My Two Cents

So much to read, so little time! It seems like I spend all my money on books. A new title caught my eye so I bought it: The Long Way Home - An American Journey from Ellis Island to the Great War. The first lines in the dust jacket of the book read “When the United States entered World War I in 1917, one-third of the nation’s population had been born overseas or had a parent who was an immigrant. At the peak of U. S. involvement in the war, nearly one in five American soldiers was foreign-born.” Since my maternal grandfather fit into that category I thought it would be informative. The author traces the lives of a dozen men, one of whom came from Norway. When I looked deeper into the tale I discovered he marched with the 362nd Regiment of the 91st Division, the same one Grandpa was a member of. Reading this account should give me a bit more insight into the sketchy history of the battles he fought in.

The 91st, identified as the Wild West Division, included a lot of cowboy types from Wyoming and Montana. One of my uncles told the story he knew of the time when Grandpa’s troop train carried the raw recruits to their training camp in Washington. At a station stop some sergeant started bawling orders at them and one of them promptly decked the sergeant. He didn’t take kindly to being ordered around. At the remaining station stops armed guards stood on the platform to keep order.
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We recently visited New Orleans, the Gulf Coast area, and Nashville. Now both are suffering through disasters. I hope they don’t think that the dark cloud follows me around and that I had something to do with it. I might want to go back sometime.
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We just finished re-watching my John Adams boxed DVD set as well as a Thomas Jefferson DVD found at the library. Without the leadership and wisdom these two men demonstrated in the early days of this country a much different government probably would have developed. I've been watching the new Tom Hanks production of "The Pacific" on HBO. The battle scenes are very graphic, but it doesn't match up to the earlier "Band of Brothers" or "Saving Private Ryan."

Gettin' Back in the Groove

I’ve been watching the weather half a world away in Mumbai (Bombay), India - the temperatures have been consistently in the mid-90’s. Reason: our first born flew there last week for business reasons. He emailed that it took him 27 ½ hours to reach his destination, and apparently the volcano ash we’ve been hearing so much about was not much of a problem. He’ll be there for a two week stretch meeting with them plus some Australian colleagues. A quick Google check names several sites that, with differing definitions of a city, show Mumbai as either first, second, or third most populous city in the world. This world economy thing blows my mind. To think how the different countries of the world interact to make their economies work is hard for this old farm boy to comprehend, but it sure looks like a heady experience for those who can function in the modern world.
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I’m always interested in hearing veterans tell war stories, but it’s hard to get them to talk about their combat experiences. A long-time acquaintance and Viet Nam veteran is no different. Stories he tells are very superficial, and he outright told me one day that he doesn’t like to talk about them. Recently, though, he volunteered to let me read a book of his that dealt with the Marine unit he fought with at the Battle of Dong Ha in 1968. The book, Magnificent Bastards, doesn’t paint any glorious pictures but depicts the down and dirty aspects of the fighting. This Marine unit got ripped up badly, and according to one source, lost 81 killed and 297 seriously wounded. Prior to my reading the book, he had said, “A lot of the guys never came back.”
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A few days ago a beautifully restored ‘49 Chevy pickup pulled into our driveway driven by an acquaintance who loves to work on cars and who stopped by to show it off. Proud he was, “There isn’t a bolt in it that isn’t chromed.” The stock six-cylinder engine purred nicely and the blue paint job reflected my face. What caught my eye though was the add-on turn signal gizmo bolted to the steering column. He, being younger than I, seemed interested when I told him that I remember when those gadgets had to be added to a vehicle if not factory equipped because of a newly enacted state law which I’ll guess occurred sometime in the early 1950’s. After awhile, he backed out and coolly cruised away, then Mary pointed to the big puddle of oil the engine leaked on our driveway.
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It would be good advice for anyone:
If at first you don’t succeed, stay away from sky-diving!

Final Remarks on a Road Trip

The Precious Moments museum and chapel gave us plenty to look at in Carthage, Mo, and supper at Lambert’s in Springfield had us ducking their trademark activity of dinner rolls being thrown at us from twenty feet away. Next morning the large Bass Pro Shop offered its wares before departing to Branson and the huge show called “Noah, the Musical.” I’ve never seen such a production with all the animals that Noah gathered to ride his ark.

Elvis Presley’s Graceland bored me another time. That stop is so overly commercialized and glitzy that it rubs this prairie dweller to raw skin. The Vicksburg Military Park with its large battlefield presents itself as a destination in itself. A person could study the facets of that battle for a long time. New Orleans brought some reality to Katrina’s damage that we’d only experienced through television or printed media reports.

A Farmer’s Union trip always takes in some type of agricultural visit and this one included the Harvest States Barge Loading Facility outside of New Orleans. Over the course of a year they unload four thousand grain filled barges floated down the Mississippi River onto 200 ships. That makes for a lot of commerce.

On to Nashville and Andrew Jackson’s home called The Hermitage and a performance of the Grand Ole Opry. When Josh Turner came on stage his performance which was almost overshadowed by a bunch of 80 year old women who sat beside us and screamed and carried on like teen-agers. Little Jimmy Dickens still brings the audience to its feet for a standing ovation.

I took my third and final trip to the top of the Arch in St. Louis. Each time I’ve ridden the tramway to the top to prove to myself that I’m not a coward, but having proven that and since I always get very uncomfortable up there, I’ve decided that enough is enough. Springfield, IL’s site was the beautifully constructed Lincoln Tomb where he has been lain to rest plus his home while he lived there and practiced law. Hannibal, MO featured Mark Twain’s boyhood home, something I found very interesting.

A final attraction drew us to Jesse James House and Museum in St. Joseph, MO. We were surprised. It was a great museum that also included the Pony Express museum.

Well, I can put my journey to rest. Today we power raked the lawn, Mary started digging in her flower beds, and I’ve started thinking about other things to do.

On the Road, # 4

Collecting My Thoughts …
Before the Memories Fade

Having just returned from a two week tour I need to sit down and transcribe the impressions formed after looking through the window of a bus. Of course, we did a bit of walking, too, through various sites. I don’t want to call the journey one of looking at dead people’s graves, although we did a bit of that: Abraham Lincoln, Andrew Jackson, Elvis Presley, and the concrete tombs of New Orleans. Even though the tour was named Music Medley, I can’t recall that we heard much music, although the performance of the Grand Ole Opry counts heavily in its favor. We didn’t even eat much ethnic food, although in New Orleans I did eat a Po’ Boy sandwich filled with fried oysters, shrimp, and catfish.

With that negative-seeming introduction, one would think we did not have a good time, but such was not the case; we did have a worthwhile trip and a good time. I’ve discovered, after several bus tours, that people who spend the money to join the tour put contentious issues aside and find common ground to enjoy each other’s humor and fellowship. Whenever I step off the bus for the last time, I always feel a bit of emptiness since I have to return to my everyday life and will not see some of my fellow passengers again for awhile, or maybe not ever.

I don’t think any of us came away from our drive through the Ninth Ward of New Orleans without feeling some sadness for what we saw there. The place, for the most part, is still a shambles. The Mississippi Gulf Coast, with its once beautiful mansions, needs much work yet to restore it, although one can’t help but admire the initiative some re-builders are showing as they build their houses on the tall stilts holding them high in the air.

The Vicksburg Civil War Battlefield illustrated the impossibility of some conflicts, this one with its high ground and deep ravines which Northern forces never did take by assault, but instead forced Southern surrender after a siege that starved them out.

We visited Hannibal, MO and the Mark Twain Museum and Home where I bought Twain’s Autobiography. I mention that here because I’m not done with the Civil War impressions. I’d known for some time that General, later President, U. S. Grant did not have any money towards the end of his life. He proceeded to write his autobiography and was ready to sell the rights for about $25,000 to an unscrupulous publisher. He asked Mark Twain to look at the contract before signing it and Twain promptly told him in no uncertain terms it was rubbish. Twain had by now experienced the ins and outs of the publishing industry and found him a new publisher, and the proceeds of his book came to about one-half million dollars, the sum of which Grant would not enjoy since he died soon after but which left his widow very financially comfortable. Witty sayings and quotations made by Twain were in abundance in Hannibal, something that many in our group enjoyed.

Little Rock, AR showed us President Clinton’s new library and museum where a special collection of Madeleine Albright’s “pins” caught our attention.

(More to be added to this…)

On the Road, # 3

We passed through the area of Selma and Montgomery, Alabama which gave me pause to think of how unsettled this area was one time regarding civil rights. We also passed through the devastated areas of Hurricane Katrina which still show signs of the storm's fury. New Orleans' Ninth Ward is still a shambles, but there are signs of recovery. We're headed toward Nashville.

On the Road, # 2

Staying in a little Mississippi town just a few minutes south of Memphis. We visited Elvis's Graceland today after arriving in town from Little Rock, Arkansas and the Clinton Presidential Library. One of the traveling exhibits on display was Madeliene Albright's pin collection that we have been hearing about lately. A glass sculpture by Gilhooly caught my attention. We passed on the road a Remington ammunition factory and the employee parking lot was full. I guess the militiamen are keeping it busy making more bullets.

Yesterday in Branson we watched one show: Noah, the Musical. I've never seen a production of that magnitude before. There were live animals, men inside animal costumes, motor-driven animals, and stuffed animals, two by two. It took a huge stage setting to field the whole thing; I was impressed. In some spare time we attended an Imax movie: The Hubble, meaning the orbiting telescope. In part it dealt with astronauts repairing the telescope, and, in part, showing the skies as photographed. Impressive.

Tomorrow - Vicksburg, the site of a Civil War battle.

On the Road

Springfield, Missouri - April 7, 2010 - 5:50 am - On a bus tour. Not much of excitement has occurred yet. Yesterday we toured the Precious Moments chapel which was the brainchild of the man who created that line of ceramics. Quite nice. Last evening we ate at a place that tossed hot buns at you from about 20 feet away. A few hit the floor. This morning we're headed to the large Bass Pro Shop here in Springfield for a bit of shopping, then off to Branson.

Slang

Simple solutions exist for politicians who get in trouble for the things they say and then have to explain themselves at another time for what they really meant. Good old Sarah Palin set up a target list of politicians who she says need to be defeated in the next election and to pinpoint who they are put the crosshairs of a rifle scope over their congressional district. The prudent person probably would not be influenced to rise to acts of assassination, but some fear that kooks - and there are some - would read that as a message to start shooting, “you betcha.”Of course, she follows up and says the Democrats are construing the message for their benefit. Then there’s good old Joe Biden who gets caught making verbal blunders occasionally, the latest of which was telling the President the health care bill was a “big f_____g deal.” He could have said, “Mr. President, this is a momentous occasion.” These two examples illustrate a myriad of examples of slang expressions used in communicating their message. In fact, the whole country participates in something that could be termed “slanguage.”

The simple solution I referred to is this: speak formal English, eliminate any use of “slanguage.” Easy? Just try it. I, with the college major in English, can’t do it. Those darned overworn expressions, Americanisms, continually pop up. Did I just say “pop up?” I could have said “enter into my speech.” One of the best speakers of the English language I have come into contact with was a distant cousin from Sweden. He learned formal English in school, and his speech was free from the slang we use freely. I once told him he speaks the Queen’s English, and he immediately affected a British accent and spoke with it to emphasize that point.

I’ve never forgotten the young lady clerk in a gas station who, after I asked about some product her establishment offered for sale, told me that “you can’t beat it with a stick.” I can add a whole list of words: babelicious, back-asswards, bent out of shape, going bonkers, takes a lot of guts, good vibes, knuckle sandwich, lame excuse, psyched up, rinky-dink, mickey mouse, etc. Back to Sweden, the boyfriend of another cousin rode a sleek looking motorcycle we commonly refer to as a “crotch-rocket.” He looked very quizzically at me as I used that term. To him it was a motorcycle. Well, I’d better quit before my wife “reams me out” for sitting here. She’s been “going bonkers” for doing this “mickey mouse” writing-thing. Personally, I think it’s “a piece of cake.”

Health Care Cares

Regarding the political front, we’ve passed through an interesting time. Health care legislation was signed into law, but the noise goes on. The opposition to this tells us the vast majority of Americans do not want this bill, but just today a Gallup/USA Today poll says that 49% of the people think it is ok while 40% are opposed. A major argument that comes to my mind is something that I learned in Political Science 101: we do not have a pure democracy, we operate under a representative form of government and now a majority of our representatives voted for this change.

My Sunday paper made a couple of interesting points. One columnist, Timothy Egan, said, “None of the great bipartisan triumphs of the past - Social Security, Medicare, the Civil Rights Act - would have a prayer in the present environment. That’s not how we do politics in 2010. We talk, loudly, only to like-minded partisans, and everyone else be damned.” Another one I liked by Calvin Woodward, “ as much as Americans hate overbearing government and higher taxes, give them a federal benefit and then just try to take it away. Today’s hot potato becomes tomorrow’s cherished check.” Enough said from this keyboard.
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I took another trip to a hundred years ago and came up with a few gems from around the state. There was a row at Jamestown between some Russian Germans and one was hit in the head with an ax . . . There is a terrible drought at Bantry since the raid . . . Wahpeton’s pure water supply - the artesian well system - makes the city almost immune from typhoid . . . A man in the western part of the state advertised for a wife and finally landed a widow with three children. It pays to advertise . . . Despite the rapidly increasing number of autos, good equines still bring fancy prices . .. A large man with a trick animal which he claimed was a full blooded wolf spent part of Tuesday and Wednesday in town (Sheldon). The animal was mild mannered and seemed to be very intelligent and performed numerous tricks . . . Taft sworn in as President, raging blizzard casuses abandonment of customary outdoor activities, great inaugural parade moves through slush and mud, ball is brilliant.

Spring Fever

We drove to Lisbon yesterday to visit with my parents who are always glad for the company. In the early morning after the fog finally lifted, enjoyed looking out at the landscape and watching spring trying to break through. The fields aren’t completely white anymore but have started to show spots of ground peeking through. Everyone wants spring. Our local paper today headlined: Congrats on the calves, Calving on the prairie is easier this year, despite damp weather.

With the snow melt water runs, of course, and some towns are prepping for the crest. Lisbon was full of National Guardsman working to dike the Sheyenne, directing traffic so that trucks hauling dirt got the right of way, and generally being helpful. I’ve always thought I’m glad we built on a hill, and that with our walk-out lower level door that I could just open the door and let the water run right back out.

I write with a bit of ease today; I finished book number two and have mailed a bunch of them out. So now I can start thinking about # 3 and the trip we soon will take to Branson, Nashville, and New Orleans. I just love getting on that Farmers Union tour bus and ride with no cares. The hardest part about those trips has always been writing the check ahead of time. After I get home I will start book # 3, the theme of which will cover ox-cart freighting in the area where I grew up.

Observations

Computer trouble caused me to dust off my old, slow laptop to write this morning. Not that this is particularly difficult to do, but machines like this fall into obsolescence pretty fast, and I have gotten used to my much faster desktop computer. I can’t help but think about an article in my latest issue of The Nation magazine. The author Patricia J. Williams writes in the piece titled "Convergences" how she uses trains more and more which causes her to hang out in train depots waiting their arrival. One day she took note of the crowd waiting with her and noticed how they seem to come from every socio-economic class. As she sat working crossword puzzles an obvious ragged, down-and-outer sat near her and began talking intelligently to herself about national and international affairs. As Williams became engrossed listening to this one-sided conversation, she looked around. It seems as if everyone else busied themselves either listening, looking, or working with portable electronic devices causing them to isolate themselves into little personal zones. After a bit a security man came along and kicked the urchin out of the depot. The article goes on to become somewhat involved but on the surface I took this from the piece: maybe it was the crazy one who was most sane and the others who sat mesmerized by mentally crawling into their electronic devices were the insane ones.

Someplace I picked up a quote, “. . . there is so much noise only silence will be remembered.” How to fill the silence brings forth this alternative: pick up and read a good book and gain knowledge. I can paraphrase another quote: I pity the poor man who cannot read but loathe the man who will not read. I’m thankful for my liberal arts education but have not utilized nor developed it nearly enough. So that brings me here this morning pining after my good computer which is in the repair shop.
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Ole's Talking Dog - from www.uffdahhh.com

A guy is driving around the back woods of upnort Wisconsin and he sees a sign in front of a broken down shanty-style house: 'Talking Dog For Sale' He rings the bell and Ole appears and tells him dat the dog is in da backyard.

The guy goes into the backyard and sees a nice looking Labrador retriever sitting there.

'You talk?' he asks.

'Yep,' the Lab replies.

After the guy recovers from the shock of hearing a dog talk, he says 'So, what's your story?'

The Lab looks up and says, 'Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young. I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA. In no time at all they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping.'

'I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running. But the jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn't getting any younger so I decided to settle down.. I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security, wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded a batch of medals.'

'I got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I'm just retired.'

The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks Ole what he wants for the dog.

'Ten dollars,' Ole says.

'Ten dollars? This dog is amazing! Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?'
'Dat's because he's a liar. He never did any of dat stuff.'

A Historical Affair

National politics is irksome and makes us think we are in the worst of times. History tells us otherwise, though, since problems have rotted and festered ever since this country was established. A few days ago we visited my parents in the retirement home. I took along my recorder and got them started talking about their younger days; therefore an interesting conversation commenced. Topics of world wars, depression, drought, etc. often arise. I’ve recently been reading articles about the veterans’ Bonus Army, and read closely in Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States how disgustingly they were treated.

The problem arose after the first world war during the depth of the depression when so many people found themselves without jobs. Congress had seen fit to legislate a bonus to the returning veterans but seemed to be reneging on paying up. Desperate veterans wanted the money to see them through the hard times and began gathering in large numbers in Washington to persuade Hoover to open up the purse. A large city of tents and cardboard shanties arose to house them; Zinn said over 20,000 people gathered. Hoover ordered troops to clear the rabble out and clean up the mess. Some big military names glorified in history took part in the debacle: MacArthur, Eisenhower, and Patton. They burned them out and spread tear gas to disperse the protesters, which alone injured a thousand of the veterans in addition to several deaths. The election of 1932 was influenced by this affair, and FDR moved into the Presidency.

Rebellion was rampant throughout the country, but FDR treated the downtrodden with a certain respect, and things finally settled down. By the way, the veterans’ bonus got paid. Here, I asked my parents if they remembered that episode. Sure they did. My mother remarked that her dad received either $200 or $300, she couldn’t remember exactly, but whatever it was, she said it sure helped out. Dad knew of one person who bought a team of horses with his bonus and could then start his farming operation, something he did well at.

Zinn recently died, but his work as a historian looks at the grass roots of history, not so much the big movers and shakers that much historical writing does. A People’s History of the United States contains many stories of the common people.

Fleeting Memories

Sometimes a memory comes zipping through my mind for no apparent reason, some good, some not so. Yesterday one that I have carried around for sixty years or so visited me, and I smiled at remembering it. I once saw a man riding a fast horse that would not stop until it got inside the barn; it forced the rider to almost crawl inside the critter’s skin to get low enough so as not to get knocked off its back. The rider was my uncle Robert whom I have known forever as Buddy. Health issues have caused him to alter his life style, and I thought a phone call to him to reminisce about this scene would be welcomed. I think it was. “Stubby was his name, a pretty good horse. Dad got him for me from A. C. Weig.”

We visited for quite some time, and I enjoyed talking with him again. Other topics got discussed. I’ve always enjoyed listening to army veteran’s tales of service. His was in Korea as an artilleryman. He told me of once coming under such a heavy mortar barrage that they had to stay hunkered down so much that they couldn’t shoot back. It seems like some of the most enjoyable moments in life are unplanned, as was this spontaneous phone call to him. The brief e-mails or message texting so prevalent now do not replace a pleasant visit on the phone. To take it further, personal letter writing has declined; it is a rare occasion to receive one in this present day of immediate electronic communication.

Back to the topic of memories, I took enough psychology courses in my liberal arts education to learn just how complicated the brain is and that memory recall varies from person to person. A book on my shelf titled Man’s Unconquerable Mind contains a passage I have returned to many times: “Day and night, from childhood to old age, sick or well, asleep or awake, men and women think. The brain works like the heart, ceaselessly pulsing. In its three pounds’ weight of tissue are recorded and stored billions upon billions of memories, habits, instincts, abilities, desires and hopes and fears, patterns and tinctures and sounds and inconceivably delicate calculations and brutishly crude urgencies, the sound of a whisper heard thirty years ago, the resolution impressed by daily practice for fifteen thousand days, the hatred cherished since childhood, the delight never experienced but incessantly imagined, the complex structure of stresses in a bridge, the exact pressure of a single finger on a single string, the development of ten thousand different games of chess, the precise curve of a lip, a hill, an equation, or a flying ball, tones and shades and glooms and raptures, the faces of countless strangers, the scent of one garden, prayers, inventions, crimes, poems, jokes, tunes, sums, problems unsolved, victories long past, the fear of Hell and the love of God, the vision of a blade of grass and the vision of the sky filled with stars.”

Weather, Politics, and Old News

Saturday’s weather came off lousy with wind, snow, heavy roads, limited visibility, yet still the turnout for my parents’ birthday celebration was gratifying. Dad will be 95 on the 20th of February and Ma reached 90 today, the 17th, this date also marking their 69th anniversary. Years keep piling on; I guess I should know since my 68th occurred on the 15th. As long as we can keep counting all is well. Of that generation of Buelings only Dad remains of the family and two of the wives with that surname remain living, my mother, and the wife of Leslie, Kathy, whose birthday was the 16th.
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A headline in today’s paper: Where did the moderates go? The first sentence in the article reads “The moderate middle is disappearing from Congress.” The story is often told about President Reagan and Tip O’Neill of how they’d fight over political issues but would join each other for jokes and drinks after hours. Apparently that doesn’t happen much with the present bunch of polarized politicians. I can’t help but refer to a W. B. Yeats poem “The Second Coming.” The first few lines say:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

While the poem does not speak to political issues, it has been said that it is open to differing levels of interpretation. I think it fits well with the situation in Washington.

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I wondered how things were going one hundred years ago during the month of February in the old home town so I went to the well again and hauled up a bucket full of items. My great-grandfather made this news: “We noticed an item in the Progress a few weeks ago stating that coyotes were very thick out in Owego. Well, I guess they must be. A few weeks ago Tom Anderson, with the aid of his two dogs and a pitchfork, killed one. Keep the good work going, Tom.”

The Ransom County Immigration Association have just completed the overhauling of their three big cars, the Marmon and two Maxwells. Chauffeur Blanchard has carefully inspected the mechanism of the machines and pronounced them to be in perfect working order. The land company is expecting a heavy influx of land seekers this spring, and their three cars are now in readiness to show the hungry seekers a good share of their land within a short time.

Confusing Place

This world is a mighty confusing place, and what is true one year becomes untrue the next. For instance, the new Time magazine carries an article titled “The Survivor” and is in regards to Secretary of Defense Robert Gates. A passage in it surprised the devil out of me. First off, there is a picture of him sitting at the controls of a Russian-made Mi-17 helicopter in Kabul, Afghanistan. That in itself didn’t call much attention to itself because prior to our being in that country Russia’s military had occupied the country. Maybe that helicopter was a left-over. No! Gates wants to buy some from Russia because they’re very dependable and are considered the Kalishnikovs of the sky. That reference to the rifle carried by many fighting men in the world means they are simple and very dependable, and they’re said to be easier to fly than Black Hawks with their engines working better at the higher Afghan altitudes. Why I’m surprised is that it wasn’t all that many years ago Russia and the U. S. considered each other to be their bitter enemy.

I crave a simpler world and have enrolled in an adult class: “The Iron Horse’s Gallop Across North Dakota.” It’s offered by the University of North Dakota on the campus of Bismarck State College and has no tests, no homework, no grades. The only requirement is to attend and learn in a high-interest environment. Of course, there is a small fee but it is really minimal, so I registered for this six week course. I’ve always been interested in early statehood history and the railroads played a large part in that.

And then, as if I needed more to do, I ordered another course, “Building Great Sentences: Exploring the Writer’s Craft.” In this class I will be sent DVD’s that cover different topics. It’s taught by a professor from Iowa State U, a well-thought-of school for teaching writing. Again, no tests, no homework, no grades. I’ll just listen and learn.

Rebel

I’ve taken a small bedroom in our home’s lower level and claimed it for my study, office, man-cave, or escape hatch; whatever, it is a room forever in need of cleaning or straightening. Its condition is such that it drives wife-Mary crazy, but I can’t help it, I was born this way. In the mess and jumble I house my modest library collection which in large part consists of favorite books of poetry. While I rummaged through those many volumes a couple of days ago I ran across a slim
one I’d forgotten about that gives me a theme on which to write this little essay. That volume, much the same size as the little chapbooks that I write, bears the title Open Songs: Sixty Short Poems by Thomas McGrath.

McGrath, an internationally recognized poet, came from Sheldon, and since Sheldon is my hometown, I’ve developed a strong interest in his work. He earned the reputation as a left-wing rebel who continually fought against the system. Several parts of his long book-length poem Letter to an Imaginary Friend center on locations or people I have known, and the magic of his writing draws me in every time I open that volume. Back to the little Open Songs, … book, a faded Fargo Forum news clipping fell out as I riffled through the pages. Dated October 1, 1978, the article clarified a couple things: # 1 - a shooting he was involved with, but more interesting to me # 2 - his near-participation in the Spanish Civil War in the 1930’s. A misdirected University of North Dakota student, he at first sided with the Spanish leader Franco, but after learning about Franco’s Fascism and Franco being supported by both Hitler and Mussolini, he changed his allegiance to the International Brigades and volunteered to fight with them in Spain; however they came home before he could ship over.

Ernest Hemingway set his famous novel For Whom the Bell Tolls in this Spanish Civil War, and that book also sits on my shelf near the top of the “must-read-again” pile. Hemingway took the title from the 17th century poet John Donne who wrote “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; … any man’s death diminishes me, and I am involved in mankind therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”

Donne’s intention may have either been that when one person dies we all die a little or when we hear a funeral bell it is a reminder that we are a bit nearer death ourselves each day. Hemingway’s use of it was to show he was in concert with the groups fighting the fascists, and if he could be considered an intellectual he was really one with many intellectuals around the world who feared fascism might take root world-wide if unchecked. It is with this philosophy that McGrath aligned himself.

I've Got the Blues

I’m blue today, thinking too much, I guess. What about? Well, mostly about how little anybody’s opinion counts. It all started when I read an article in a recent Rolling Stone magazine titled “As the World Burns - How big oil and big coal mounted one of the most aggressive lobbying campaigns in history to block progress on global warming.” I don’t see how any thinking person can deny there is global warming and like the article says big energy companies know they’ll lose in the long run, but they are out to make as much in the short term as they can.

I’m not sure the number of coal trains that pass through Mandan-Bismarck each day headed east, but it must be at least one an hour. They are long trains, 115-20 cars each. Multiplied that makes about 2760 cars per day, loaded to heaping. I won’t venture a guess as to dollar value but the imagination places it in the clouds someplace. Dollars accumulate causing lobbyists to buzz around like flies on a cowpie. I don’t even need to mention the monetary strength of petroleum companies; we’ve all been victims of their price schemes and maneuverings.

Of course, there is more scheming in other industries: health care, pharmaceuticals, military industries, et al. And now we have a N. D. senator saying he wants to retire, which translated I think means he wants a piece of the lobbying pie, too. I’m sure his mouth is watering. And here comes the governor of N. D. saying he wants the senator’s job, and he intends to make things right in Washington. Ha, he without any seniority whatever! What would it take, two terms before he even gets noticed.

So that’s why I’m blue. This modest blogsite isn’t going to print a multitude of examples to prove the point, but our individual insignifance is glaring. My Nation magazine came today and I’ll quote from it: “The EPA ushered in the new year with a dark reminder of the coal industry’s sway over the Obama administration. On January 4 the agency approved the Hobet 45 mine expansion in West Virginia, the largest mountaintop-removal operation in Appalachia. The decision was announced only days before a group of environmental scientists released a long-awaited peer-reviewed study in the journal Science denouncing mountaintop-removal mining and calling for a moratorium on new permits.” I guess it doesn’t matter who thinks they hold the power in Washington. We know where it really lies.

Still Learning

If I live long enough I should learn lots more. At the gym this morning I heard an interesting anecdote. I overheard one of the ladies who regularly comes to workout tell someone that she was late because their power was out this morning. Why? When the heavy frost buildup on the bottom line broke off and dropped away the line danced up and struck the one above it causing it to short out. Who knew that?

I learn other things, too. Our household has decided to donate to the survivors of the earthquake tragedy in Haiti and have been looking around for a trustworthy organization to handle it. We settled on a local organization called “God’s Child.” Their main interest has been Guatemela but have shifted their priority for this event. Anyway, we went into their office yesterday and was met by a nice young gentleman who gladly accepted our check. We visited a bit about different South American countries, and I commented he looked like he probably came from somewhere down there. No, he said his father came from India. Opening my mouth wide and shoving a foot in it I replied I could see he wasn’t a Norwegian. “Oh, but I am. I’m half Norwegian. Mother came from Minnesota.”
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A few more news items from one hundred years ago:

Now that flying is practical and the North Pole has been discovered, the only thing left for next year appears to be perpetual motion. --- Professor William Klimmick, the Fargo piano tuner, was here last week. This is nothing unusual as Mr. Klimmick has been in Sheldon a dozen different times during the past summer, but this time he had a photograph which he was showing that he prized very highly! It was of the design for the silver service of the Battleship North Dakota. His son Hans is the designer. --- Mrs. Henry Hawk, living on the old Colton farm some 5 or 6 miles southeast of Lisbon was given a severe scare on last Sunday evening. About nine o’clock five masked men entered her house and proceeded to tear things up in general. At first she thought the men were joking but in this she was mistaken. Her pleading with them to go away went unheeded and it was not until her 17 year old son succeeded in getting the Winchester rifle and threatening to shoot if they did not leave the house that they left. After going some distance from the house they all stopped and one of the party returned, this time unmasked, and again insisted upon going into the house. Again efforts were made to keep him out and not until the boy had struck him over the head with the gun did he give way. The doors were then locked and the telephone put to good use. By the time assistance arrived the men got away. Two of the men were recognized. Mrs. Hawk and the children were frightened nearly to death and the affair will not be forgotten soon. The next time anything like this happens, Mrs. Hawk will be prepared to give the masked men a “warm” reception.

January, 1910

I wanted to see how things were going back in the old hometown a century ago and went digging in the microfiles at the Heritage Center a couple of days ago. Here are a few of the interesting news items:
How many patrons of the rural routes leading out of Sheldon stop to think of the inconvenience occasioned to the carriers who are obliged to pick pennies from the mail boxes on a cold winter day? It is the most annoying duty which falls to the lot of “the boys,” so the carriers from the Sheldon office are agreed. To jerk off your mittens, dive into a snow laden mail box for a penny or two, and then perhaps drop the coppers in the snow and have to make up to Uncle Sam from your own private fortune is anything but conducive to good humor. --- Another date has been set for the world’s end. But these dates are generally postponed on account of the weather. So ordinary business plans can be continued. --- Dogden - The man found in a hay stack by a Russian settler badly frozen recently died at the hospital in Bismarck. --- Chickens have been disappearing in an unaccountable manner from the coops of their owners in Sheldon and vicinity during the past few weeks. A month ago, J. W. Doty, who is quite a chicken fancier, had 125 of the feathered beauties. A few days ago he noticed that his flock seemed somewhat reduced in numbers, and after rounding them up, he found that there were only 67 left. Mr. Doty has purchased a new lock for his chicken coop and oiled up his old shotgun, and woe betide any marauder who attempts to disturb the slumbers of his prized pullets. --- Gus Kratt has purchased a brand new 40 horsepower Overland automobile to be delivered in April and will be able to bowl along our good roads next summer with the best of them. --- George Patterson, whose corn won first honors at the National Corn Exposition in Omaha, Nebraska a few weeks ago, has received his prize in the shape of eighty rods of wire fencing. --- (Terrorists then, too!) Members of the U. S. Senate showed more than ordinary interest in the report that a letter was received from a man declaring he intends to blow up the upper branch of Congress with nitroglycerin. --- While hunting Saturday Charles Banks lost one of his ferrets. It had gone into a hole in search of a rabbit, and upon emerging therefrom, one of the dogs thinking it was the rabbit, seized it on the part of the anatomy that lies just behind the ears, and shook it so violently that it soon expired. --- About a week ago while Andrew Arntson was eating a hearty supper and thinking about what he was going to do to the other fellow at the gymnasium later on, someone with malice aforethought sneaked into his backyard and appropriated several articles of clothing that were hanging on the line. Andrew, not knowing the offender, took his revenge on “the other fellow” at the gym. --- Robert McRitchie, one of the big and good natured farmers down in Owego country, was a caller at the Progress office last press day and left a couple simoleons to be deposited in our strong box. Mr. McRitchie located there eleven years ago and since then has made many improvements about his farm. He now has a good set of buildings on the banks of the Sheyenne River and is well content to make that his home for many years to come. He is also a firm believer in diversified farming and pays a good deal of attention to stock raising.

Horse Soldiers

When the Publishers Weekly says it’s the best book of 2009 and the New York Times says it’s a notable book of 2009, I get very tempted to find a copy to read. So it was with Horse Soldiers by Doug Stanton. As one might guess from the title that the story relates to a scenario taking place about a century and a half ago where the cavalry mounted a charge against Indians, but no, it features a small band of special forces who entered Afghanistan shortly after 9-11-2000. This country’s leadership, Rumsfeld in this case, demanded an immediate response to the attack and murder of U. S. citizens, and small groups of special forces were picked to secretly enter the hotbed of Taliban radicalism and engage the enemy.

Given such short notice the men picked to go resorted to scrounging around for equipment themselves to properly outfit them for this duty. They bought clothing and equipment from places like Wal-Mart, REI, LL Bean, etc. Military uniforms were not going to be worn. The book relates a hairy helicopter ride for several hours into the mouth of the action, and when they arrived and met the general in charge of the Northern Alliance army they received quite the surprise. He took them on a day long trip to his headquarters - on horseback. Of the half dozen Special Forces members who rode in the saddle only one of them had riding experience. One of them related as to how he bled in the saddle from saddle sores being rubbed raw.

There is a cavalry charge in the story. I wonder how long it will take Hollywood to make the movie? Apparently one is in the works.

I remember reading several years ago the novel Caravans by James Michener, a story centered in Afghanistan. One point that author made has stayed with me all these years. He said in all of world history no foreign conqueror has ever succeeded in subduing that country. They are unbeatable. I hope the U. S. has no long range plans in there. If Michener is right, our values can never be imposed on them.