginning has already started returning to the staging area before the tail end of the parade has left.  I never fought the crowd - it was televised live.

The Bismarck Tribune published another one of my book reviews yesterday: Hard Country.  Set in New Mexico from 1875 through 1918, it followed a family making their living on a harsh country ranch.  The who the story swirls about was left motherless as a baby and the father could not care for him.  It was four years before he could come to claim.  By then the boy had developed feelings of abandonment and aloofness which affected him the rest of his life.  It was a good read.

And there's time for one sick joke:  Minnesota's worst air disaster occurred earlier today when a Cessna 152, a small two seater plane crashed into a Norwegian cemetery here early this morning.  Ole and Sven, working as search and rescue workers, have recovered 123 bodies so far, and expect that number to climb as digging continues into the night.

The 4th of July

The 4th comes around once a year, in fact this observance should make it the 236th time.  This city of Mandan really goes out to celebrate.  Yesterday we strolled through "Art in the Park," and I ended up buying another bookcase from a furniture craftsman from Madison, SD.  It is the 5th piece I've gotten from him, solid oak.  I can't bear to go into a furniture store and buy any of that junk they sell, veneer and chipboard and glossy finishes and whatnot... Today there is one huge parade, and a nationally known rodeo plays for three days.  Mandan is under consideration for the title of the most patriotic city in the USA.

I brought the 47 star flag back from New Mexico.  That state is celebrating just 100 years of statehood this year compared to North Dakota's123 years.  President William H. Taft signed the documents making them a state.  He told the gathered delegation, "I am glad to give you life.  I hope that you will be healthy."  When I recently visited that state, the locals complained about budget shortfalls and underfunded programs, but that's pretty typical.  About one month later Arizona came into the Union as the 48th state.

I went to the gym on Monday.  While there, I asked a grizzly old Vietnam vet (who has a purple heart on his pickup's license plate)  if he was going to celebrate the 4th.  He quickly answered, "At my age just getting out of bed in the morning is celebrating."  He's the one who told me he almost got it in Vietnam, he and two other guys being pinned down on a riverbank with Viet Cong firing at them from the jungle.  To them it seemed as if it came out of nowhere, but a patrol boat showed up with guns a-blazing.  He said those bullets really cut the jungle apart, and he survived to tell me about it. 

It's hot and humid around here these days.  This morning I opened up the patio door and just as quickly closed it.  Fresh cool air it was not.  

Paracosms

I learned a new word yesterday - paracosms.  I found it on the editorial page in David Brooks column.  He built a very interesting case around the word using the example of how Spanish youth exhibit a great deal of enthusiasm for Bruce Springsteen and his music.  As Brooks says, there they were singing the words along with Springsteen to the song "Born in the USA."  They were neither born in the USA nor even born at the time he made it a hit.  Maybe it had something to do with the sad state of the Spanish economy, but they had built, in their minds, a hankering for our life.

The dictionary definition for the word: a detailed imaginary world, or another, a fantasy world invented by children and can have a definite geography, language, and history.  There is nothing wrong with this.  In fact, I think it is pretty normal since I've practiced the phenomenon from time to time, and not necessarily while a child.  There was a time when I really dreamed big (and unrealistically)!  As a teen-ager I thought Alaska was the land of opportunity, and I thought I would be a big rancher.  So I wrote the Agriculture department in Juneau inquiring as to the possibility of establishing a large-scale cattle operation in that state.  I must have laid it on pretty thick and excited some bureaucrats up there since I received a very welcoming letter in return.

My little granddaughter is in a little princess phase, and in their new house in Fargo they are decorating her new bedroom with that theme, complete with a mini-crystal chandelier handing from the ceiling.  It should be fun!

But back to Brooks's thesis.  He tells the politicians not to be everyman.  "Don't pretend you're a member of every community you visit.  Don't try to be citizens of some artificial globalized community..."  He ends with the simple advice that candidates should just be themselves.  Voters recognize phonies.