Big Machines

Trees finally started leafing here along the Missouri. (The picture was taken last fall.)  What was it, three weeks ago we had one heck of a snowfall. Now I've got to get the lawnmowers serviced. We may or may not need them, it's dry. The snow melt didn't do much. As we drove along I-94 on Saturday, I couldn't help but notice how large the fields have gotten. Of course, that happened so as to accommodate the large machines that cover the ground quicker so more land can be farmed so that larger machines can be bought...  Endless cycle.

If timely rains don't sprout the seeds to make them grow and hold the soil, we will be in for some terrible dirt storms this summer. Strip farming and shelterbelts? Nah, they've been forgotten. Even yesterday afternoon the winds were raising dust clouds right in the city, and I could see on the horizon clouds lifted high in the air.

I just finished a very good book of historical fiction: The Killer Angels by Michael Shaara. In it he recounts the Battle of Gettysburg. An interesting story about him deals with his early death after having written the book. It so happened that his son helped him research the topic, and after his father, started writing books of historical fiction as well. The book I'm working on now will be historical fiction. A definition I found tells that this type synthesizes fact with fiction dealing with another time. Authors couldn't know what words were spoken by their characters in conversation, but they can place them in authentic situations based on research.

My story will deal with a man who owned the livery stable in my hometown who had the past experience of being a teamster with Major Marcus Reno. The man had a daughter who married a man in Ransom County, so I contacted relatives in Sheldon to see if they had information and/or photographs. She referred me to the only surviving granddaughter who in turn referred me to a family historian living in St. Paul.

We visited them last Saturday and Tom furnished me with many photographs. When the stable owner bought the place the previous owners then  purchased the Buffalo Pitts agency to sell harvesting equipment. Tom gave me an 11” by 14” picture of this scene: a Buffalo Pitts steam engine pulling a threshing machine across a low water point on the Sheyenne River. Also in the scene are a water wagon, a buggy, and a rack filled with bundles. Information on the back says, “The Wall Bros. threshing crew the 'Froemke” crossing Sheyenne River crossing south of Anselm, ND. This is just west of where Argil Froemke now lives.” It makes me wonder if that wasn't the very same “low water” crossing that freighters hauling supplies from Fort Abercrombie to Fort Ransom used when the river ran low.

Another large picture of a group of men gathered in front of a cook car with two ladies in the background says, “Cooks for this hungry threshing crew: Ella Wall (Mrs. Chas. Wendler) and Gertie Bjugstad Evanson.” When you look at it you can't help counting the number of men in it – 22 of them that these two ladies cooked for. The main point is to think how labor intensive harvest was. Going back to the earlier idea in this post, now a couple of men can do more.

Spring, at last!

An incident in the news occurring at the NDSU sheep barn brought back a memory. Two dogs on the loose got into the sheep barn at the college, killing or injuring a number of them in the flock. I was taken back to a time when we'd just returned from a Saturday night outing in town and found several dead in our flock. The immediate suspect was our black Labrador dog named Blackie. Dad opened his mouth and found wool in his teeth. I remember being shunted into the house, after which I heard the loud report of a shotgun. Dad stood for no animal on the place such as this, and the dog became an immediate memory.

Spring came on with a vengeance around here, from winter straight into nice balmy temps. That recent 18 inches of snow disappeared quickly, from snowblowers to lawnmowers. We had a lawn service power rake our yard, and the man said, “It's such a short spring.” He has about 60 yards to do, and ours was only the tenth. Some of these guys really like to work; he works full-time on the evening shift at UPS, and probably earns a living wage there. Workaholics.

Tomorrow night, Thursday, I'm scheduled to make another presentation on the William Wade book. It will be the last one. I'm on to new things and am having a ball researching and writing. Books take so darn long to do, so it will probably be a year before it's ready. In digging through the old newspapers I always find interesting items. In 1886 the publisher wrote: For fast plowing and good work, Thomas McCully “takes the cake.” In fifteen days, with a gang plow, he plowed seventy-five acres, and did it well, too, going three miles to and three miles from work. This is an average of five acres per day, which is indeed good work, considering the present unfavorable condition of the ground for plowing. Who can beat it?

Another good one follows: City Marshal Sanborn has given some of our hilariously inclined farmer citizens a little wholesome advice lately, in consequence of which they crawled into their wagons and made tracks for home.

And lastly, it's plain to see some didn't like anyone to have fun on Sunday: Some of our young gents, not having the fear of their creator before their eyes, indulged in a match game of baseball last Sunday. Don't do so any more, boys.

Scavenging in Mandan

 

Definition: Scavenger - A person who searches through and collects items from discarded material.

A yearly dance takes place each year in Mandan called something like Trash Pick-up Day. The price of a ticket sells cheap. All you have to do is set unwanted items on the boulevard (those that normally don't get picked up on regular garbage pickup). Then what happens is that you - on the night before – look out your picture window and see empty pickups driving slowly along the streets. They seem to be searching for something. This is proven when they stop and out jumps someone who scans your pile, inspects a treasure, and throws it in his pickup. There is a variation or two. On the night before our scheduled, the door bell rings and there stands a young lady with a self-conscious grin on her face. “This might sound like a dumb question, but I was wondering if you'd mind my taking that white set of shelves out there.” “White set of shelves? Mary, did you throw away any white shelves?” “Well, no, but you can take anything out there.” So the three of us walk to the front of the house, and there is a set of white shelves, but that's not all. Someone also graced our junk pile with a large treadmill. Plus a few other things. The next morning I'm still shaking my head as I walk out, but to my surprise the treadmill is gone. Someone picked it as a treasure. All before the trash truck made its rounds. I can't wait for next year.

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I gained another occupation. Last Friday I volunteered to help in an archaeology lab at the state historical society. One nice piece came to light in the bag of screenings I was given: a rim shard, ie, piece of a broken pottery piece. It was kind of nice, about 3 inches square with some nice decorative work on the edge. How old? Between 300 to 500 years old.

The best part about Friday was when I arrived, they asked if I wanted to join a tour going through the new addition to the Heritage Center. Sure, I did. What a building it will be when finished!

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The archive library keeps yielding interesting tidbits for me. Here is one from Sheldon's old newspapers, 1909: A. H. Laughlin and son Leigh of Lisbon autoed up from the county capital on Tuesday, but before reaching town, the machine began to buck and they had quite a time reaching their destination. After their arrival the machine was put under the care of auto doctor Geo. Severson, who finally got it in shape to resume its travels but not till the shades of night had fallen, so the return trip was postponed till the following day. Mr. Laughlin is accumulating material for a history of the early days of this portion of the state and is full of reminiscent stories of that period. The Progress man acknowledges a pleasant call and an addition to his stock of historical knowledge.

My personal library contains Laughlin's History of Ransom County, and an interesting one it is. He writes Okiedan Butte is a noted high mound on section 35, Island Park township, five miles south of Lisbon, as it is near the crossing of the Fort Abercrombie and Fort Ransom, Fort Sisseton and Fort Totten military roads, and the Overland Oregon Immigrants' Trail. Colonel Creel, of Devils Lake, then in the United States regular army, in the early sixties [note – that would be 1860's] had his command surrounded by an immense herd of buffalo and had to wait several hours for them to pass. He stood on Okiedan Butte for over four hours with his field glass, watching the herd pass. It was a solid moving phalanx extending in every direction beyond the vision of the glass. He estimated the herd at several hundred thousand...

Here's one more interesting story : Miller to Move Against Sheriffs - Attorney General of North Dakota Declares He Will Clean Up “Bad Spots” - Sheriffs of several counties in North Dakota are promised special attention in a short time by Attorney General Andrew Miller who is the nemesis of the illegal liquor trade in this state. Miller announced that he would move in a short time against the sheriffs of counties where violations of the law are most flagrant... Apparently too much turning of a blind eye was taking place at this time regarding liquor. Maybe one of the sheriffs was the one that called my grandpa and told him he was coming out to see if he had a still, the still which immediately got hid in the cupola of the barn. North Dakota was admitted as a dry state in 1889 and liquor sales were illegal until repeal in 1933. What was a thirsty man to do?

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If you think you've got it tough, read a history book!

Dreaming Spring

Mary showed me this picture a couple of days ago and reminded me that I took it last summer.  The reason she showed it is that she can't wait to get out and start digging in the dirt, and this reminded her of all those good things.  Spring just doesn't come!  The Bismarck high schools received permission from their board to start playing spring sports on Sunday, as long as it is after 2:30 pm so as not to conflict too badly with church activities.  An agriculture news report lamented that pastures can't handle any spring grazing yet, and in some cases, hay is becoming in short supply because of it.  Spring temperatures are forecast for the coming weekend, but the water is really going to run like rivers.  

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One of the Boston bomber's name was Tamerlan.  No one in the media seems to have caught the irony in that.  A Mongolian chieftain by the name of Tamerlane probably accounted for killing more people than anyone in history.  His reputation is that of a cruel conqueror. After capturing certain cities he slaughtered thousands of the defenders (perhaps 80,000 at Delhi) and built pyramids of their skulls. Although a Muslim, he was scarcely more merciful to those of his own faith than to those he considered infidels. His positive achievements were the encouragement of art, literature, and science and the construction of vast public works. He had little hope that his vast conquests would remain intact, and before his death he arranged for them to be divided among his sons.
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Apparently the Fargo Forum recently ran a series of articles about the Ku Klux Klan in North Dakota.  I never read them, but recently someone asked me if I knew that the KKK had a presence in my hometown of Sheldon.  It even went so far as to ignite a cross to intimidate somebody, probably a local Catholic church member.  During this period the group expressed anti-catholic sentiments, and said Catholics owed their allegiance to the Pope in Rome.  A long, informative article about KKK activity in North Dakota can be found by Googling the "KKK in North Dakota."  A state historian, Dr. Jerome Tweton, wrote an eye-opener.  A Presbyterian minister in Grand Forks apparently whipped up lots of anti-sentiment against blacks, Catholics, Jews, and liberals.  As many as a thousand members attended a convention in Grand Forks.

This all rose to interest again after the three high school kids dressed up in KKK garb to cheer in a sporting event their school participated in.  Crazy!  I doubt if the kids knew what they were doing, but it sure got everyone's attention.
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Last Saturday Mary and I attended the North Dakota Archaeology Society's spring meeting.  I never went intending to do this, but I ended up selling a half dozen books.  The president of the group is a friend and he gave me a plug.  So my thanks went to him.  I did a third printing of the book by ordering one last 50 copies of the book.  When they are gone, I think I will call it quits on that one.  You see, I've started a new project and my attention goes that direction now.

We're still waiting to see if William Wade will get inducted into the North Dakota Cowboy Hall of Fame.  I've got my fingers crossed.  I've done all I can do.  The new book deals with a similar time period.  A livery stable owner in Sheldon at one time worked as a freighter for Major Reno and accompanied him on the road to the Little Big Horn battle.
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Train after train of coal cars still go through here every day, and I always thought it was quite a sight.  Now, in addition, new trains go through made up of shiny black oil cars.  They are so new that the graffiti artists haven't yet started painting pictures on them.
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Just as I was about to post this blog, I looked up at the Today Show and there sitting beside Matt Lauer was the man who KFYR in Bismarck had just fired for uttering an obscenity.  I heard the live remark, but my ears couldn't quite believe what I heard.  Then there was a fluttering of action on the station with him giving an apology for what he had said and then his boss Monica Hannan coming on all flustered and making her apologies as well as covering her rear by saying that isn't the way she trained him.  Now there he is sitting beside Matt Lauer.  He will be on Dave Letterman tonight.  What a ride!  Notoriety because the first two words he ever uttered on a live tv show were obscenties.
Thought for the day: If you think you've got it tough, read a history book.

What's this?

There are a few things in life that I just don't like, and one of them is heavy snowfall in the middle of April.  Most of it fell on Sunday, the 14th, and on Monday we spent most of the morning clearing it out.  Lots of work was put into wrestling the snowblower around, but then here comes a snowplow and completely plugs the driveway.  It took another hour working to clear it away.  That's only half of it.  Mary got stalled at her Dad's place and her car still sits there.  I need to go clear snow there now so as to get it home.  Maybe we get these things happening to us so that we appreciate more the good things.

 The storm pretty well paralyzed both Bismarck and Mandan on Sunday and Monday.  Many establishments closed for the day.  I was looking for something in Sheldon's 125th anniversary book and saw a picture of an early memory.  Vern Loomer and his Caterpiller were the only way to clear roads in the latter 1940's.  I still remember riding to school and looking out the window at the high walls of snow canyon that his rig gouged.  (Rotary snowblowers were an awfully great invention.) 

The neighbors were out clearing snow at the same time.  Twin sons in the 7th grade live next door.  I hadn't seen them much this winter, and it was quite a surprise to see how they've grown.  They're on a basketball team that's really winning a lot of games, some kind of a league that will play much of the summer. One plays center (he's some taller) and the other plays forward.  I think I will have to start following the team when they reach high school.  I think that group will be one we'll be hearing from.

I wonder if the old moniker of "Imperial Cass" still sticks in the minds of our legislators.  Fargo wants state money to fund their flood diversion dreams.  Yesterday the state senate took it up and it looks to me that anti-Fargo forces hid behind waiting for federal funds.  Maybe everyone in the state wants that piece of state money pie and are glad to  see Fargo not getting it. 
 ...

Who has the answer to stop terror attacks?  Sure, culprits are caught and punished after the act, but that doesn't ever deter future attacks.  Hate and revenge keep recurring.  So much for our open society for it will become more and more closed.  People, old and young alike, out for a good time, are targets.  Will the Boston Marathon ever be the same?  Organizers are saying it will be bigger and better, but that's false bravado.

The parents of the twenty slaughtered students in Connecticut were on a roll in Washington as they'd started bending some ears to listen to their point of view.  Then something like Boston happens and completely smothers the national media's attention.  It happens time and again.  Some had started calling it the Gunfight at the DC Corral.

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When it comes to snow, we know Ole and Lena are close by:  Ole and Lena are sitting at their dining room table, listening to the radio and watching it snow out. All of a sudden there is a big message on the radio, "There is a snow emergency, please park your car on the odd side of the street." So Ole puts on his clothes and goes out to move his car. The next day the same thing, another snow emergency and the radio says, "Please park your car on the even side of the street." So Ole goes and parks his car on the even side of the street. A few days later there's a really bad snow storm and the radio says, "There's been a snow emergency please move your car to the ..." and the radio goes out. And Lena says to Ole, "Oh, forget it. Just leave your car in the garage this time.
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A car that sat up the street from us stood almost buried.  The snowfall did a big number on it, but then the snowplow pushed up a huge wall against it.  The owner will have to do a lot of shoveling.

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Some good reading!

I received another shipment of books to review from the magazine editor of the Western Writers of America. The first one I picked to read - Dragging Wyatt Earp: A Personal History of Dodge City. No, that doesn't refer to dragging the famous Wyatt Earp around on the ground. It has to do with the author and his friends driving back and forth along Wyatt Earp Boulevard in that city. A strong theme runs throughout his writing. He made reference to the Greek mythology character Sisyphus who is condemned to forever rolling a rock uphill, then when it comes tumbling back, must start all over again. That's what teens did (and do), drive endlessly back and forth on main or whatever the name of the street. He referred to his parents and their never ending home remodeling projects, the repetitious work in the junkyard his family owned, then later, the never-ending work on a ranch they built, and so on. A cousin managed a cattle feedlot out of Dodge City. The author asked if he could come experience their daily routine. Here again he saw the repetition of life, the endless looking after the cattle, doctoring their ailments, feeding, etc.

I remember entering a farm field with a tractor and some implement to start working a large field and thinking I will never get done with this job.  Another season and there I would be again.  One of the worst jobs, no, the worst job, I ever took was helping a turkey rancher working his flock doing something. Several of us teenagers went out there one day to wade through  those twenty-some thousand birds. Talk about never ending. One bird at a time. The figure of 20 hours of labor sticks in my mind. But there are many rolling-a-rock-uphill tasks: milking cows, washing clothes, feeding hungry workers, …

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Sometimes I accompany the wife to the mall for walking in the winter months. She walks over half an hour, me half that. While I'm waiting, I often have a book in my pocket to pull out and pass the time. This morning I opened a Matt Braun book, The Last Town, that told the story of Bill Tilghman, a famous lawman, . The first chapters caught my attention. Tilghman accompanied the Governor of Oklahoma plus a couple cars full of state troopers to a small town where the Ku Klux Klan had established themselves very deeply. The governor said the intimidation they created among the folks of that community was going to stop. As a result of that visit, he ordered the national guard in to restore the order of law.  A little later on Tilghman got called to come into an oil boomtown and clean up the corruption and crime there.   I couldn't help but think that a century later similar scenes occur. This business of guns in the hands of unstable people keeps coming up, and the NRA keeps up their ranting to protect their “right” to own. The issue really isn't that guns be taken away from those mentally able to enjoy their guns in a sporting sense or a self-defensive sense, but that screwballs shouldn't have access to them, background checks.  One of the parents of the twenty slaughtered first graders said the NRA always says guns don't kill people, people do. This parent's comeback on that was if that's the case, let's start looking at those people then through background checks.  A group of Republicans senators have vowed to block an up or down vote on the issue by filibustering.  When it comes time for them to meet face to face with the parents of the slaughtered kids, I wonder how they'll act.  One network called it "Gunfight at DC Corral."  I think politics will get very interesting in the next couple of years.

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Finding background for stories takes lots of time. I'm still very interested in the livery stable business in my hometown and one of the men who ran one in the early 1900's. One of the few sources of information I've found said that livery stables have been generally ignored by historians. So it was with satisfaction that one source named an article in a 1986 edition of Montana: The Magazine of Western History - “The Livery Stable in the American West.” I spoke on the phone with a staff member of that journal today in Helena and ordered a back copy. She patiently explained what the article contained until I was satisfied that it would be worth spending $12.95 to receive it.

An online article in the Corpus Christi, TX newspaper said “The old livery stable was a male stronghold... was a place where men could congregate in the shade, sit on their heels, talk horses, and maybe share a sip of whisky.” Another source out of Buffalo, NY stated things a bit more harshly, “Often the scene of gambling, cockfighting, and stag shows, they were condemned as sources of vice.” Well, I'm just gonna have to look into it in more depth.

Stories about dogs and horses

 

Everybody has stories about animals.  I've even got a few that I'm working into a magazine article.  The first has to do with a spitz dog that saved me from a lonely death in a slough.  It seems that  the dog and I took off one day.  I was in the toddler stage, just getting around well.  So down the road we went.  We made it about 2 1/2 miles to the edge of a slough where I was hidden from sight in a forest of cattails.  Faithful dog he was, he stayed with me.  My mother tells me they looked everywhere they could think ... but there?  From what I can learn, spitz dogs are a type, not a breed.  One characteristic is the bushy tail.  There it was waving upright in that slough that an uncle driving past noticed.  He checked it out, and there I was.  I only wish I had a better memory of that dog.
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That memory of the spitz was awakened when I was doing some research for another topic.  I ran across this story told by the noted Indian historian Charles Eastman of the famous Indian chief named Gall.  He, too, was a toddler; his mother had placed him in a basket on a travois hitched to a camp dog as the tribe worked its way across country searching for buffalo.  One day this scene developed: a jackrabbit jumped from cover, and every dog in camp took off after it.  This included those bearing packs and those pulling travois.  There Gall was, racing across country behind a dog in hot pursuit, with a frantic, screaming mother racing behind.  He clung to the dog's tail and it so happened his dog was the one whose jaws snapped shut on the leaping rabbit.
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Dad told this story about his brother Alfred.  At a young age, here came Alfred driving a team hitched to a plow.  Coming down a hill the plow ran into the back of the horses which then bolted and started running.  Grandpa stood nearby putting in new fenceposts.  He hollered at Alfred to drop the plow into the ground so it would brake the horses.  He never heard.  It so happened that those horses straddled the line of posts, one on either side.  They broke off every post that Grandpa had set in the ground.  It was only when they came to a sturdy corner post that they came to a halt.
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There's something about a story that has a strong animal character in it.  Western writers discovered that a long time ago, and the stories keep on a-comin'.  Happy trails.
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The phone rang this morning.  A gentleman called wanting some William Wade books.  He ended up buying seven of them.  I do believe I'd better order some more.  Of 250 books, I have only half a dozen or so left.  The book publishing experience has been very gratifying for me.  Not that there is any money in it because there isn't.  It's just that I found a topic that resonates with lots of local history lovers.
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Two Horses
A blonde bought two horses but could never remember which horse was which.  A neighbor suggested that she cut the tail off one horse and that worked great until the other horse got his tail caught in a bush.  It tore just right and looked exactly like the other horse's tail, and our friend was stuck again.  The neighbor suggested she notch the ear on one horse.  That worked fine until the other horse caught his on a barbed wire fence.  Once again our friend couldn't tell them apart.  The neighbor suggested she measure the horses for height.  When she did she was very pleased to find that the white horse was 2 inches taller than the black horse.
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Do not regret growing older.  It is a privilege denied to many.

Moonshine, Hailstones, etc.

In case anyone is interested the x's on a moonshine jug are supposed to mean how many times the product has been run through a still.  Today, Tuesday, I finally got around to listening to a digital file that's been sitting in my recorder for the better part of three years.  I kept putting it off; it is the final recording I made with Dad before he passed away.  He told some fun stories on that session, even though his speech showed some early strokes taking place.  

His grandpa, my great-grandpa, possessed a still in those years when the law said no, you can't make this stuff, prohibition, don't you know.  The sheriff of the county  must not have liked arresting people for this infringement, so he would call ahead to say he intended to come out and inspect.  Great-grandpa feared the consequences and asked his partner what they should do.  Partner said to hide it up in the cupola of the barn.  So a ladder was gotten and onto the roof they climbed, tore boards off the side of the cupola, and stored it in there.

He told of the time when the sheriff went to a farm where the residents had the reputation of making lots of moonshine.  When he left his car to snoop around,  family members sneaked behind the car and pushed it into the Sheyenne River.  Think of the great story telling that must have come from that episode.  At any rate, I value the stories and as I listen, I type, transcribing the words.  It's a slow job but worth it.  Some day the stories will be set down into a book.

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History takes up the better part of my reading time.  A book - Following the Custer Trail of 1876 -  outlines the suffering of men and animals on the march westward to the Little Big Horn.  Near present day New Salem the weather on May 19 turned sour and a heavy thunderstorm drenched everything.  At noon hail began.  General Terry in a journal said:  "The storm terrified the drenched and bawling herd of beef cattle into a wild stampede!  Man and beast alike sustained bruises from this untoward assault from the skies.  The drovers tried to keep the herd as contained as possible, to prevent stampede, for the hailstones could be observed literally dancing from the exposed backs of the frightened beasts.  Hailstones ripped into the muddied white canvas covers of the wagons like white mini-balls.  The cavalry mounts, struck repeatedly, whinnied and snorted in wild-eyed fright and uncertainty..."

I still remember the time when I was a boy seeing a herd of cattle caught in a hailstorm away from shelter.  The hailstones were big, some tennis ball sized.  Those poor cows didn't know what kind of hell rained down on them that day.  I'm sure they must have been bruised badly.

Another bad weather occurrence made for miserable conditions on June 2 at the west side of the Little Missouri River.  A snow storm stopped the command.  Mark Kellogg, the reporter from the Bismarck Tribune who was killed along with the rest of Custer's men, wrote in his diary: "Reveille at 3 A.M.  Looking out inches of snow on ground and snow hard.  Has snowed nearly all day.  Have not moved.  Seven o'clock and snowing harder than ever, wind blowing from northwest, growing colder..." And these were just weather inconveniences.  Blisters, heat, mud, poor food, and many other things made for miserable conditions.

History, Close-up

Passionate feelings have caused violence in this state.  This picture of a lynching not far south of Bismarck occurred in 1897 when a mob took the law into their own hands to avenge the murder of a family.  The murder of six members of the Spicer family in Winona, a settlement just east across the Missouri River from Fort Yates, led to this scene.  Traffic flowed across the river either by ferry or on the ice, and residents of the Fort Yates agency came to Winona to trade, mostly to buy liquor which was not available on the reservation.  For some reason, a proprietor of one of the establishments would not sell alcohol to them.  Instead he told them he had hauled his supply over to another party.  Going there, they received another story, that Spicers' were storing it for them.  It so happened Spicer was a strong church going man who would have nothing to do with alcohol.  The murderers did not take it any further, but killed all those present.  The court system's proceedings did not satisfy community members and the lynching occurred.  

We talked about this a bit during my presentation last week and Glenn McCrory of Linton mentioned he had worked up a book gleaned from old newspapers that told this story.  The book was put together by the newspaper in Linton, ND, the Emmons County Record (ecrecord.com) and I called to find if it was still available.  Yes, so I charge-carded my order yesterday afternoon and here it arrived in the mail today.  The material is very readable, all re-typed, not photocopies of clippings.  

The volume, Tragedy on the Prairie: The Spicer Family Murders 1897, will answer questions for me about the incident.  A very interesting discussion about it on the internet can be found at this link: http://amertribes.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=teton&action=print&thread=1459

Times were different.  Supposedly 40 men participated in the lynching.  I wonder if feelings of guilt haunted them.  I'm sure they did, right up to their own deaths.  Other topics pull at me now, but I plan to return. 
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I can't believe this: our state legislature is debating whether or not to allow guns in schools.  I am reminded of ESCALATION.  When will it end?  Will it work?  Gun lovers clap their hands in glee.  Dealers, manufacturers, nuts, all think this is great stuff!  When in grade school we had a box full of boxing gloves and could put them on and wail away at each other.  That doesn't fly now, might get hurt.  But what does a few clips of bullets do?
***

A police officer saw a man dressed as a cowboy in the street, complete with huge stetson hat, spurs, and six shooters."Excuse me, sir," said the police officer, "who are you?""My names Tex, officer," said the cowboy." eh?" said the police officer, "Are you from Texas?" "Nope, Louisiana." "Louisiana? So why are you called Tex?" "Dont want to be called Louise, do I .

Yesterday's Presentation

I didn't get around to posting this blog yesterday, Wed., when I usually do because I was tired.  I made the presentation to a nice crowd and many of them said nice things afterwards.  So, I'm going to go with this: it was a success.  To spice things up a bit I told a few jokes, such as - An old cowhand came riding into town on a hot, dry, dusty day.  The local sheriff watched from his chair in front of the saloon as the cowboy dismounted and tied his horse to the rail.  The cowboy then moved to the back of the horse, lifted its tail, and placed a big kiss where the sun don't shine.  He dropped the horse's tail, stepped onto the sidewalk, and headed for the saloon door.

The sheriff said, "Hold on, Mister.  Did I just see what I think I saw?"  

I reckon you did, Sheriff...I got me some powerful chapped lips."

"And that cures them?"

"Nope, but it keeps me from lickin' 'em."

...

I'll be back next week with something worthwhile to say.

 

Just funnin'

 

I love this picture.  I wish I could have shown it to my Uncle Russell (the one with the Buelingos).  This pair has been identified as the Dutch Belted breed.  They have horns; Russell's were a polled breed.  If I remember my history, teamsters wanted horns on their oxen so they couldn't slip out of the yoke.  This picture will appear in my power point presentation next Wednesday.  If the audience looks for a picture of an old-time teamster, this should make them gasp a bit.  How lucky was this photographer to catch such a coordinated color scene?
***
Darn birthdays keep coming.  Of course, I should be glad cuz the alternative isn't good.  Anyway, one of the cards I received was a booklet, "1942.  Remember When...A Nostalgic Look Back in Time."  Here are a few tidbits from it: General MacArthur vows, "I Shall Return,"...The Battle of Midway ends with the first major Japanese loss...Major Doolittle leads a bombing group over Tokyo...Gasoline rationing goes into effect...Kellogg's Raisin Bran and instant coffee are introduced...World Series Champion, St. Louis Cardinals...Life expectancy, 62.9 years...Auto manufacturers stopped producing cars to turn production to war materials; the next new car in the U.S. wasn't made until 1945...Average income $1885 per year...Movie ticket .30...etc.
***
I never quite knew the meaning of the saying- throwing good money after bad.  Our state legislature sure defined that lately.  The new chancellor, less than a year, of the North Dakota University System already met with disfavor among many in the state, so much so that the state senate just voted to set aside over $800,000 to buy out his contract.  Will the state house follow along?  At any rate, if the chancellor is so bad, $800,000 of good money might just get thrown at him.
***
Many stories come to light from studying the life and time of Willliam Wade.  South of Bismarck in a town no longer in existence, six members of the Spicer family were murdered near Winona (across from Fort Yates).  The reasoning really rankles.  Some mixed-bloods came to town looking for liquor.  The bartender told them it had been hauled into a nearby house.  They went there and asked for it.  For the fun of it, that man said no, it was stored in Spicer's cellar over there.  Mr. Spicer was a religious, tee-totalling man who would have nothing to do with liquor.  Nonetheless, all died at the hands of the thirst-crazed men.  Those presumed guilty were arrested and placed in a jail cell.  A vigilante group came, broke them out and lynched them near another town no longer in existence, Williamsport.
***
The first newspaper printed in North Dakota originated from Fort Rice, Dak. Terr.  In the issue of July 14, 1864 this article appeared:  Our National Debt.  One of the results of the wicked rebellion against our national government is the accumulation of an enormous debt, which on February 1, 1863, amounted to $815,000,000, and which it is supposed will reach $2,000,000,000...Things never change, do they.

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.

***
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.")
***
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.

***  ***   ***

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.

***   ***   ***

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.
***   ***   ***
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."
***   ***   ***
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.
***   ***   ***
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.

***   ***   ***

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.
...   ...   ...
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.
...   ...   ...
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... 
 ...   ...   ...

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."

Life, as usual

We've been home for a few days, and life slowly resumes as usual.  My old Lazyboy chair sure feels good.  When on the road a person cannot relax like he can with the favorite things of home.  I've sold quite a few books since the first of the year, three today alone.

It hasn't been hard to find old-timers who reminisce about the things they know that are included in the book.  One gentleman today spent most of his life farming in Emmons County.  On the phone I said Wm. Wade writes of Horse Head Bottoms in Emmons County.  Oh, yes, he knew all about it, in fact had farmed near there.  I promised to make a date with him to talk about his history and what he knows.  Among other things he had a relative murdered south of Linton.

I told another fellow today about the 1905 map I'd included in the book and that not many roads show on it.  He lived on the west side of the river and talked about how he remembered the road through there was nothing but a trail.  Of course, now it is a paved state highway.  He wants to talk more, too.

The picture of San Francisco shows how closely packed the buildings are in that city.  I remember some of the cop shows that used to take place there and how steep the streets were.  I thought as we drove on them how much fun it would be to start at the top of a hill and skateboard down; however, I don't think the cops there would think too highly of that.  I now wish we could have spent more time in the downtown and explored some of it, especially the bookstore established by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, City Lights. 

While the Memory's Fresh

The old Scottish poet Robert Burns wrote a poem he titled "To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with a Plough."  In it he stated, "The best laid schemes of mice and men go often awry."  I guess I can claim that fate.  I took along this little netbook with the intention of blogging frequently on the road.  Then I came down with bronchitis and didn't have much energy to do anything.  The weather was cold and windy in Arizona, especially, and I believe it was there I caught the bug.  When we got to Las Vegas I succumbed and made up my mind to find a doctor and get some medication.  Because of that I missed going to Hoover Dam one afternoon and Disneyland one day.

Here is a scanty outline of the trip.  Day 1 - travel until we pulled in for the night at Lusk, WY.  Day 2 - drove in strong wind until we arrived in Las Vegas, NM for the night.  I've encountered strong winds like that before in the Cheyenne area.  Day 3 - Roswell, NM.  We toured the museum of the reported alien crash landing.  It could have happened, I don't know for sure.  This is for sure: Roswell has made lots of money from tourists.  From here we drove to White's City and entered Carlsbad Caverns.  This is quite a site.  It's one big hole in the ground!  I left a few bucks in a gift shop after buying a fancy bolo tie.  I blew my spending money for the trip on that one.

Day 4 - Drove past El Paso, TX and then across the dry Rio Grande River, just a few puddles here. 
Tombstone, AZ and a terrible motel experience awaited us.  Day 5 - A tour of Tombstone took us through Boothill Theater, the Birdcage Theater, and the OK Corral.  Spent the night in Tucson.  Day 6 - An interesting old mission church - Mission San Xavier Del Bac - took a couple of hours.  We headed for the AZ Sonora Desert Museum, 40 or so acres of desert plants.  Then to Old Tucson, a movie set where John Wayne and some of the other western stars made movies.  Day 7 - Biosphere, a couple acre site under glass where all kinds of experiments have take place, including a few people who lived inside its confines for two years in self-sustaining conditions.  Apparently, at the end of two years, they all went their separate ways, couldn't stand to look at each other anymore.  Day 8 - Mesa, AZ city tour for the day in and around the area, then supper at Organ Stop Pizza.  This organ can play one mess of sound effects, only one of its type in the world.

Day 9 - Sedona, Red Rock State Park and the Grand Canyon.  Mary's first time to see it.  Day 10 - Las Vegas, NV.  Here's where I found a doctor; the group toured Hoover Dam.  I don't think I left a dime in that town.  Hey, big spender!  Day 11 - Hollywood, CA and Universal Studio tour.  Arrived Anaheim.  Day 12 - Disneyland.  Here's where I was a party pooper and stayed in the motel.  Day 13 - Drove all day and arrived at San Francisco.  Day 14 - City tour and ferry ride over to Alcatraz.  What a hilly city!  What a dreary hell the prison was!  Stayed in Sacramento that night.

Day 15 - Crossed Donner Pass, drove all day to a smelly casino at Wendover, NV.  Gawd, the cigarette smoke reeked in everything, even the so-called no smoking rooms.  Day 16 - Drove all day to Casper, WY.  Day 17 - Toured a planetarium in Casper run by the school district.  I guess I slept part of the time.  Those chairs were sure comfortable.  Drove to Deadwood.  Day 18 - Arrived in Bismarck about 4:00.

The bus driver said we drove over 5,000 miles.  The most interesting part for me was watching the landscape change.  Cactus country is interesting; some of them really get big.  The bus was full - 54 paying passengers plus a driver and an escort.  With that trip we have taken all the big 18 day trips that the Farmers Union offers and consequently have travelled all the continental states except Delaware.  Last year we even went to Hawaii with them.  So that's about all I've got to say about the Southwest Tour of 2013.

On the Road - 4

Disneyland, 83 degrees outside, and I didn't even go across the street to Disneyland.  I went to the doctor yesterday in Las Vegas, diagnosed with bronchitis, given four prescriptions, told to stay away from smoky rooms (therefore, no casino time for me.)  I had big plans to write blogs every day but the bug didn't allow that.  Tomorrow we head for San Francisco.  I knew I was in California when the waiter at the next door Denny's called me "Amigo."

On the Road - 3

Tucson, AZ   January 12, 2013

It seems like we brought winter along with us; we've been wearing our heaviest coats.  Other than that the trip has been enjoyable.  Today many sagauro cacti filled our view.  I never knew those cylinders with arms climbed the foothills and took root at the top of some of the mountain peaks.  It's hard to get to the computer and post these, so I'm a bit behind.  After leaving Carlsbad Caverns area on Thursday morning we drove to El Paso and later that day arrived in Tombstone, AZ where among all the motels I've stayed in the Tombstone Motel certainly was one of them.  I don't think there was a satisfied soul with that place and more nightmares occurred the next morning at breakfast.  We did enjoy touring the city on Friday, including Boothill Cemetery, the Birdcage Theater, roaming around town, and then leaving for Tucson.

Here we toured the Mission San Xavier Del Bac which has a long history with quite ancient beginnings.  The AZ Sonora Desert Museum proved quite a treat, and Mary walked around the grounds snapping many pictures with her new camera.  Then off we went to Old Tucson.  It has been the site of about 300 movies and tv productions over the years.  We watched three movie stuntmen go through their paces, staging fist fights, shootings, falling off buildings, riding a ladder pushed backward off a high place, etc.  A movie dedicated to John Wayne and how well liked he was in Tucson, followed by some dancehall girls entertaining us rounded out a good experience.  That's enough for today.  I stayed back from supper because I'm not feeling so good with a cold coming on so will close for now.

On the Road - 2

White's City, New Mexico - January 1, 2012

All day driving through this part of the country we thought how dry the landscape appeared.  Well, tonight at supper it started raining, and quite hard.  Maybe we should take credit!  Our first stop was at Roswell, NM to tour through the UFO museum.  It was nothing fancy: a few dummies to look like aliens, lots of photos and written documents, newspaper clippings, etc.  Am I a believer?  Myresponse is, it might be true.  This is a mighty big universe and with some of the scientific theories floating around like quantum mechanics and string theory, I believe there is potential. A Mexican restaurant beckoned to most of our group at noon.  The food was good (and reasonably priced).  Next door to it was a Mexican bakery that smelled so good when you stepped inside.

Carlsbad Caverns was next on our itinerary.  Those caves really make a person feel small since they are huge.  Great experience, and now I can chalk that one up.

On the Road

Las Vegas, New Mexico,  January 8, 2013

We've driven a solid two days to get to this point.  Last evening we stayed in Lusk, Wyo.  Tomorrow we travel on to Roswell, NM for a tour of the UFO museum and on to the Carlsbad Caverns Nat'l Park.  I always enjoy the drive along the front range of the Rocky Mts. past Fort Collins, Denver, Colorado Springs, etc.  This evening I watched out the window at the settling dusk with the mesa tops outlined against the sky.  Beautiful.  High winds, over 50 mph around the Cheyenne area (as usual) made for some poor fuel mileage with the bus, so much so that the fuel gauge was low, low.  The cities along the front range are growing together so that they'll be one continuous city before long.  A sign seen along the way: United we squabble, divided we wobble.

A New Year

 

And I hope it is a happy one!  The Congressional gang in Washington probably isn't too happy about now, sitting in the capital when they could have been home celebrating.  And you'd think they'd learn; they did it to themselves, leaving things go until the last minute.  Listening to all the "going over the cliff" talk had me a bit concerned.  Would walls crumble?  Would people fall into crevasses?  Would the wind blow it all down?  Then it came out that whatever deal the gang comes up with can be made retroactive to the first of the year, so what's the problem?  Suffer on, you saps.
***
Should I make a New Year's resolution?  I never think too hard on it, but if I were to make one it would be to learn something new.  It still stands strong in my memory how I had never learned to write the English language until I began studying the German language.  Now the active voice, the passive voice, subjects, predicates, gerunds, infinitives, what have you, pose no obstacle.  This year I learned something about publishing a book.  Now I'm in the middle of learning something about promotions; that's where the workout comes.  I learned how easy it is to become a book reviewer, and now the books arrive regularly.  I'll have to buy more bookshelves!  I learned I'm not getting any younger as evidenced by new aches and pains that pop up.
***
Losing weight ranks high on resolutions.  For a lot of people, they know it's time to lose weight when they step on a talking scale and it says, "One at a time, please."
***
Lutefisk by the barrel gets feasted on this time of year.  Check out our Norwegian friends -- 

Ole, Sven and Lars die in a tragic Lutefisk accident. They are met by God on the stairway to heaven.

God says, "There are 3,000 steps to heaven. It's very serious up there. I'll tell you a joke on each 1,000th step you reach. If you laugh you go to hell."

So they start walking and reach to the first 1,000th step. God tells a joke, Lars laughs out loud and goes straight to hell. Ole and Sven look at each other nervously.

On the 2,000th step God tells another joke, Sven tries his best but laughs and goes to straight to hell.

On the 3,000th step God tells the last and best joke, Ole doesn't laugh and proceeds to the gate.

Suddenly, Ole bursts out laughing hysterically. God asks, "What are you laughing about?".

Ole replies, "Oh dat's funny. I yust got da first yoke!".
***
Obviously, I haven't learned much since the last blog was posted.   Trust me, next week will be very different.

ND Veteran's Cemetery, 2012

We celebrated Christmas with our little family this past weekend.  Now everyone is free to go and do whatever they want for the rest of the holidays.  Early Sunday afternoon we led the way to the North Dakota Veterans Cemetery a few miles south of our house.  Quite an amazing sight it was.  This picture in no way shows all the monuments in the cemetery but gives an idea how it appears with the Christmas wreaths placed at the foot of each stone.  I've forgotten the number buried out there, but I think it's between three and four thousand.  Often times we've had to wait before entering Highway 1806 because a procession led by a hearse followed by mourners is passing by as it carries they escort a veteran on his final ride.

***

How can a person write anything without thinking of the other funerals taking place now in Connecticut?  It's been hard to watch the news lately because it's hard to wrap brains and emotions around the murders.  Some rethinking is taking place among previous stalwarts of the 2nd Amendment.  A reinterpretation of just what is meant by the language has been heard.  Written in the day of single shot muzzle loading rifles, how does it apply to today's rapid-fire multitudinous bullets spraying from the tip of a barrel?  Joe Scarborough, self-professed right-wing conservative, gave a compelling argument that gun ownership needs to be looked at again. He said that his previous gun views were no longer relevant.  His video of the long argument he makes can still be found and viewed on MSNBC and probably other sites after Googling it.

***

Movies and video games do their part in making violence seem normal or natural.  When we last were in a theater for "Lincoln" the previews seemed especially  graphic, basically terrible.  One of them featured a slave turned gunslinger who had lots of scores to settle.  Bang, bang.
***
Maybe history is violence.  Going back to the saying that if you think you've got it tough, read a history book, I currently reading William Manchester's third book in a trilogy, The Last Lion, which is the biography of Winston Churchill.  He stands tall as a historical figure and the story of just how tall he stood when Hitler's bombs were falling all around him is worth the read.  Churchill wasn't just a fat, toady looking little man.  In an obscure fight known as the Battle of Omdurman in 1898 he rode as a cavalryman as England fought to keep its empire together.  On horseback his unit was ordered to charge with sabers drawn.  With a lame shoulder he knew he wouldn't be able to fight well, so he drew his pistol and entered the fight with it, killing three. 
***
It's best to get off the violence talk.  We are in a season where we should proclaim peace on earth and goodwill to all men.  Merry Christmas.

12-12-12

The statue of boots, rifle, and helmet stands at the entrance to a military installation in Bismarck called Fraine Barracks.  It seemed appropriate to take a picture and post it today when a funeral was held yesterday for one of the North Dakota National Guard boys killed in an explosion.  Behind it stood a flag pole flying a flag at half staff.  Four members of the guard died recently, two of them in Iraq and  two by their own hand after returning.  Sad stories at Christmastime.

***

I just received a Christmas letter from my old English teacher, Mrs. Slatta.  Actually two came, one written personally to me by her daughter, and the other written on behalf of her mother by the same daughter.  You see, Mrs. Slatta is now 103 years old, so she gets help doing some of these things.  Both women enjoyed knowing how I got reacquainted with the son through the Western Writers of America.  Her husband at the time was the school superintendent and our civics class teacher.  I still remember the day when we talked about the Russian's orbiting Sputnik.  1957.

***

Winter came to Mandan, snow, cold, and wind. I always think about those Southern boys up here in the oil patch and how they must be complaining. I saw a sign in the window of the Medora bookstore that would answer them: If you think you've got it tough, read a history book. One of the benefits of Mary's family history collecting is the hard times that those of a couple generations ago suffered through. Two different cases of extreme hardship come to mind. In each of them families of immigrants traveled westward to new homes, and a woman had to give birth in the middle of a snowstorm. The wagon boxes the families rode in were turned upside down to make a shelter, and the woman was wrapped in horse blankets. Each time things turned out okay with the births, though in one of them the man complained, upon being rescued, that he had run out of tobacco during the night.

***

Last Saturday's weather threatened, but I drove west to Medora to do a book signing in the Western Edge bookstore. The business places in that town have been sponsoring a weekend filled with activities, eats, and shopping. I pulled into town a bit early to do some shopping for the little granddaughter for something Mary had seen in one of the shops last spring. A nice plate of goodies sat there, and I helped myself to a krumkake liberally sprinkled with powdered sugar. Mmmm. A schedule of business places offering treats and eats lay on the table. I counted 21 of them. No way could I visit all of them, but I took off for the Cowboy Hall of Fame building and the advertised Rocky Mountain oyster offering. Upstairs three ladies stood preparing them, but they were not done yet. I looked over the counter at those little raw bluish nuggets in a bowl and decided I could forgo that cuisine. I said to one of the ladies the only time I'd ever eaten them was when I was crazy-full of beer. She said, “Go down the street and drink three or four, then come back.” I didn't.

The hotel served a very hearty chili. The meat ingredient was not hamburger but chunks of steak. A bowl of that tasted good, and for a dessert, plates of truffles beckoned. One of them and I was on my way to the bookstore for what I discovered is a community favorite, Mary E's bread pudding with rum sauce. People lined up to get at that. A crowd like that promised a few book sales, and I didn't get at the pudding for awhile. Even though the drive home got a bit dicey from the weather, I was not disappointed since I returned home with a nice check.

Early November Miscellaneous

Below our house a large cornfield stood until stiff winds of a month ago knocked many of the stalks flat to the ground.  We noticed upon returning home from Branson that the field had been harvested for what still stood.  Hordes of geese moved in, tens of thousands of them, to finish gleaning corn laying on the ground. They provided an entertaining view each time we drove past.  One morning I heard shotguns blasting away, and now, there are no more geese gathering.  I miss them.

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We bought tickets for the new James Bond movie "Skyfall."  This was just for the heck of it.  James Bond isn't too brainy, so a person doesn't have to do much thinking, just sit back and watch.  We didn't feel cheated because it was entertaining.  Several months ago while we toured the North Dakota Cowboy Hall of Fame, I stopped to look at an exhibit.(How this got into a collection of cowboy stuff, I don't know.)  A Walther PPK pistol sat in a showcase and was identified as the type of gun James Bond carries.  So I looked closely when he drew his iron, and sure enough, it looked the same to me.

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The folks downriver on the Missouri have been complaining about the low level of water in the river that endangers barge traffic.  On one of our trips we spent time in Mark Twain's town of Hannibal, Missouri.  We stopped atop a hill overlooking the river and watched barge traffic float slowly by.  Barges are large, and I imagine cost of freighting grain, or any other products, is quite economical.  Politics will start getting played real hard to protect that industry.

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I can't resist telling this story on my wife.  Krolls restaurants offer a good bargain each afternoon: two-for-one burgers, fries, and malts.  When it's close to suppertime, we will occasionally go and fill up.  The best part of the deal is the malts.  They mix each one up in the silver cans we used to see as a kid.  They serve the finished product in a glass container.  The good part is this: There is enough left in the tin container to fill the glass once again.  And upon request, they bring a styrofoam cup to take the excess brew home.  I enjoy my malts to the last drop and like to draw hard on the last slurp and make it go braaackkk.  Drives Mary crazy!  Well, last week, there she was enjoying hers to the last drop and BRAAACKK she goes.  I made immediate eye contact with her over that, but the good part was that a brassy old woman had come in and ordered at the counter.  She turned around and said, "You big kid!!"  But she scolded in fun and we had a good laugh over it.  Some comeuppance for the wife, though.

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It's been an interesting week for me.  This coming Saturday I've been invited to come to Medora for a book signing at their Cowboy Christmas celebration...  I had an email from a gentleman who is reviewing my book for the Western Writers of America and needed additional information...  An email arrived from Paris, France from a gentleman researching the West who wants a book.  Not knowing postage costs I went to the post office and discovered that postage for the book is $10.03...  Ole, while not a brilliant scholar, was a gifted portrait artist. His fame grew and soon people from all over the country were coming to Minnesota to have portraits done. One day, a stretch limo pulled up to his house.

Inside was a beautiful woman, who asked Ole if he would paint her in the nude. This was the first time anyone had made this request of Ole. The woman said money was no object. She was willing to pay $50,000. Not wanting to get into trouble with his wife, Ole asked the woman to wait while he went in the house and conferred with Lena, his missus.

In a few minutes, he returned and said to the lady, "Ya, shoor, you betcha. I'll paint ya in da nude, but I'll haff ta leave my socks on so I'll have a place to wipe my brushes."