The pastor in his funeral eulogy for Dad spoke of him as being a self-taught man. Dad attended school through just the eighth grade, then had to quit to work on the family farm, a story repeated over and over by people born in that generation. And many are the stories of people, who even though enrolled in school, were kept at home to help at times throughout the school year, therefore missing large blocks of instructional time. In order to cope and function independently as they grew to maturity they had to learn information and skills on their own.
When the astronauts were chosen, the first requirement was a college education. This eliminated the man who made space flight possible, Chuck Yeager. His formal education was limited to high school. From that time on, society no longer recognized self-educated people. It takes a college education, don’t-cha-know. From the two college degrees I received I’ve often said that the biggest reward was the piece of paper handed me certifying that I had completed a required course of study, a result of which I was able to work in certain settings. The reality is that I have learned much more through my independent studies.
This country reveres self-taught men such as Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, the Wright Brothers, Henry Ford, et al. None of them traveled very far in formal education but somehow possessed the aptitude that let them excel in their interests. Intellectual curiosity drove them to find answers prompting their self-study by reading, experimenting, and searching.
Both Dad and my father-in-law could estimate the tons of hay in a stack, the bushels of grain in a bin, the weight of a steer, acres in a field, study the sky and predict weather, plus a myriad of other useful facts which let them hang on to their farms in good times and in bad. Dad knew of worldly things even though he did not travel much. He read, then read some more. His knowledge base in history was probably larger than my own, even with my college minor in history. I read once of a man who earned a doctoral degree in some insignificant field of study but then could not find professional work. In order to support himself he found work as a common laborer with a landscape company where the manager only shook his head in disbelief at his ineptitude and helplessness. I think he survived with that company but had to go through a period of training on the job.
. . . . . . .
The hundred year old archived newspaper, The Sheldon Progress, made no mention of Veterans’ Day in their November 11, 1910 issue. Of course, WWI had not yet been fought. That issue reported on one interesting news item:
An escaped prisoner created a good deal of excitement at the depot Monday evening and it was only by the most heroic efforts of bystanders that he was finally run down and captured. The prisoner broke loose from his bonds in some way and jumped from the train just as it was pulling out from the depot. He sprang right into the arms of John Mougey who was standing in front of the door, but John failed to get a stranglehold on him and he escaped. The prisoner headed due west, followed by an excited mob, and although he made heroic efforts to escape, it was soon evident that he could not elude his pursuers. They sprang up on every side and soon had their victim surrounded. The poor fellow, seeing his escape cut off from all directions, finally gave up the attempt and was captured by Mike Flatt, who is now a candidate for a Carnegie medal. He was a fine specimen of a Leghorn rooster and at the present price of chickens is worth his weight in gold.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Dad
I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. 2 Timothy 4:7
This Biblical verse readily comes to mind as I sit at my keyboard today. I am 68 years old and have had a father up until a few days ago; now his absence is deeply felt. Somewhere I read that when a person dies it is as a library with all its knowledge having burned down. In Dad’s case the library was large. I learned much from him but now no longer can go to him to search his historical, biographical, political, economic, or social knowledge. His mind operated well except for the final two weeks. He read two daily papers - The MInneapolis Tribune and The Fargo Forum - and two county papers - Enderlin and Lisbon - plus assorted magazines. He read many books during his lifetime. He told me as a youth that whenever he could gather a few cents together he would order a book through the mail. A history book club furnished him many hours of reading, and he loved western stories like those written by Zane Grey. Before electricity came to our farm he read each night sitting with his white forehead and weathered face by light of a gas lantern while I sprawled on the floor within the lit circle to draw my pictures or read my own material.
The picture of Dad I placed on the front cover of my last book of poems also hangs on my office wall along with a photo of his dad and his dad. Beyond those men we have little or no knowledge. I can only hope he is in a place now where he can visit with them and acquaint himself with the unknown fathers.
… I have kept the faith. He never wore his religious beliefs on his sleeve, but I know he held them. He spoke to me about his doubts of whether or not he’d ever been baptized. He’d never seen record of it, and it must have bothered him enough to keep bringing it up. A couple of years ago while he was hospitalized and when a pastor from his church dropped in, I suggested baptism. Both Dad and the pastor were willing. So it was.
This Biblical verse readily comes to mind as I sit at my keyboard today. I am 68 years old and have had a father up until a few days ago; now his absence is deeply felt. Somewhere I read that when a person dies it is as a library with all its knowledge having burned down. In Dad’s case the library was large. I learned much from him but now no longer can go to him to search his historical, biographical, political, economic, or social knowledge. His mind operated well except for the final two weeks. He read two daily papers - The MInneapolis Tribune and The Fargo Forum - and two county papers - Enderlin and Lisbon - plus assorted magazines. He read many books during his lifetime. He told me as a youth that whenever he could gather a few cents together he would order a book through the mail. A history book club furnished him many hours of reading, and he loved western stories like those written by Zane Grey. Before electricity came to our farm he read each night sitting with his white forehead and weathered face by light of a gas lantern while I sprawled on the floor within the lit circle to draw my pictures or read my own material.
The picture of Dad I placed on the front cover of my last book of poems also hangs on my office wall along with a photo of his dad and his dad. Beyond those men we have little or no knowledge. I can only hope he is in a place now where he can visit with them and acquaint himself with the unknown fathers.
… I have kept the faith. He never wore his religious beliefs on his sleeve, but I know he held them. He spoke to me about his doubts of whether or not he’d ever been baptized. He’d never seen record of it, and it must have bothered him enough to keep bringing it up. A couple of years ago while he was hospitalized and when a pastor from his church dropped in, I suggested baptism. Both Dad and the pastor were willing. So it was.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Autumn
It is quite a fall season with the weather still so mild and comfortable and busy lives in between sleeping and waking. On Monday the wife and I drove over to Lisbon again to see my parents in the home. Dad has suffered some strokes that have caused the loss of coherent speech and the use of one side of his body. He wants to talk but gets frustrated with his illness. Hospice now comes in to see him often and brings their reassurance and comforting. I am 68 years old and have been fortunate to have him all that time. It has been very appreciated that a few good friends and relatives have visited the folks.
An event scheduled on the other end of the emotional index takes place this next Saturday when our older son marries his lady. I still remember clearly the day he was born and how I laid down on the car’s foot feed to back out of a slippery, snowy driveway. That was 34 years ago. The younger son married some years ago and already has two little kids to show for it. Just like my parents did, Mary and I entered the world of grandparents and have relished it.
Among other things I am a member of the Tanka Society of America, a poet group that specializes in writing the short verse form of tanka with a characteristic five line format. The editors of their journal Ribbons have seen fit to publish some of my work and the following will be submitted to them for consideration:
this daylily
blooms once and dies
but then
another bud opens
my sons, their sons …
It is a simple form, usually using a simple statement to point out a stronger element and uses few capitals or marks of punctuation. For its surface simplicity much can be said with it. It expresses my feelings at the present time.
An event scheduled on the other end of the emotional index takes place this next Saturday when our older son marries his lady. I still remember clearly the day he was born and how I laid down on the car’s foot feed to back out of a slippery, snowy driveway. That was 34 years ago. The younger son married some years ago and already has two little kids to show for it. Just like my parents did, Mary and I entered the world of grandparents and have relished it.
Among other things I am a member of the Tanka Society of America, a poet group that specializes in writing the short verse form of tanka with a characteristic five line format. The editors of their journal Ribbons have seen fit to publish some of my work and the following will be submitted to them for consideration:
this daylily
blooms once and dies
but then
another bud opens
my sons, their sons …
It is a simple form, usually using a simple statement to point out a stronger element and uses few capitals or marks of punctuation. For its surface simplicity much can be said with it. It expresses my feelings at the present time.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Looking for the Truth
There are three truths: my truth, your truth, and the truth. - Chinese Proverb
For those who know me best it is probably well understood that I am a “Blue Dog Democrat,” which is to say a conservative one. All sorts of descriptions float around, maybe saying I’m a bit left of center fits best. Whatever, when I’m reading or listening to media I go for quiet, well-reasoned dialogues where issues are intelligently discussed in a friendly setting. I appreciate the MSNBC program “Morning Joe” because it features just such discussions. Joe Scarborough is a Republican and one of his regular appearing sidekicks is Pat Buchanan, avowedly conservative. But other guests balance the discussions and the level of repartee is usually pleasant.
I recently heard Jon Meacham, editor of the Newsweek magazine, say on "Morning Joe" that we presently have an entire class of media people who depend on conflict for their livelihood, not conflict resolution. If they make their living from throwing poisoned darts will they ever go away? I don‘t think so. Names of the culprits come easy, but I don’t want to credit their existence by naming them.
While on my recent trip to the northeast , I missed the Eric Sevareid Symposium held in Bismarck, although I kept up with it as best as I could on the internet. Two of Sevareid’s proteges, Dan Rather and Bob Schieffer, attended as featured speakers. A quote I picked up from Schieffer stood out loud and clear; he talked of people’s “journalism of validation. They will listen only to those who agree with their point of view.”
It’s only occasionally that people take hard-hitting criticism good-naturedly. Zgigniew Brzesinski, Jimmy Carter’s national security advisor, appeared on Morning Joe. Scarborough thought he could discuss world events on a par with him when he said something about the Israel-Palestine crisis. Brzesinski shot back, “You know, you have such a stunningly superficial knowledge of what went on that it’s almost embarrassing to listen to you.” Wearing a sheepish grin, Joe acted as if he had no hard feelings about being put in his place and has had Brzesinski back for commentary since that time. That’s the kind of behavior I enjoy seeing.
This blog appears each Wednesday morning (usually).
For those who know me best it is probably well understood that I am a “Blue Dog Democrat,” which is to say a conservative one. All sorts of descriptions float around, maybe saying I’m a bit left of center fits best. Whatever, when I’m reading or listening to media I go for quiet, well-reasoned dialogues where issues are intelligently discussed in a friendly setting. I appreciate the MSNBC program “Morning Joe” because it features just such discussions. Joe Scarborough is a Republican and one of his regular appearing sidekicks is Pat Buchanan, avowedly conservative. But other guests balance the discussions and the level of repartee is usually pleasant.
I recently heard Jon Meacham, editor of the Newsweek magazine, say on "Morning Joe" that we presently have an entire class of media people who depend on conflict for their livelihood, not conflict resolution. If they make their living from throwing poisoned darts will they ever go away? I don‘t think so. Names of the culprits come easy, but I don’t want to credit their existence by naming them.
While on my recent trip to the northeast , I missed the Eric Sevareid Symposium held in Bismarck, although I kept up with it as best as I could on the internet. Two of Sevareid’s proteges, Dan Rather and Bob Schieffer, attended as featured speakers. A quote I picked up from Schieffer stood out loud and clear; he talked of people’s “journalism of validation. They will listen only to those who agree with their point of view.”
It’s only occasionally that people take hard-hitting criticism good-naturedly. Zgigniew Brzesinski, Jimmy Carter’s national security advisor, appeared on Morning Joe. Scarborough thought he could discuss world events on a par with him when he said something about the Israel-Palestine crisis. Brzesinski shot back, “You know, you have such a stunningly superficial knowledge of what went on that it’s almost embarrassing to listen to you.” Wearing a sheepish grin, Joe acted as if he had no hard feelings about being put in his place and has had Brzesinski back for commentary since that time. That’s the kind of behavior I enjoy seeing.
This blog appears each Wednesday morning (usually).
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Travelin' - Last Comments
Someone named Will Kommen said “If you look like your passport photo, you’re too ill to travel.” . . . Diane asked about the several different marks of punctuation, and one answer was ellipsis. If you don’t know what that is look at these three dots . . . We learned several people checked for bedbugs in our motels and found none
. . . I ate ice cream made from Jersey cows, delicious . . . Our suitcases got heavier, but then rocks from the seashore weigh a lot . . . Plymouth Rock is disappointingly small . . . The volume of water flowing over Niagara Falls boggles the mind . . . You gotta admire the bravery of the men who signed the Declaration of Independence . . . Our guide in Vermont lamented how he missed the last public appearance of Robert Frost . . . The naked lady cowboy in Times Square wore a couple skimpy items behind that guitar . . . Thomas Jefferson possessed a fertile mind
. . . NYC 30,000 Yellow cab drivers drove a lot of Ford Escape Hybrids . . . A pit bull near Grant’s Tomb acted like he would have attacked me, but luckily his handler held him with what looked like a log chain . . . The foliage on Gettysburg has surely been nourished by the thousands of men slain there . . . The solemnity of the ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier takes your breath away . . . Robert E. Lee’s house near Arlington Cemetery isn’t worth the effort of stepping inside . . . 15,000 people work in the Empire State Building . . . Registered thoroughbred horses wear a tattoo on the inside of the upper lip . . . The runoff from heavy rain caused someone to lose his pumpkin crop; we saw them floating against a dam . . . The worst joke told: what do you get crossing a menopausal woman with a GPS, a bitch who will find you . . . We bought “Blue Smoke” salsa for Brandon’s bachelor dinner party
. . . People entering a restaurant when they saw our bus pull in, rushed to get ahead of us . . . Diane told us how fast the eighteen days would pass by and then likened it to a roll of toilet paper nearly used up - a metaphor for life? . . . I felt ignorant when one waitress told me she was from Eritrea and I could only say I’ve forgotten my geography, where is that? - Near Ethiopia and Sudan . . . The city of New York is huge and it still works somewhat sensibly . . . Our neighbors are so good to look after our house and yard while we were away . . . The list must end. It was a great trip! My favorite poem, Ithaka, was written by the Greek poet Constantine Cavafy. It begins: “When you set out for Ithaka/ ask that your way be long,/ full of adventure, full of instruction.” With that I say farewell to the journey.
. . . I ate ice cream made from Jersey cows, delicious . . . Our suitcases got heavier, but then rocks from the seashore weigh a lot . . . Plymouth Rock is disappointingly small . . . The volume of water flowing over Niagara Falls boggles the mind . . . You gotta admire the bravery of the men who signed the Declaration of Independence . . . Our guide in Vermont lamented how he missed the last public appearance of Robert Frost . . . The naked lady cowboy in Times Square wore a couple skimpy items behind that guitar . . . Thomas Jefferson possessed a fertile mind
. . . NYC 30,000 Yellow cab drivers drove a lot of Ford Escape Hybrids . . . A pit bull near Grant’s Tomb acted like he would have attacked me, but luckily his handler held him with what looked like a log chain . . . The foliage on Gettysburg has surely been nourished by the thousands of men slain there . . . The solemnity of the ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier takes your breath away . . . Robert E. Lee’s house near Arlington Cemetery isn’t worth the effort of stepping inside . . . 15,000 people work in the Empire State Building . . . Registered thoroughbred horses wear a tattoo on the inside of the upper lip . . . The runoff from heavy rain caused someone to lose his pumpkin crop; we saw them floating against a dam . . . The worst joke told: what do you get crossing a menopausal woman with a GPS, a bitch who will find you . . . We bought “Blue Smoke” salsa for Brandon’s bachelor dinner party
. . . People entering a restaurant when they saw our bus pull in, rushed to get ahead of us . . . Diane told us how fast the eighteen days would pass by and then likened it to a roll of toilet paper nearly used up - a metaphor for life? . . . I felt ignorant when one waitress told me she was from Eritrea and I could only say I’ve forgotten my geography, where is that? - Near Ethiopia and Sudan . . . The city of New York is huge and it still works somewhat sensibly . . . Our neighbors are so good to look after our house and yard while we were away . . . The list must end. It was a great trip! My favorite poem, Ithaka, was written by the Greek poet Constantine Cavafy. It begins: “When you set out for Ithaka/ ask that your way be long,/ full of adventure, full of instruction.” With that I say farewell to the journey.
Saturday, October 09, 2010
Travelin' - Home, the Second Part
Philadelphia loomed in our sights next. I wish I could say the sight of the Liberty Bell brought goose bumps to my flesh, but I would lie. It sets, or hangs low, in a special building dedicated to it, and people herd past the bell quite thickly, so much so that it is hard to take posed pictures while acting like we had rung it before the crack appeared. A dimly lit room contains original copies of the Declaration and other documents nesting beneath glass under the watchful glare of a Park Ranger. After the Revolution, Philadelphia was the seat of temporary government so it does bear a lot of historical importance and I cannot make light of it, even though the modern city crowds up against all the significant buildings.
New York City, a foreboding place to a secluded prairie dweller, became the next destination. With our capable bus driver, though, the streets and neighborhoods of that giant metropolis flowed by. A step-on guide named Serge, a Bosnian having lived in the city some 30 years, guided our exploration. So now I can say I’ve seen place names such as Wall Street, the Empire State Building, the rising of the new World Trade Center, SoHo, Carnegie Hall, Madison Square Garden, Harlem, Chinatown, Central Park, Greenwich Village, etc., etc. A harbor tour took us beneath the Statue of Liberty, something which is an impressive sight.
I can’t dwell on such places for long. (This isn’t a book.) Leaving the city during the rush hour became thrilling. Jeff, the bus driver, could not be intimidated by New York bus drivers who kept trying to edge him out for position in the crowded streets. After a second night’s stay in the dumpy New Jersey motel we headed to Boston. Boston, filled with such history as the Old North Church, Paul Revere, Faneuil Hall, the Freedom Trail, JFK’s library and museum , followed our NYC visit.
And so the days passed by with more destinations visited such as Plymouth Rock, the Mayflower, Plimouth (spelling here is correct) Plantation, the Flume, Quechee Gorge, Calvin Coolidge Museum, Niagara Falls, the Cranberry Museum, plus whatever else I’ve already forgotten. One more part to his rambling travelogue will appear soon.
New York City, a foreboding place to a secluded prairie dweller, became the next destination. With our capable bus driver, though, the streets and neighborhoods of that giant metropolis flowed by. A step-on guide named Serge, a Bosnian having lived in the city some 30 years, guided our exploration. So now I can say I’ve seen place names such as Wall Street, the Empire State Building, the rising of the new World Trade Center, SoHo, Carnegie Hall, Madison Square Garden, Harlem, Chinatown, Central Park, Greenwich Village, etc., etc. A harbor tour took us beneath the Statue of Liberty, something which is an impressive sight.
I can’t dwell on such places for long. (This isn’t a book.) Leaving the city during the rush hour became thrilling. Jeff, the bus driver, could not be intimidated by New York bus drivers who kept trying to edge him out for position in the crowded streets. After a second night’s stay in the dumpy New Jersey motel we headed to Boston. Boston, filled with such history as the Old North Church, Paul Revere, Faneuil Hall, the Freedom Trail, JFK’s library and museum , followed our NYC visit.
And so the days passed by with more destinations visited such as Plymouth Rock, the Mayflower, Plimouth (spelling here is correct) Plantation, the Flume, Quechee Gorge, Calvin Coolidge Museum, Niagara Falls, the Cranberry Museum, plus whatever else I’ve already forgotten. One more part to his rambling travelogue will appear soon.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Travelin' - Home
Travelin’ - Home
After traveling on a tour bus through twenty states we arrived home at the end of eighteen days. Fifty-seven people we were on another very satisfying trip with the North Dakota Farmers Union under the able direction of Jeff Willer and his trip escort Diane Peltz. Mary and I realized after our first trip with Farmers Union some years back that no one else can do it better and after about nine trips with them we still feel the same way. This particular tour was a repeat for us; we wanted to return to the early history settings of this country that we had visited previously.
The first notable stop came on day 3 at the Kentucky Keeneland horse track where we watched an annual thoroughbred horse sale where an $815 million sale took place last year. International money comes to this event, and the day before a horse sold to an Arabian sheik for $4.5 million . It was on this racetrack the movie “Seabiscuit” was filmed and after leaving we drove to a retired horse farm and saw the horse that played Seabiscuit in the race scenes.
Day 4 found the bus rolling along the Midland Trail in mountainous country; it stopped at the little town of Amsted to let us off and tour the salsa manufacturing plant that an enterprising lady has established and grown to a sizable business. We had discovered that operation six years ago when we stopped there for refreshments at the next door convenience store. One of the group wandered past the door and came back to tell Jeff and an impromptu tour took place. Later in the afternoon Monticello, Jefferson’s personally designed home, rounded out the day.
From here on days begin to run and blur together. Colonial Williamsburg, home of the Continental Congress, featured buildings restored to their original condition. At Mount Vernon it can easily be seen George Washington chose the location of his mansion well when you sit on the porch and view the panorama of the Potomac River flowing past.
We toured the United States Capitol under the watchful gaze of many armed guards, but an informed guide showed and told us much of the lore and facts associated with the building. To do justice to a visit to this city one should spend a week. There are so many things to see: the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier; memorials to veterans of the Viet Nam war, the Korean War, World War II, and Iwo Jima; the memorials dedicated to Lincoln, Jefferson, Washington, FDR, et al; big eats at the NDFU sponsored restaurants - Farmers & Fishers and Founding Farmers (both excellent); the sprawling Smithsonian Institution with its collection of several buildings each dedicated to a theme.
As I write it is late on the night that we arrived home, and I am tired. My thoughts run to my father who has suffered a couple of strokes while I was gone so we are making plans to drive to Lisbon tomorrow. I will write more in a couple of days.
After traveling on a tour bus through twenty states we arrived home at the end of eighteen days. Fifty-seven people we were on another very satisfying trip with the North Dakota Farmers Union under the able direction of Jeff Willer and his trip escort Diane Peltz. Mary and I realized after our first trip with Farmers Union some years back that no one else can do it better and after about nine trips with them we still feel the same way. This particular tour was a repeat for us; we wanted to return to the early history settings of this country that we had visited previously.
The first notable stop came on day 3 at the Kentucky Keeneland horse track where we watched an annual thoroughbred horse sale where an $815 million sale took place last year. International money comes to this event, and the day before a horse sold to an Arabian sheik for $4.5 million . It was on this racetrack the movie “Seabiscuit” was filmed and after leaving we drove to a retired horse farm and saw the horse that played Seabiscuit in the race scenes.
Day 4 found the bus rolling along the Midland Trail in mountainous country; it stopped at the little town of Amsted to let us off and tour the salsa manufacturing plant that an enterprising lady has established and grown to a sizable business. We had discovered that operation six years ago when we stopped there for refreshments at the next door convenience store. One of the group wandered past the door and came back to tell Jeff and an impromptu tour took place. Later in the afternoon Monticello, Jefferson’s personally designed home, rounded out the day.
From here on days begin to run and blur together. Colonial Williamsburg, home of the Continental Congress, featured buildings restored to their original condition. At Mount Vernon it can easily be seen George Washington chose the location of his mansion well when you sit on the porch and view the panorama of the Potomac River flowing past.
We toured the United States Capitol under the watchful gaze of many armed guards, but an informed guide showed and told us much of the lore and facts associated with the building. To do justice to a visit to this city one should spend a week. There are so many things to see: the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier; memorials to veterans of the Viet Nam war, the Korean War, World War II, and Iwo Jima; the memorials dedicated to Lincoln, Jefferson, Washington, FDR, et al; big eats at the NDFU sponsored restaurants - Farmers & Fishers and Founding Farmers (both excellent); the sprawling Smithsonian Institution with its collection of several buildings each dedicated to a theme.
As I write it is late on the night that we arrived home, and I am tired. My thoughts run to my father who has suffered a couple of strokes while I was gone so we are making plans to drive to Lisbon tomorrow. I will write more in a couple of days.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
travelin' - V
Benton Harbor, Mich
The end is in sight one more night after this one. The trip has gone well, but this computer has sticky keys so I will save my energy. Niagara Falls yesterday. Very nice.
The end is in sight one more night after this one. The trip has gone well, but this computer has sticky keys so I will save my energy. Niagara Falls yesterday. Very nice.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Travelin' - IV
On the shore, Massachusetts
The wind is blowing hard this morning, hard rain expected for Boston this pm where we will be. Mary and I ate lobster last night, no big deal, I'll order shrimp next time. New York was a good time. Our guide, Serge, took us up one street and down another for most of the day so we saw a lot of the city plus a boat cruise past and underneath the Statue of Liberty.
The wind is blowing hard this morning, hard rain expected for Boston this pm where we will be. Mary and I ate lobster last night, no big deal, I'll order shrimp next time. New York was a good time. Our guide, Serge, took us up one street and down another for most of the day so we saw a lot of the city plus a boat cruise past and underneath the Statue of Liberty.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Travelin' - III
Paradise, PA
5:30 am. It's hard to find an unused computer so here I am. Everyone's buying trinkets that say "I Love Intercourse PA" (because that's where we ate supper and now we're staying in Paradise.) You can't make this stuff up. This is Amish country and even though it rained hard yesterday we saw lots of horse and enclosed buggies. Those people are serious about their lifestyle. It is hard to understand things like balers or corn choppers being pulled by horses and having gas engines mounted on them to power them. Things run together. Washington, DC wears one out what with all the memorials, museums, and gov't buildings, and traffic, traffic. The Smithsonian couldn't be covered properly in a week. Mary and I went into a couple of the art museums this time and then over to the arboretum. We're about half way through the trip at this point with lots to do yet. Philadelphia is on tap for today. It's hard to not think about my parents back home who are ailing but am keeping in phone contact with them and their nurses. A trip to Lisbon will be first on the list when we get back.
5:30 am. It's hard to find an unused computer so here I am. Everyone's buying trinkets that say "I Love Intercourse PA" (because that's where we ate supper and now we're staying in Paradise.) You can't make this stuff up. This is Amish country and even though it rained hard yesterday we saw lots of horse and enclosed buggies. Those people are serious about their lifestyle. It is hard to understand things like balers or corn choppers being pulled by horses and having gas engines mounted on them to power them. Things run together. Washington, DC wears one out what with all the memorials, museums, and gov't buildings, and traffic, traffic. The Smithsonian couldn't be covered properly in a week. Mary and I went into a couple of the art museums this time and then over to the arboretum. We're about half way through the trip at this point with lots to do yet. Philadelphia is on tap for today. It's hard to not think about my parents back home who are ailing but am keeping in phone contact with them and their nurses. A trip to Lisbon will be first on the list when we get back.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Travelin' - II
Williamsburg, VA
Here we spent the night. Wednesday was a good day touring the Lexington, KY area with sites such as Keeneland Horse Park where we watched a horse auction (one had sold a few days previously for over $4 million) and toured a retired horse farm. One of the horses we saw was one who portrayed Seabiscuit in the movie of the same name. Yesterday we drove in mountains and curves, stopped at a small town and toured a small salsa factory, then drove on 'til we reached Monticello, Jefferson's house. It is quite a place. Then on to where we are now, Williamsburg. Here we will spend the morning at Colonial Williamsburg and then go to Mt. Vernon in the afternoon.
Here we spent the night. Wednesday was a good day touring the Lexington, KY area with sites such as Keeneland Horse Park where we watched a horse auction (one had sold a few days previously for over $4 million) and toured a retired horse farm. One of the horses we saw was one who portrayed Seabiscuit in the movie of the same name. Yesterday we drove in mountains and curves, stopped at a small town and toured a small salsa factory, then drove on 'til we reached Monticello, Jefferson's house. It is quite a place. Then on to where we are now, Williamsburg. Here we will spend the morning at Colonial Williamsburg and then go to Mt. Vernon in the afternoon.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Travelin' - I
Indianapolis, Indiana
The second day of our journey and we are in a Drury Inn in Indianapolis, IN. Lots of miles have rolled under the bus tires since we started, but so many more to go. Tomorrow, Wednesday, we finally get started with a tour of the Lexington Horse Park, then on to Charleston, WV where I will have more to say.
The second day of our journey and we are in a Drury Inn in Indianapolis, IN. Lots of miles have rolled under the bus tires since we started, but so many more to go. Tomorrow, Wednesday, we finally get started with a tour of the Lexington Horse Park, then on to Charleston, WV where I will have more to say.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Heavyweight
Sometimes an idea - even when it’s such a silly little thing - gets in your head and you can’t shake it until you’ve found out the details. I’ve spent most of a lifetime not knowing the answer to this one and when it popped into my head again I pursued it until I was satisfied. A farm sets between Leonard and Highway 46 and people would always tell me as we drove past that that is where Charley Retzlaff lived, he fought Joe Louis. But that’s where the stream of information would end, no one seemed able to add to it. So a visit to the Heritage Center was in order for some research. Retzlaff was indeed a heavyweight fighter who compiled a lifetime record of 61 wins and 8 defeats; 52 of his victories were by knock-outs. He did fight the Brown Bomber, Joe Louis, on January 17, 1936 and was knocked out after one minute and 25 seconds of the first round.
The fight gained the attention of sports writers, and a number of articles appeared in the Fargo Forum regarding it. This headline appeared on January 4: Louis adding weight for go - Bomber figures to scale 203 in Retzlaff tiff; then on January 8: Retzlaff-Louis fight will pack Chicago Stadium. With that headline three pictures of Retzlaff appeared making him look like a hayseed. The caption said Rancher Retzlaff, preparing for Louis fight Jan. 17 shows he can do a few things around N D farm. The first pictured him climbing a windmill, the second standing with a pitchfork in his hand and chewing a piece of straw, the third forking hay to cows tied up in their stanchions.
That article gave the first hint that Charley was not expected to win when it said “Retzlaff due to drag down something like $15,000, which if one is thumped around a bit, is soothing salve for bruises.” It went on to say that three rounds were the likely limit. “Here are the condemned man’s last words: ‘I am going to fight Louis like I hunt. I am going out and try to bring him down. Boxing him is suicide.’”
January 9: Probably for the purpose of fooling several of Retzlaff’s spies, the Brown Bomber turned in a poor drill Tuesday.
January 18: Retzlaff goes down gamely under barrage by Louis. Bomber ends it in first - North Dakotan is down twice in brief Chicago encounter. The article went on to say that they found a fighter game enough to slug with Joe Louis, but not anywhere good enough to keep the spectacular Brown Bomber from achieving his 23rd and quickest KO triumph. The victim was strapping Charley Retzlaff from the North Dakota wheat country . . . And on January 20 a photo appeared captioned: Joe Louis lands -- and so does Retzlaff.
The fight grossed $67,826 with Louis earning 40% of the take and Retzlaff getting 17 ½ % or $11,869.67. A heavy snowfall began two hours before the bout which affected the size of the crowd. Of course, it’s always boring to just read about it when you can watch it, so go to YouTube.com and type in Joe Louis vs. Charley Retzlaff and see the fight.
The fight gained the attention of sports writers, and a number of articles appeared in the Fargo Forum regarding it. This headline appeared on January 4: Louis adding weight for go - Bomber figures to scale 203 in Retzlaff tiff; then on January 8: Retzlaff-Louis fight will pack Chicago Stadium. With that headline three pictures of Retzlaff appeared making him look like a hayseed. The caption said Rancher Retzlaff, preparing for Louis fight Jan. 17 shows he can do a few things around N D farm. The first pictured him climbing a windmill, the second standing with a pitchfork in his hand and chewing a piece of straw, the third forking hay to cows tied up in their stanchions.
That article gave the first hint that Charley was not expected to win when it said “Retzlaff due to drag down something like $15,000, which if one is thumped around a bit, is soothing salve for bruises.” It went on to say that three rounds were the likely limit. “Here are the condemned man’s last words: ‘I am going to fight Louis like I hunt. I am going out and try to bring him down. Boxing him is suicide.’”
January 9: Probably for the purpose of fooling several of Retzlaff’s spies, the Brown Bomber turned in a poor drill Tuesday.
January 18: Retzlaff goes down gamely under barrage by Louis. Bomber ends it in first - North Dakotan is down twice in brief Chicago encounter. The article went on to say that they found a fighter game enough to slug with Joe Louis, but not anywhere good enough to keep the spectacular Brown Bomber from achieving his 23rd and quickest KO triumph. The victim was strapping Charley Retzlaff from the North Dakota wheat country . . . And on January 20 a photo appeared captioned: Joe Louis lands -- and so does Retzlaff.
The fight grossed $67,826 with Louis earning 40% of the take and Retzlaff getting 17 ½ % or $11,869.67. A heavy snowfall began two hours before the bout which affected the size of the crowd. Of course, it’s always boring to just read about it when you can watch it, so go to YouTube.com and type in Joe Louis vs. Charley Retzlaff and see the fight.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Memory of Touch
Somehow I got reminded of an author, Barry Lopez, whom I hadn’t read for a number of years so I went searching out a couple of his works. Lopez is an environmentalist and his writing is reminiscent of Wendell Berry, Edward Abbey, Gary Snyder, Aldo Leopold, and others. One of the Lopez books, About This Life, contained a chapter that spoke to me quite loudly, “A Passage of the Hands.” In essay form, he tells of the memories in his hands: “. . . the subtle corrugation of cardboard boxes, the slickness of the oilcloth on the kitchen table, the shuddering bend of a horses’s short-haired belly
. . .” In another passage he tells of working for a summer on a Wyoming ranch: “It was strengthening to work with my hands, with ropes and bridles and hay bales, with double-bitted axes and bow saws, currying horses, scooping grain . . .”
Remnants of touch linger in my own memory and begin to take shape: the warmth of an egg plucked from under a squawking hen, shivers from touching an unseen lizard in the dirt while checking my gopher trap, polished wood of an oft-used pitchfork, sandpaper rasp of a cow’s tongue, softness of the sheep fleece,
. . . sting of blizzard-driven snow on my bare face, wetness of a rainstorm with no shelter nearby, heat of the summer sun in a cloudless sky,
. . . heft of wheat in my cupped hands, jolt from the recoil of a 12 gauge shotgun, calluses in my palms from lifting hay bales, lightness of foot after shedding overshoes in the spring, hot glow after catching a hard hit baseball,
. . . draw of a fillet knife through a fish belly, pain in my ankle from the kick of a horse, aching throb in my knee after driving a motorcycle into a junk pile,
. . . my bride’s kiss on our wedding day, holding my new-born sons for the first time, and now --- holding my grandchildren.
. . .” In another passage he tells of working for a summer on a Wyoming ranch: “It was strengthening to work with my hands, with ropes and bridles and hay bales, with double-bitted axes and bow saws, currying horses, scooping grain . . .”
Remnants of touch linger in my own memory and begin to take shape: the warmth of an egg plucked from under a squawking hen, shivers from touching an unseen lizard in the dirt while checking my gopher trap, polished wood of an oft-used pitchfork, sandpaper rasp of a cow’s tongue, softness of the sheep fleece,
. . . sting of blizzard-driven snow on my bare face, wetness of a rainstorm with no shelter nearby, heat of the summer sun in a cloudless sky,
. . . heft of wheat in my cupped hands, jolt from the recoil of a 12 gauge shotgun, calluses in my palms from lifting hay bales, lightness of foot after shedding overshoes in the spring, hot glow after catching a hard hit baseball,
. . . draw of a fillet knife through a fish belly, pain in my ankle from the kick of a horse, aching throb in my knee after driving a motorcycle into a junk pile,
. . . my bride’s kiss on our wedding day, holding my new-born sons for the first time, and now --- holding my grandchildren.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Exaggeration
exaggerate: to state that something is better, worse, larger, more common, or more important than is true or usual.
“I never exaggerate. I just remember big.” Chi Chi Rodriquez
“remembering -
so much between me and then
always wondering
did it really happen
or did I imagine it” Lynn Bueling
With the above I just imagined myself as being important enough to be quoted as if I knew something; therefore, I exaggerated. I believe that feeling of self-importance prevails in many people and what comes out of their mouths reflects that. The worst culprits in the present-day are those of the talk-show variety. What was it de Gaulle said, something about the graveyards being full of indispensable people. Megalomaniacs abound. I think of General MacArthur being fired by President Truman for thinking he was above and beyond civilian control as stipulated in our Constitution. I think of Napoleon who thought his army could prevail upon Russia with her vast distances and severe winters, I think of Hitler whose grand designs showed little care for people other than his master race.
We just passed the five-year anniversary of Katrina’s devastation of New Orleans. The city is still in the process of being restored; it’s been slow going. I heard with my own ears some who did not feel sorry for the residents of the city, they were ordered to evacuate, it’s their own fault for not leaving; therefore, no aid should be given to them. My ability to present philosophical argument is limited, but one point became very evident to me: most of the people stranded in the city did not have the means to evacuate. Their plight was never exaggerated, but those who felt no concern exaggerated their position of morality in this society.
A sizable minority say the United States is a Christian country and that it was established as such. Read the U.S. Constitution. It does not mention "God". It does not mention "Jesus". It does not mention "Christ". It mentions religion only twice. The first: Article 6, to establish that "no religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States". The second: First Amendment, "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof".
Exaggeration really exploded at Glenn Beck’s rally in Washington, DC a few days ago. He estimated about 500,000 people attended, Michelle Bachmann from Minnesota bloated the figure to 1.6 million, but the park service thought about 87,000 was an accurate number. One of the guests Glenn Beck invited for his Washington rally was the Rev. John Hagee who has called the Catholic church a “whore religion” and said that God sent the Hurricane Katrina to destroy New Orleans because of some gay-rights gathering in New Orleans. Religious tolerance? Oh, yawn, I guess I shall stop talking about exaggeration.
“I never exaggerate. I just remember big.” Chi Chi Rodriquez
“remembering -
so much between me and then
always wondering
did it really happen
or did I imagine it” Lynn Bueling
With the above I just imagined myself as being important enough to be quoted as if I knew something; therefore, I exaggerated. I believe that feeling of self-importance prevails in many people and what comes out of their mouths reflects that. The worst culprits in the present-day are those of the talk-show variety. What was it de Gaulle said, something about the graveyards being full of indispensable people. Megalomaniacs abound. I think of General MacArthur being fired by President Truman for thinking he was above and beyond civilian control as stipulated in our Constitution. I think of Napoleon who thought his army could prevail upon Russia with her vast distances and severe winters, I think of Hitler whose grand designs showed little care for people other than his master race.
We just passed the five-year anniversary of Katrina’s devastation of New Orleans. The city is still in the process of being restored; it’s been slow going. I heard with my own ears some who did not feel sorry for the residents of the city, they were ordered to evacuate, it’s their own fault for not leaving; therefore, no aid should be given to them. My ability to present philosophical argument is limited, but one point became very evident to me: most of the people stranded in the city did not have the means to evacuate. Their plight was never exaggerated, but those who felt no concern exaggerated their position of morality in this society.
A sizable minority say the United States is a Christian country and that it was established as such. Read the U.S. Constitution. It does not mention "God". It does not mention "Jesus". It does not mention "Christ". It mentions religion only twice. The first: Article 6, to establish that "no religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States". The second: First Amendment, "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof".
Exaggeration really exploded at Glenn Beck’s rally in Washington, DC a few days ago. He estimated about 500,000 people attended, Michelle Bachmann from Minnesota bloated the figure to 1.6 million, but the park service thought about 87,000 was an accurate number. One of the guests Glenn Beck invited for his Washington rally was the Rev. John Hagee who has called the Catholic church a “whore religion” and said that God sent the Hurricane Katrina to destroy New Orleans because of some gay-rights gathering in New Orleans. Religious tolerance? Oh, yawn, I guess I shall stop talking about exaggeration.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Taking Time (to smell the roses)
This past Saturday night Mary and I drove a few miles south of Mandan to an outdoor concert at the Bohemian Hall, a structure built years ago by an ethnic group of immigrants of the same name who originated in Czechoslovakia. The prime mover and organizer of this musical event, which draws a few hundred people, was Chuck Suchy, himself a Bohemian who likes to encourage and continue the building’s use as a community center, something which harkens him back to his childhood days of going there with his family. Suchy, a few years back, received the honor of being named North Dakota’s Troubadour by the state legislature and is a talented writer, singer, and guitar player. He draws his inspiration from the agrarian life and still runs cattle on the family farm located just a couple miles across the hill from the hall.
At one point during the evening, with guitars set aside and singers standing off-stage, we were treated to a couple of monologues, one by Clay Jenkinson, this state’s resident intellectual and scholar, the other by Suchy. Jenkinson spoke of the simpler things in life and of his grandmother’s ways and attitudes regarding life on her small Minnesota dairy farm. It revived memories in most of us and set us to laughing and thinking of parents and grandparents and our days at home.
Suchy sets the date for the concert always in the weekend closest to coinciding with August’s full moon, and there it stood in the cloudless sky, only a few days away from being fully round. A stiff southeast breeze cooled us after the sun set and kept the mosquitoes at bay. Suchy spoke of being in love with this night, the landscape, the people who inhabit it, and life in general in this part of North Dakota. Something he said resonated: money can’t buy this, but money sure can destroy it. He related this to things such as factory farms where animals are raised in confinement, strip mining, oil field development, etc. The familiar quote “Take time to smell the roses” came to mind and he clearly relishes the simple farm life he lives and brags with special pride of the hay crops he raises.
The next day, driving to Fargo, we listened to the public radio station for the three hour trip, and there on the Bob Edwards program was a topic of the same theme we had heard the night before. A newspaper reporter from somewhere had compiled a collection of his newspaper columns into book form, one of them giving title to the book: Fiddler in the Subway. He’d written of a professional symphony musician who possessed a valuable violin and had conducted an experiment in a Washington, DC subway. During rush hour throngs of federal bureaucrats crowded the station and hustled about boarding their rides, talking on cell phones, reading papers, etc. He proceeded playing difficult but beautiful violin pieces with his instrument. At the end of his stint he counted only seven people who’d lingered a bit to listen to the rich sounds of the music while hundreds of commuters ignored him, showing no interest at all. People so wrapped up in the hum-drum habits of their lives couldn’t or wouldn’t break out of the pattern to enjoy this thing of beauty.
I have been trapped in this attitude many times in my life, but I now make more conscious effort to relish the finer things. With that I will return to the paradox I am presently contemplating of why factories installed whip sockets on horseless carriages.
………….
A local news station was interviewing an 80 year old woman who’d just married for the 4th time. She told the reporter that her new husband was a funeral director. Thinking that was interesting the reporter asked, “What did you first three husbands do before they died?”
She replied “The first was a banker, the second was a circus ringmaster, and the third was a preacher. I married one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready and four to go.”
At one point during the evening, with guitars set aside and singers standing off-stage, we were treated to a couple of monologues, one by Clay Jenkinson, this state’s resident intellectual and scholar, the other by Suchy. Jenkinson spoke of the simpler things in life and of his grandmother’s ways and attitudes regarding life on her small Minnesota dairy farm. It revived memories in most of us and set us to laughing and thinking of parents and grandparents and our days at home.
Suchy sets the date for the concert always in the weekend closest to coinciding with August’s full moon, and there it stood in the cloudless sky, only a few days away from being fully round. A stiff southeast breeze cooled us after the sun set and kept the mosquitoes at bay. Suchy spoke of being in love with this night, the landscape, the people who inhabit it, and life in general in this part of North Dakota. Something he said resonated: money can’t buy this, but money sure can destroy it. He related this to things such as factory farms where animals are raised in confinement, strip mining, oil field development, etc. The familiar quote “Take time to smell the roses” came to mind and he clearly relishes the simple farm life he lives and brags with special pride of the hay crops he raises.
The next day, driving to Fargo, we listened to the public radio station for the three hour trip, and there on the Bob Edwards program was a topic of the same theme we had heard the night before. A newspaper reporter from somewhere had compiled a collection of his newspaper columns into book form, one of them giving title to the book: Fiddler in the Subway. He’d written of a professional symphony musician who possessed a valuable violin and had conducted an experiment in a Washington, DC subway. During rush hour throngs of federal bureaucrats crowded the station and hustled about boarding their rides, talking on cell phones, reading papers, etc. He proceeded playing difficult but beautiful violin pieces with his instrument. At the end of his stint he counted only seven people who’d lingered a bit to listen to the rich sounds of the music while hundreds of commuters ignored him, showing no interest at all. People so wrapped up in the hum-drum habits of their lives couldn’t or wouldn’t break out of the pattern to enjoy this thing of beauty.
I have been trapped in this attitude many times in my life, but I now make more conscious effort to relish the finer things. With that I will return to the paradox I am presently contemplating of why factories installed whip sockets on horseless carriages.
………….
A local news station was interviewing an 80 year old woman who’d just married for the 4th time. She told the reporter that her new husband was a funeral director. Thinking that was interesting the reporter asked, “What did you first three husbands do before they died?”
She replied “The first was a banker, the second was a circus ringmaster, and the third was a preacher. I married one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready and four to go.”
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
John Wooden and a Wooden Jail
Browsing through the new book section in the library I picked up John Wooden’s book A Game Plan for Life: The Power of Mentoring. After reading it I know he is a man I would like to have known. Wooden was the heralded coach of the UCLA basketball teams that won many national titles and coached two of the great ones - Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Bill Walton. He wrote the book in two parts: I - the seven mentors in his life and II - seven people to whom he has been a mentor. He gave the etymology of the word mentor which I found interesting. Mentor was the friend of Odysseus in the Greek epic poem The Odyssey; Odysseus asked Mentor to look after his family and his home when he left for the Trojan war. As an English major in college Wooden understood the concept.
Those he named in the first part were his father Joshua, Earl Warriner, Glenn Curtis, Piggy Lambert, Mother Teresa, Abraham Lincoln, and his wife Nellie, and just because he hadn’t personally known each of them he read deeply the stories about them that gave him great inspiration. As he said in the chapter about Mother Teresa he learned: “You should never expect a reward in return.” Of Lincoln he wrote: “Lincoln … modeled how to move past disappointments without carrying grudges.”
The second section bore the testimony of those he mentored including Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Bill Walton, Dale Brown, et al. Wooden never called Kareem except by his birth name Lewis and helped him through plenty of tough spots. When Kareem went to UCLA he was bothered by people who called him insensitive names such as the time when he and Wooden entered a restaurant and a woman cried out, “Oh, look at the big, black freak.” He wrote that he could see Wooden was bothered by the remark as much as he was, but he remained calm and cool thus mentoring him. Kareem loved literature and poetry and with Wooden found someone to talk to.
Walton wrote amusedly how he always wanted to rebel around Wooden’s rules and challenged him by wearing long hair and a beard. Wooden told him, “Bill, I acknowledge that you have a right to disagree with my rules. But I’m the coach here, and we’re sure going to miss you.” A pile of hair covered the barber’s floor soon after.
Wooden died just this past June, only months short of 100 years but he kept a clear mind throughout his life. In the last chapter he wrote , “As I finish this book, I am nearly ninety-eight and a half years old.” I believe he must have lived a good life.
. . . . .
I read in my hometown paper this 100 year old headline: Johnny Burke Gets Tanked Up On Firewater and Proceeds to Make Things Lively. Here’s how the story went: Saturday after Johnny Burke acquired a good-sized jag, and as is usual with him under those circumstances he proceeded to make himself decidedly obnoxious, ending up by throwing a billiard ball through the big plate glass of the Goodman pool room. He was promptly taken in charge by Marshall Fallon and incarcerated in the little shack known as the city jail, but in searching him Ed evidently overlooked a match or two, as about suppertime frenzied cries of help and fire were heard to emanate from the bastile. Of course, the offender received fines and costs plus this: “Johnny was ordered to leave town forthwith never to return, and if he does show up again he will be arrested on other charges and not let off as easily as he was this time. Burke is not a bad fellow when sober, but as soon as he gets outside a little firewater is always looking for trouble and usually finds it.”
While I found the story of the troublemaker to be fun to read the thing that struck me was the reference to the city jail. We used to play in it during school noon hours since it sat just on the north side of the school grounds and as I remember was never locked. A small building, it had some steel bars and stood built solidly with walls made of 2 x 4 lumber laid sideways on top of each other in a cribbed style. Some names and initials were carved on the walls, so of course legends grew in our minds as to who of infamy may have stayed in it. The building still exists and was purchased by a member of the Sturlaugson family and moved to a farmstead near Hatton, ND.
Those he named in the first part were his father Joshua, Earl Warriner, Glenn Curtis, Piggy Lambert, Mother Teresa, Abraham Lincoln, and his wife Nellie, and just because he hadn’t personally known each of them he read deeply the stories about them that gave him great inspiration. As he said in the chapter about Mother Teresa he learned: “You should never expect a reward in return.” Of Lincoln he wrote: “Lincoln … modeled how to move past disappointments without carrying grudges.”
The second section bore the testimony of those he mentored including Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Bill Walton, Dale Brown, et al. Wooden never called Kareem except by his birth name Lewis and helped him through plenty of tough spots. When Kareem went to UCLA he was bothered by people who called him insensitive names such as the time when he and Wooden entered a restaurant and a woman cried out, “Oh, look at the big, black freak.” He wrote that he could see Wooden was bothered by the remark as much as he was, but he remained calm and cool thus mentoring him. Kareem loved literature and poetry and with Wooden found someone to talk to.
Walton wrote amusedly how he always wanted to rebel around Wooden’s rules and challenged him by wearing long hair and a beard. Wooden told him, “Bill, I acknowledge that you have a right to disagree with my rules. But I’m the coach here, and we’re sure going to miss you.” A pile of hair covered the barber’s floor soon after.
Wooden died just this past June, only months short of 100 years but he kept a clear mind throughout his life. In the last chapter he wrote , “As I finish this book, I am nearly ninety-eight and a half years old.” I believe he must have lived a good life.
. . . . .
I read in my hometown paper this 100 year old headline: Johnny Burke Gets Tanked Up On Firewater and Proceeds to Make Things Lively. Here’s how the story went: Saturday after Johnny Burke acquired a good-sized jag, and as is usual with him under those circumstances he proceeded to make himself decidedly obnoxious, ending up by throwing a billiard ball through the big plate glass of the Goodman pool room. He was promptly taken in charge by Marshall Fallon and incarcerated in the little shack known as the city jail, but in searching him Ed evidently overlooked a match or two, as about suppertime frenzied cries of help and fire were heard to emanate from the bastile. Of course, the offender received fines and costs plus this: “Johnny was ordered to leave town forthwith never to return, and if he does show up again he will be arrested on other charges and not let off as easily as he was this time. Burke is not a bad fellow when sober, but as soon as he gets outside a little firewater is always looking for trouble and usually finds it.”
While I found the story of the troublemaker to be fun to read the thing that struck me was the reference to the city jail. We used to play in it during school noon hours since it sat just on the north side of the school grounds and as I remember was never locked. A small building, it had some steel bars and stood built solidly with walls made of 2 x 4 lumber laid sideways on top of each other in a cribbed style. Some names and initials were carved on the walls, so of course legends grew in our minds as to who of infamy may have stayed in it. The building still exists and was purchased by a member of the Sturlaugson family and moved to a farmstead near Hatton, ND.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Point of Beginning
A while back I came on an interesting term: the point of beginning. While there can be many such points, the one that interested me dealt with surveyors and lines they draw on maps. When I set out to read what I could find on that topic, another related term rose up to pique my interest even further: the Mason-Dixon Line. The roots of it all go back to the time of William Penn and Charles Calvert, well-known players in our country’s very early history. Territorial line squabbles had developed in colonial days so Penn of Pennsylvania and Calvert of Maryland agreed in 1732 to hire Mason and Dixon to survey a line and establish boundaries; the line they drew started fifteen miles south of Philadelphia, the point of beginning, and extended westward.
This Mason-Dixon line proved to be significant some years later when it became part of the turmoil and difficulties that resulted in the Missouri Compromise and the later Civil War when it was used to designate the free states north of that line and the slave states south of the line. Further problems developed because of the differences in how property lines were established. On the north side survey lines and their resulting squares kept property in tidy parcels. South of the line a mess developed because property lines meandered to encompass the best of lands. If a prospective land buyer didn’t like gullies or sloughs he by-passed and/or excluded them.
The process brought me to the original survey lines and notes made by surveyors Clavenger and High when they came to the Dakotas to draw their maps by a survey commenced on September 6, 1872. It’s interesting to me. We take our land descriptions for granted, but there had to be “a point of beginning.”
This Mason-Dixon line proved to be significant some years later when it became part of the turmoil and difficulties that resulted in the Missouri Compromise and the later Civil War when it was used to designate the free states north of that line and the slave states south of the line. Further problems developed because of the differences in how property lines were established. On the north side survey lines and their resulting squares kept property in tidy parcels. South of the line a mess developed because property lines meandered to encompass the best of lands. If a prospective land buyer didn’t like gullies or sloughs he by-passed and/or excluded them.
The process brought me to the original survey lines and notes made by surveyors Clavenger and High when they came to the Dakotas to draw their maps by a survey commenced on September 6, 1872. It’s interesting to me. We take our land descriptions for granted, but there had to be “a point of beginning.”
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Collecting Quotations
I collect quotations when I see something said something better than I could say it; that’s why I study them. Look at this one from an old French leader Charles de Gaulle for instance: “The graveyards are full of indispensable men.” When people think that an organization cannot run without them, he/she should ponder on that for awhile.
The Civil War general William T. Sherman wrote in a letter: “Reason has very little influence in this world: prejudice governs.” Everyone I know comes to the table carrying a whole basket full of preconceived notions about the way they think things should be, and it becomes evident even without their realizing it.
“Everyone takes the limits of his own vision for the limits of the world,” said Arthur Schopenhauer. Many times I’ve thought I knew the answers until I came in contact with someone who was far beyond me in wisdom. The way I look at things probably goes back to the Sherman quote - prejudice governs.
A lyrical line in a song sometimes stands out. Bonnie Raitt sang “Life gets more precious when there’s less of it to waste.” That’s the point where I’ll jump off and establish a theme. Mary and I just hosted an overnight houseguest who drove up from Arizona with his 18 year old cat Kitty Bear. We had the greatest time talking about many things; he is a man I’ve always admired because he’s lives life to the fullest. In his early 70’s, he’s lived an adventurous life and if somehow the lights turn off he’ll leave with more experiences than the average man. We called another couple whom we all knew from the days of teaching in Bowdon and met for supper at Bonanza. Alaska represents a big part of Leo’s life, and he told us many stories of his experiences there. The location of Chilkoot Pass came up and I said Mary and I have ridden the railroad up that steep incline. “I’ve hiked it,” was his reply, 30+ miles one way.
Over ten years ago I was fortunate to receive a group of emails from him that I enjoyed reading and filed away for future re-reading. It was about the time he’d retired from school administration in Alaska and was in the process of relocating to Phoenix. Here he was flying along in his private plane accompanied by Kitty Bear: “I started Thursday about two PM. Forgot about going the Portland route and elected to go on top over the scattered clouds on the west side of the Cascades. It was beautiful… no turbulence…went to 7500 which put me over the scattered clouds…Ellensburg was crystal clear…turned south over Yakima…the snow covered ground glistened from the sunlight and the treed peaks had that mixture of green and white that is so special. … I droned along and as the sun set behind the peaks I saw my destination Madras, Oregon below. It was clear that the airport is a ways from town and only one runway had been cleared of snow and that only partially. I did not want to fly in the dark but the twinkle of light ahead that had to be Redmond beckoned. I elected to go on and it was a good decision … I touched down in the twilight with the runway lights providing that sort of ‘welcome back to earth’ glow that is priceless after a long trip.”
Later on in his trip he wrote “About noon on Saturday I headed out toward Tonapah. Seems the U.S. Navy was playing war games in an area I had to cross so I had to maintain nine thousand feet just to stay in radar contact or get run over by a jet going so fast he would not even see me… Oh, yes, in case you wonder Kitty Bear just curls up on his blanket and sleeps most of the time til I cut the power to descend and that stirs him to life and he evaluates my landings and takeoffs. Tonapah had a three cat welcoming committee…they eyed and yowled a little but settled for a stare down versus a brawl.”
So, I’ve saved his letters which are quotations. They read well ten years later. I enjoy re-reading about his exploits, but even better I enjoy hearing him tell it in person. Thanks for coming Leo and hurry back.
The Civil War general William T. Sherman wrote in a letter: “Reason has very little influence in this world: prejudice governs.” Everyone I know comes to the table carrying a whole basket full of preconceived notions about the way they think things should be, and it becomes evident even without their realizing it.
“Everyone takes the limits of his own vision for the limits of the world,” said Arthur Schopenhauer. Many times I’ve thought I knew the answers until I came in contact with someone who was far beyond me in wisdom. The way I look at things probably goes back to the Sherman quote - prejudice governs.
A lyrical line in a song sometimes stands out. Bonnie Raitt sang “Life gets more precious when there’s less of it to waste.” That’s the point where I’ll jump off and establish a theme. Mary and I just hosted an overnight houseguest who drove up from Arizona with his 18 year old cat Kitty Bear. We had the greatest time talking about many things; he is a man I’ve always admired because he’s lives life to the fullest. In his early 70’s, he’s lived an adventurous life and if somehow the lights turn off he’ll leave with more experiences than the average man. We called another couple whom we all knew from the days of teaching in Bowdon and met for supper at Bonanza. Alaska represents a big part of Leo’s life, and he told us many stories of his experiences there. The location of Chilkoot Pass came up and I said Mary and I have ridden the railroad up that steep incline. “I’ve hiked it,” was his reply, 30+ miles one way.
Over ten years ago I was fortunate to receive a group of emails from him that I enjoyed reading and filed away for future re-reading. It was about the time he’d retired from school administration in Alaska and was in the process of relocating to Phoenix. Here he was flying along in his private plane accompanied by Kitty Bear: “I started Thursday about two PM. Forgot about going the Portland route and elected to go on top over the scattered clouds on the west side of the Cascades. It was beautiful… no turbulence…went to 7500 which put me over the scattered clouds…Ellensburg was crystal clear…turned south over Yakima…the snow covered ground glistened from the sunlight and the treed peaks had that mixture of green and white that is so special. … I droned along and as the sun set behind the peaks I saw my destination Madras, Oregon below. It was clear that the airport is a ways from town and only one runway had been cleared of snow and that only partially. I did not want to fly in the dark but the twinkle of light ahead that had to be Redmond beckoned. I elected to go on and it was a good decision … I touched down in the twilight with the runway lights providing that sort of ‘welcome back to earth’ glow that is priceless after a long trip.”
Later on in his trip he wrote “About noon on Saturday I headed out toward Tonapah. Seems the U.S. Navy was playing war games in an area I had to cross so I had to maintain nine thousand feet just to stay in radar contact or get run over by a jet going so fast he would not even see me… Oh, yes, in case you wonder Kitty Bear just curls up on his blanket and sleeps most of the time til I cut the power to descend and that stirs him to life and he evaluates my landings and takeoffs. Tonapah had a three cat welcoming committee…they eyed and yowled a little but settled for a stare down versus a brawl.”
So, I’ve saved his letters which are quotations. They read well ten years later. I enjoy re-reading about his exploits, but even better I enjoy hearing him tell it in person. Thanks for coming Leo and hurry back.
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