Today -- Sunday, December 18, 2011 -- is a memorable day for me. My dad was born exactly 100 years ago -- on December 18, 1911, in Emery to Seth and Mary Stoltz. The 20th anniversary of his passing is coming up on December 29. He was 80 years old. My memories of Dad may dim with the passing years, but I miss Dad more and more with the passing of time. I feel like I never got to know him as well as I would've liked to. And I'd love to have Dad around to ask his opinion on so many things.
I've always looked up to Dad, respected him. He provided a loving and stable home for his wife and six rambunctious kids. He took us to church on Sundays, made sure we were fed and clothed, and that we behaved ourselves. And he worked hard, often coming home from the elevator covered in grain dust and smelling of oats.
Dad was an imposing figure -- at six feet two inches tall he had a commanding presence. And although I never knew my grandpa Seth, I can tell from old photos that my dad resembled his dad quite closely. And like his father before him, Dad managed a grain elevator.
I've been told that Dad spoke nothing but German until he entered school in Emery, probably because his mother spoke her native German since she was a native of Luxembourg. And Dad always slipped some German phrases into his everyday conversation -- phrases us kids didn't understand but still we became familiar with them, such as "dunder vetter" and "kunder gittle." Although I am butchering the spelling of those phrases, Jessica asked her college German instructor about the former phrase, which if I remember correctly translates roughly into "gosh!"
Dad was a dad in the old sense when dads were the breadwinners and moms stayed home, cared for the children and ran the household. Dad would come home after work and, after supper, sit in his chair and read the newspaper.
Dad had a beautiful bass voice, and he would sing along to some of his favorite artists, including Mitch Miller or Lawrence Welk. I never gained much of an appreciate for the latter, but I came to enjoy the the sing-along of Mitch and his gang.
Our garage was Dad's second home, and he was known for his woodworking ability. There's no doubt from where Roger got his woodworking talents. I still have a corner shelving unit that Dad made so many years ago. It's too bad that talent never drifted down to me. I'm lucky to be able to nail two boards together.
One of my fondest memories was when Dad took me to the Twin Cities to watch my very first Twins game. Dad and I -- and Nick Wenande and Mike -- rode on a Farmers Union bus to the Cities to watch the Twins play the Tigers. For a young sports-crazy boy -- I was about 10 years old -- there are simply no words to describe my joy and excitement. We got to watch some of my all-time baseball heroes -- Harmon Killebrew, Tony Oliva, Bob Allison, et al. As I recall, the Twins even won the game in extra innings. And knowing that Dad was not a big sports fan made this all the more impressive to me, and I've come to appreciate that trip more and more in the years since.
Still, it wasn't easy to ask Dad for things. I think most of us would automatically go to Mom when we wanted something because she ran the household and dealt with us directly. But when I was in high school and later, while dating, I would ask Mom if I could borrow the car. Her standard answer was, "It's your dad's car. Go ask him." Why it was difficult to ask Dad, I don't know, because I never recall him turning me down. I knew I had to behave with it and treat it as my own, and Dad was always more than fair with me.
I remember our many visits to our relatives in Emery and Humboldt. Mom and Dad would sit at the dining room table and play Euchre with Bill and Viola Mohr. And Dad was always up for a game of 500 Rummy, and if no one felt in the mood to play he would deal out a hand of Solitaire. But he loved to play 500 Rummy, and would enlist any combination of us to play a game and maybe even more than one.
Dad suffered a heart attack while I was stationed at Ft. Lewis, WA, and so we flew home to be with him. But years later he suffered a stroke, and required nursing home care. He passed away on December 29, 1991.
I hope my older children have vivid memories of their granddad, but Jessica was a baby and Brandon was not yet born. I hope I have the opportunity to meet up with Dad again some day in our next world. There is so much more about him that I want to know. And I want to talk to him. And I want to listen. I just want to listen to you, Dad. I love you and miss you. Every day.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Drive South
I'm starting this blog in our Comfort Suites hotel room in St. Charles, MO. We left home about mid-afternoon on Thursday for our new home in Millington, TN, where I'll be working with the Army Corps of Engineers Logistics Activity. We spent our first night at the home of Barb's daughter and her family in Omaha, and then got going about 9:40 a.m. Friday on the real "new adventure" part of this trip, turning south on Interstate 29 onto countryside we haven't seen before.
My first impressions of Missouri, which we passed into sometime around 10:30, was that it was rather unremarkable, except for numerous dead deer lying along the road side, and a dusting of snow in the north-facing ditches north of St. Joseph. But it was a beautiful day to travel -- sunny and warm for being November 11 -- or as the peculiar date stamp would read -- 11-11-11. Barb turned on the radio and we had country music for much of the day -- a harbinger of things to come as we head to Tennessee -- the home of country music.
Our day ended about 5 p.m. when we reached our hotel here in St. Charles. On the hotel staff's recommendation, we visited "Pio's" down the street for a great ribeye steak and a cold beer (my choices). It was a welcome end to a long day -- about 400 miles traveled. Tomorrow, when we're packed and ready to go again, it's on to Millington -- about 5 hours south of here. It will be a funny feeling to think of this as our new home. It's been so long since I've moved that far. More to come....
Saturday: We're both pooped out after finally arriving in Millington about 2:30 p.m. today. The trip meter read 910 miles.
Today's highlights: We stopped in Cape Girardeau, MO for gasoline, and noticed a White Castle restaurant across the street. My only experience with White Castle was a young boy when my dad took me to the Twin Cities on a Farmers Union bus tour for a Twins game. So Barb and I stopped for a few tasty "sliders."
The next thing of note were fields of white that began to pop up in southern Missouri. I realized they were cotton fields -- something I'd never seen before. Some fields had round bales of cotton, similar to the hay bales we see in fields in South Dakota. Others had what appeared to be covered cotton "stacks." I'm sure this is just the beginning of a "re-education" we'll go through in adjusting to our new home down south.
One trivia note: We crossed the Missouri River three times on our trip down here, but only crossed the Mississippi once -- that being when we crossed into Tennessee about 1 p.m. today. We looked around Millington some after our arrival today. We'll be doing a lot of that over the next few days. More about that later.
My first impressions of Missouri, which we passed into sometime around 10:30, was that it was rather unremarkable, except for numerous dead deer lying along the road side, and a dusting of snow in the north-facing ditches north of St. Joseph. But it was a beautiful day to travel -- sunny and warm for being November 11 -- or as the peculiar date stamp would read -- 11-11-11. Barb turned on the radio and we had country music for much of the day -- a harbinger of things to come as we head to Tennessee -- the home of country music.
Our day ended about 5 p.m. when we reached our hotel here in St. Charles. On the hotel staff's recommendation, we visited "Pio's" down the street for a great ribeye steak and a cold beer (my choices). It was a welcome end to a long day -- about 400 miles traveled. Tomorrow, when we're packed and ready to go again, it's on to Millington -- about 5 hours south of here. It will be a funny feeling to think of this as our new home. It's been so long since I've moved that far. More to come....
Saturday: We're both pooped out after finally arriving in Millington about 2:30 p.m. today. The trip meter read 910 miles.
Today's highlights: We stopped in Cape Girardeau, MO for gasoline, and noticed a White Castle restaurant across the street. My only experience with White Castle was a young boy when my dad took me to the Twin Cities on a Farmers Union bus tour for a Twins game. So Barb and I stopped for a few tasty "sliders."
The next thing of note were fields of white that began to pop up in southern Missouri. I realized they were cotton fields -- something I'd never seen before. Some fields had round bales of cotton, similar to the hay bales we see in fields in South Dakota. Others had what appeared to be covered cotton "stacks." I'm sure this is just the beginning of a "re-education" we'll go through in adjusting to our new home down south.
One trivia note: We crossed the Missouri River three times on our trip down here, but only crossed the Mississippi once -- that being when we crossed into Tennessee about 1 p.m. today. We looked around Millington some after our arrival today. We'll be doing a lot of that over the next few days. More about that later.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Favorite TV Shows
I recently finished watching the TV series "Boston Legal." All 101 episodes. Oh, the show itself went off the air back in 2008 but I own all 5 seasons on DVD. Barb thinks I'm a little nuts even though she introduced me to it back when it was still airing weekly. Over the last few months I watched all five seasons. It's one of my favorite shows but for probably all the wrong reasons.
It is so left-wing, pontifical and preachy. It makes no bones about its left-of-center views -- 180 degrees opposite of mine. It takes great pleasure in poking fun or outright ridicule at all things and people right of center -- George Bush, Dick Cheney, and all political matters near and dear to the hearts of conservatives. But its sheer irreverence and the far-out ridiculous cases tried each week in its courtrooms make it fascinating. In some ways it's the legal version of "Grey's Anatomy;" it finds the most extreme situations to present to its regular cast.
William Shatner plays the gun-toting, sex-crazed conservative Denny Crane, who lusts after every female and regularly shoots clients and indigents with unrestrained glee. Everyone fears what Denny will do or say next. He blames it on "Mad Cow Disease," but he is in the early stages of Alzheimer's Disease, which shows some progression during the series. Denny's political opposite and best buddy is Alan Shore (played by James Spader), who is left-wing, articulate but unconventional in his legal approach and brilliant in the courtroom. The only other character I'll make note of is Brad Chase (played by Mark Valley), a former Marine who threatens to take charge or take prisoners in every situation where his military background can be exploited and ridiculed. Get the picture?
So why do I like it when I should be offended? I don't know. Maybe because it's so outrageous.
But my favorite all-time TV series -- again, one I own the entire set -- is M*A*S*H, which aired an incredible 11 seasons from Sept. 17, 1972 until Feb. 28, 1983. To put that in perspective, M*A*S*H started airing during the first month of my freshman year at South Dakota State University, and ended when I was working as managing editor of The Stewart (MN) Tribune. It is, of course, about a team of zany doctors and their support staff who operate a mobile army surgical hospital just 3 miles from the front line during the Korean War.
M*A*S*H's main characters were so well-defined and known. Hawkeye (Alan Alda), Trapper John (Wayne Rogers), BJ Hunnicutt (Mike Farrell), Charles Emerson Winchester III (David Ogden Stiers), Frank Burns (Larry Linville), Father John Patrick Francis Mulcahy (William Christopher), COL Sherman T. Potter (Harry Morgan), Lt. Col. Henry Blake (McLean Stevenson), Maxwell Q. Klinger (Jamie Farr) (the resident cross-dresser), and of course Radar O'Reilly (Gary Burghoff) and Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan -- the oversexed but by-the-book, all-military head nurse. Of all the characters, my favorite is Frank. I don't know why because Hawkeye, Trapper and BJ pick on him constantly. I think Larry Linville had great fun playing Frank -- a snivelly, cheap, smarmy guy who carried on a long love affair with Hot Lips while his wife kept their home in Fort Wayne, IN.
This series was cutting edge in its treatment of war and its casualties. While usually funny, it gradually became more drama-based. And its final show -- the 251st episode -- was the most-watched television episode in history at the time with 105.97 million viewers (Wikipedia). The TV series ended with the end of the Korean War and followed each of the main cast as they left the compound to return to their civilian lives.
Several years ago the kids and I got to see many of the show's artifacts at the Air & Space Museum near Lincoln, NE. I photographed the kids standing beside the famous mileage pole, which anchored the middle of the hospital compound and pointed the direction with mileage to some of the characters' home towns.
Another favorite show -- and another that I own in complete DVD set -- is "Seinfeld." Seinfeld has only four main characters and touts itself as a "show about nothing." Of course, the show centers around comedian Jerry Seinfeld and his relationships and encounters with friends Cosmo Kramer (Michael Richards), Elaine Benes (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) and George Costanza (Jason Alexander). This was a funny show with some great one-liners (many of which Barb has heard me quote again and again, ad nauseum). Having said all that, I'll add this: While funny and lacking any political leanings, it is adult humor and lacking in any moral compass. The characters treat sex as an casual recreational dalliance. For that reason, I don't recommend it.
Another favorite show of mine is (or was) "Cheers," starring Ted Danson as the playboy, former Red Sox reliever and now Boston bar owner. The main cast includes Shelly Long as Diane Chambers and Rhea Perlman as Carla Tortelli (both bar maids), Woody Harrelson as Woody Boyd (bartender), and regular customers Cliff Claven (John Ratzenberger), Norm Peterson (George Wendt), Frazier Crane (Kelsey Grammer) and Lilith Sternin (Bebe Neuwirth).
Early in the show's years, the cast included Nicholas Colasanto as the philosophical bartender Ernie "Coach" Pantusso, who took a few too many fastballs to the ol' melon. Coach was well-known for his pithy sayings and butchering the language. What a lovable guy though. But, for my taste, the show took turned from funny to just plain stupid shortly after Kirstie Alley joined the cast as Rebecca Howe. Not that she turned it stupid but that the story lines became so far out that the show lost its luster.
I suppose it's not surprising that my favorite shows are sitcoms. Still, I would add the CBS news documentary "60 Minutes" to my list of all-time faves. Mike Wallace, Ed Bradley, Morley Safer, Harry Reasoner and Andy Rooney were a few of the correspondents who reported stories that were usually relevant to what was going on in the world currently. If there was a burning issue nationally, you'd usually find it as a hot topic (no pun intended) on 60 Minutes.
We recognize many of our favorite shows by their musical themes -- in the case of 60 Minutes, the ticking of the clock. We know then it's time to put down whatever we've been doing and prepare ourselves to be entertained. All the shows I've mentioned have recognizable themes -- the barroom chorus from "Cheers," the theme from "M*A*S*H," and the lively, animated theme from "Boston Legal." But some of the most recognizable themes belong to the oldies. More on that next time.
It is so left-wing, pontifical and preachy. It makes no bones about its left-of-center views -- 180 degrees opposite of mine. It takes great pleasure in poking fun or outright ridicule at all things and people right of center -- George Bush, Dick Cheney, and all political matters near and dear to the hearts of conservatives. But its sheer irreverence and the far-out ridiculous cases tried each week in its courtrooms make it fascinating. In some ways it's the legal version of "Grey's Anatomy;" it finds the most extreme situations to present to its regular cast.
William Shatner plays the gun-toting, sex-crazed conservative Denny Crane, who lusts after every female and regularly shoots clients and indigents with unrestrained glee. Everyone fears what Denny will do or say next. He blames it on "Mad Cow Disease," but he is in the early stages of Alzheimer's Disease, which shows some progression during the series. Denny's political opposite and best buddy is Alan Shore (played by James Spader), who is left-wing, articulate but unconventional in his legal approach and brilliant in the courtroom. The only other character I'll make note of is Brad Chase (played by Mark Valley), a former Marine who threatens to take charge or take prisoners in every situation where his military background can be exploited and ridiculed. Get the picture?
So why do I like it when I should be offended? I don't know. Maybe because it's so outrageous.
But my favorite all-time TV series -- again, one I own the entire set -- is M*A*S*H, which aired an incredible 11 seasons from Sept. 17, 1972 until Feb. 28, 1983. To put that in perspective, M*A*S*H started airing during the first month of my freshman year at South Dakota State University, and ended when I was working as managing editor of The Stewart (MN) Tribune. It is, of course, about a team of zany doctors and their support staff who operate a mobile army surgical hospital just 3 miles from the front line during the Korean War.
M*A*S*H's main characters were so well-defined and known. Hawkeye (Alan Alda), Trapper John (Wayne Rogers), BJ Hunnicutt (Mike Farrell), Charles Emerson Winchester III (David Ogden Stiers), Frank Burns (Larry Linville), Father John Patrick Francis Mulcahy (William Christopher), COL Sherman T. Potter (Harry Morgan), Lt. Col. Henry Blake (McLean Stevenson), Maxwell Q. Klinger (Jamie Farr) (the resident cross-dresser), and of course Radar O'Reilly (Gary Burghoff) and Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan -- the oversexed but by-the-book, all-military head nurse. Of all the characters, my favorite is Frank. I don't know why because Hawkeye, Trapper and BJ pick on him constantly. I think Larry Linville had great fun playing Frank -- a snivelly, cheap, smarmy guy who carried on a long love affair with Hot Lips while his wife kept their home in Fort Wayne, IN.
This series was cutting edge in its treatment of war and its casualties. While usually funny, it gradually became more drama-based. And its final show -- the 251st episode -- was the most-watched television episode in history at the time with 105.97 million viewers (Wikipedia). The TV series ended with the end of the Korean War and followed each of the main cast as they left the compound to return to their civilian lives.
Several years ago the kids and I got to see many of the show's artifacts at the Air & Space Museum near Lincoln, NE. I photographed the kids standing beside the famous mileage pole, which anchored the middle of the hospital compound and pointed the direction with mileage to some of the characters' home towns.
Another favorite show -- and another that I own in complete DVD set -- is "Seinfeld." Seinfeld has only four main characters and touts itself as a "show about nothing." Of course, the show centers around comedian Jerry Seinfeld and his relationships and encounters with friends Cosmo Kramer (Michael Richards), Elaine Benes (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) and George Costanza (Jason Alexander). This was a funny show with some great one-liners (many of which Barb has heard me quote again and again, ad nauseum). Having said all that, I'll add this: While funny and lacking any political leanings, it is adult humor and lacking in any moral compass. The characters treat sex as an casual recreational dalliance. For that reason, I don't recommend it.
Another favorite show of mine is (or was) "Cheers," starring Ted Danson as the playboy, former Red Sox reliever and now Boston bar owner. The main cast includes Shelly Long as Diane Chambers and Rhea Perlman as Carla Tortelli (both bar maids), Woody Harrelson as Woody Boyd (bartender), and regular customers Cliff Claven (John Ratzenberger), Norm Peterson (George Wendt), Frazier Crane (Kelsey Grammer) and Lilith Sternin (Bebe Neuwirth).
Early in the show's years, the cast included Nicholas Colasanto as the philosophical bartender Ernie "Coach" Pantusso, who took a few too many fastballs to the ol' melon. Coach was well-known for his pithy sayings and butchering the language. What a lovable guy though. But, for my taste, the show took turned from funny to just plain stupid shortly after Kirstie Alley joined the cast as Rebecca Howe. Not that she turned it stupid but that the story lines became so far out that the show lost its luster.
I suppose it's not surprising that my favorite shows are sitcoms. Still, I would add the CBS news documentary "60 Minutes" to my list of all-time faves. Mike Wallace, Ed Bradley, Morley Safer, Harry Reasoner and Andy Rooney were a few of the correspondents who reported stories that were usually relevant to what was going on in the world currently. If there was a burning issue nationally, you'd usually find it as a hot topic (no pun intended) on 60 Minutes.
We recognize many of our favorite shows by their musical themes -- in the case of 60 Minutes, the ticking of the clock. We know then it's time to put down whatever we've been doing and prepare ourselves to be entertained. All the shows I've mentioned have recognizable themes -- the barroom chorus from "Cheers," the theme from "M*A*S*H," and the lively, animated theme from "Boston Legal." But some of the most recognizable themes belong to the oldies. More on that next time.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Football
I love football season. I always have since I was a little kid. My earliest memories were way back in second grade when the Alexandria Beavers played their home football games on Friday afternoons because they didn't have ball park lights yet. If you bought a ticket for the game, you got out of school early to walk down to the ball park for the 2 p.m. kickoff. If you didn't have a ticket, well... you got to sit in class and be quiet until the school day ended. Really? What choice is that? And who wouldn't take the opportunity to get out of school early on a Friday afternoon -- with the specter of a whole free weekend ahead -- and enjoy the beautiful, warm fall weather to watch the Beavers play football? I don't recall many of Alex's football heroes back then. Jim Murray comes to mind -- a bruising running back who championed the local crew.
Then in the eighth grade I had the chance to be a student manager. It was great fun to be around the big guys, hang around in the coaches' office and smell the sweat, leather and outdoors that came with the job.
Basketball, baseball and track were my other great sports loves, and I enjoyed all of them. But I had a physical build most compatible for football. My physical attributes weren't great enough to draw the attention of college coaches, but I loved playing the game, and was among the fastest players on our team.
In my freshman and sophomore years I labored "in the trenches" -- playing in the offensive or defensive line for the junior varsity, wearing number 66. I don't recall much from those years as I saw limited varsity action (if any). But near the end of my sophomore year, the coaches (Jon Wessel and Harold Ingalls) recognized I may be a better fit in the backfield, and so I became a halfback/cornerback.
During my junior and senior years, I started at right halfback in a backfield that included Dan Wagner at quarterback, Chuck Benson at fullback and Tom Nebelsick at left halfback. At 193 pounds, I was the lightest of our three running backs. In our junior year, we won only two or three games, but as a senior we went 5-3. I scored 10 touchdowns that year, and in our final game against Marion (my final game as a senior) I scored three touchdowns -- one on an interception I ran back for a TD.
But the college coaches didn't come knocking at my door. At 5-10 and 195 I didn't have great size. I was named All-Cornbelt Conference and received one small scholarship offer from South Dakota School of Mines, but I had no interest in attending college there.
Through the years, my love for the game of football has evolved. My interest in professional football has waned, while my enthusiasm for the college game has bloomed.
Having been a long-suffering Minnesota Vikings fans, I've watched them rip the hearts out of their fans time after time... from Drew Pearson's "Hail Mary" miraculous reception in the 1975 divisional playoff game, to four stunning Super Bowl losses, to Gary Anderson's 1998 NFC championship game missed field goal and the Vikings' collapse vs. Atlanta, to Brett Favre's ill-fated interception and the Vikings' loss to the New Orleans Saints in the 2010 NFC championship game. Pro football and I aren't the best of friends. My three favorite teams -- the Vikings, Buffalo Bills and Seattle Seahawks -- are 0-9 in Super Bowls. Not good. In fact, some Vikings fans breathe a sigh of relief when the Vikes are stopped short of the Super Bowl because, well, who wants to be the first NFL team to lose five Super Bowls (without a win)?
I've always been a South Dakota State University fan, of course, having gotten first my undergrad degree there in 1977, and then my graduate degree in 2011. Ironically, however, I never attended an SDSU football game in all the years I attended there. I went home almost every weekend back then. But when I married Barb in 2007, I became a Cornhuskers fan. And wow, what an experience. For the last four years (coincidentally, beginning with the first fall that we were married) we have attended one Cornhuskers home game. It made me a complete convert to college football. There is nothing like the experience of being among a sea of 85,000 red-clad, rabid, loyal Nebraska fans, cheering the Cornhuskers on. It is like one very, very huge party.
The first year the Cornhuskers were still coached by Bill Callahan and still struggling to reach the .500 mark. Barb and I, along with her brother Jim and his wife, Rhonda, watched the Huskers edge Ball State, 42-41, in a very exciting game. The second year I flew up from El Paso, TX and we watched the Huskers -- now coached by Bo Pelini -- top Baylor. Our perfect record ended the third year when Iowa State came to Lincoln and beat the Huskers, 9-7, on a cloudy, misty, wet, miserable day when Nebraska turned the football over five times inside their own 10-yard-line.
Then last year, in a game I had looked forward to since it was announced a couple of years earlier, SDSU visited Nebraska, and for the first and only time I would ever consider entering Memorial Stadium wearing something other than red, I donned my blue and white SDSU jersey and cheered for the Jackrabbits, who held their own despite having two touchdowns called back on penalties and ultimately losing, 17-3. Still, although we were seated among a huge red-clad Nebraska crowd, they were extremely polite and hospitable, and we received several comments as we left about how well South Dakota State had played. It made me proud -- not only to be an SDSU graduate but also to be a Nebraska fan. They are some of the best -- as far as I'm concerned, THE best -- fans in college football. In fact, I took a picture of Barb standing beneath the Memorial Stadium entrance that reads, "Through these gates pass the greatest fans in college football." It is an experience that everyone should have.
Although we may not make a Nebraska game this year (the season's half over now and our schedules make getting to a game difficult), we did get down to Sioux Center, IA to see Barb's brother Bill, who is assistant head coach of the Dordt College Defenders. Dordt is in only its fourth year of organized football, and so the programming is still struggling and experiencing growing pains. But the day was a gorgeous, sunny, warm, early fall day and the crowd was enthusiastic. There is simply nothing like watching college football on a perfect fall day.
Then in the eighth grade I had the chance to be a student manager. It was great fun to be around the big guys, hang around in the coaches' office and smell the sweat, leather and outdoors that came with the job.
Basketball, baseball and track were my other great sports loves, and I enjoyed all of them. But I had a physical build most compatible for football. My physical attributes weren't great enough to draw the attention of college coaches, but I loved playing the game, and was among the fastest players on our team.
In my freshman and sophomore years I labored "in the trenches" -- playing in the offensive or defensive line for the junior varsity, wearing number 66. I don't recall much from those years as I saw limited varsity action (if any). But near the end of my sophomore year, the coaches (Jon Wessel and Harold Ingalls) recognized I may be a better fit in the backfield, and so I became a halfback/cornerback.
During my junior and senior years, I started at right halfback in a backfield that included Dan Wagner at quarterback, Chuck Benson at fullback and Tom Nebelsick at left halfback. At 193 pounds, I was the lightest of our three running backs. In our junior year, we won only two or three games, but as a senior we went 5-3. I scored 10 touchdowns that year, and in our final game against Marion (my final game as a senior) I scored three touchdowns -- one on an interception I ran back for a TD.
But the college coaches didn't come knocking at my door. At 5-10 and 195 I didn't have great size. I was named All-Cornbelt Conference and received one small scholarship offer from South Dakota School of Mines, but I had no interest in attending college there.
Through the years, my love for the game of football has evolved. My interest in professional football has waned, while my enthusiasm for the college game has bloomed.
Having been a long-suffering Minnesota Vikings fans, I've watched them rip the hearts out of their fans time after time... from Drew Pearson's "Hail Mary" miraculous reception in the 1975 divisional playoff game, to four stunning Super Bowl losses, to Gary Anderson's 1998 NFC championship game missed field goal and the Vikings' collapse vs. Atlanta, to Brett Favre's ill-fated interception and the Vikings' loss to the New Orleans Saints in the 2010 NFC championship game. Pro football and I aren't the best of friends. My three favorite teams -- the Vikings, Buffalo Bills and Seattle Seahawks -- are 0-9 in Super Bowls. Not good. In fact, some Vikings fans breathe a sigh of relief when the Vikes are stopped short of the Super Bowl because, well, who wants to be the first NFL team to lose five Super Bowls (without a win)?
I've always been a South Dakota State University fan, of course, having gotten first my undergrad degree there in 1977, and then my graduate degree in 2011. Ironically, however, I never attended an SDSU football game in all the years I attended there. I went home almost every weekend back then. But when I married Barb in 2007, I became a Cornhuskers fan. And wow, what an experience. For the last four years (coincidentally, beginning with the first fall that we were married) we have attended one Cornhuskers home game. It made me a complete convert to college football. There is nothing like the experience of being among a sea of 85,000 red-clad, rabid, loyal Nebraska fans, cheering the Cornhuskers on. It is like one very, very huge party.
The first year the Cornhuskers were still coached by Bill Callahan and still struggling to reach the .500 mark. Barb and I, along with her brother Jim and his wife, Rhonda, watched the Huskers edge Ball State, 42-41, in a very exciting game. The second year I flew up from El Paso, TX and we watched the Huskers -- now coached by Bo Pelini -- top Baylor. Our perfect record ended the third year when Iowa State came to Lincoln and beat the Huskers, 9-7, on a cloudy, misty, wet, miserable day when Nebraska turned the football over five times inside their own 10-yard-line.
Then last year, in a game I had looked forward to since it was announced a couple of years earlier, SDSU visited Nebraska, and for the first and only time I would ever consider entering Memorial Stadium wearing something other than red, I donned my blue and white SDSU jersey and cheered for the Jackrabbits, who held their own despite having two touchdowns called back on penalties and ultimately losing, 17-3. Still, although we were seated among a huge red-clad Nebraska crowd, they were extremely polite and hospitable, and we received several comments as we left about how well South Dakota State had played. It made me proud -- not only to be an SDSU graduate but also to be a Nebraska fan. They are some of the best -- as far as I'm concerned, THE best -- fans in college football. In fact, I took a picture of Barb standing beneath the Memorial Stadium entrance that reads, "Through these gates pass the greatest fans in college football." It is an experience that everyone should have.
Although we may not make a Nebraska game this year (the season's half over now and our schedules make getting to a game difficult), we did get down to Sioux Center, IA to see Barb's brother Bill, who is assistant head coach of the Dordt College Defenders. Dordt is in only its fourth year of organized football, and so the programming is still struggling and experiencing growing pains. But the day was a gorgeous, sunny, warm, early fall day and the crowd was enthusiastic. There is simply nothing like watching college football on a perfect fall day.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
If it's nice outside, this must be drill weekend...
Twenty-seven years ago I decided I missed "wearing the uniform" (almost three years after my active Army service ended). We were living in Fairfax, MN at the time, so I looked into joining the Minnesota Army National Guard, and joined the 125th Public Affairs Detachment in St. Paul. Ever since -- for the last 324 months -- I have been attending monthly "drills." This is Army training conducted one weekend every month. This was something that would normally have ended when I retired from the Army Reserve on Jan. 31, 2011, but since my job is to support an Army Reserve unit I am still attending those monthly drills, although now as a Department of the Army civilian. And, of course, as usual the weather is beautiful on drill weekend. This is an old adage among part-time soldiers. "If it's nice outside, it must be drill weekend."
Over the course of that career I've driven from Fairfax to St. Paul (two hours), and later from Alexandria to St. Paul (300 miles to the front door of the St. Paul armory). Later, in 1990, I switched states and joined the 129th Public Affairs Detachment in Rapid City, and so instead of driving east 300 miles I began driving west almost the same distance.
Back then, a couple of my fellow soldiers lived in Huron and Mitchell, respectively, and we'd meet in Plankinton and then car-pool to Rapid City together. It gave us an opportunity to discuss the weekend's training events and get caught up on one another's lives. My high school buddy, Barry Vlasman, was assistant state's attorney in Sturgis, and he graciously opened up his home to me on Saturday nights when I had drill out west.
But my weekend commutes ended when I joined the 5043rd USAR School in Sioux Falls in 1994. The School had a funny drill schedule back then. They drilled two Monday nights and one Sunday per month -- preparing to teach a number of classes to soldiers all over the U.S. During this time I became close friends with another Alexandria native -- Greg Schaefers -- who, ironically enough, lives today in the home of one of my best friends while growing up -- Lee Thomas. Greg and I didn't know each other back at Hanson School. He is about seven years younger than I. But our personalities seemed to fit well together. We knew many of the same people, of course, and Greg is a natural prankster. Even years later, when I lived in Canistota, Greg would swing through town and pick me up and we'd laugh and talk about Alex happenings and listen to comedian Roy Mercer on the way to drill. But Greg retired after our 2003-05 deployment, and eventually most of my good friends have retired as well.
Now, my job is due to end by Jan. 31, 2012, and so I am in the process of looking for another federal government job. This month (September) I reach 19 years of civilian service, and so my goal is to continue in the federal government at least until I complete 20 years. I have concentrated my job search in Nebraska and Kansas, but if nothing surfaces soon I may expand that search to other neighboring states. Chances are the requirement to attend monthly drills will end, and so my weekends may return to being all mine. It could be a funny feeling, but one I'm looking forward to.
Over the course of that career I've driven from Fairfax to St. Paul (two hours), and later from Alexandria to St. Paul (300 miles to the front door of the St. Paul armory). Later, in 1990, I switched states and joined the 129th Public Affairs Detachment in Rapid City, and so instead of driving east 300 miles I began driving west almost the same distance.
Back then, a couple of my fellow soldiers lived in Huron and Mitchell, respectively, and we'd meet in Plankinton and then car-pool to Rapid City together. It gave us an opportunity to discuss the weekend's training events and get caught up on one another's lives. My high school buddy, Barry Vlasman, was assistant state's attorney in Sturgis, and he graciously opened up his home to me on Saturday nights when I had drill out west.
But my weekend commutes ended when I joined the 5043rd USAR School in Sioux Falls in 1994. The School had a funny drill schedule back then. They drilled two Monday nights and one Sunday per month -- preparing to teach a number of classes to soldiers all over the U.S. During this time I became close friends with another Alexandria native -- Greg Schaefers -- who, ironically enough, lives today in the home of one of my best friends while growing up -- Lee Thomas. Greg and I didn't know each other back at Hanson School. He is about seven years younger than I. But our personalities seemed to fit well together. We knew many of the same people, of course, and Greg is a natural prankster. Even years later, when I lived in Canistota, Greg would swing through town and pick me up and we'd laugh and talk about Alex happenings and listen to comedian Roy Mercer on the way to drill. But Greg retired after our 2003-05 deployment, and eventually most of my good friends have retired as well.
Now, my job is due to end by Jan. 31, 2012, and so I am in the process of looking for another federal government job. This month (September) I reach 19 years of civilian service, and so my goal is to continue in the federal government at least until I complete 20 years. I have concentrated my job search in Nebraska and Kansas, but if nothing surfaces soon I may expand that search to other neighboring states. Chances are the requirement to attend monthly drills will end, and so my weekends may return to being all mine. It could be a funny feeling, but one I'm looking forward to.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Cars and cruising Main
Growing up in Alex, there wasn't a lot to do since a town of 500 people doesn't have a lot of recreational opportunities to offer. Most social events revolved around school activities. Usually, if it was an evening activity, that meant "dragging main" with friends. Although I didn't own a car during my high school years, I had other friends with wheels.
Kids used to drag main from the corner of the Methodist Church south to Hwy. 42 (Cenex corner), with U-turns at both ends. Back in those days there was no four-way stop by Security State Bank. That would've just put a crimp in our cruising style. So glad we didn't have to deal with it back then. Sometimes cars would break out of the lineup and drive all the way north to the end of Main Street and loop back through town before rejoining the parade.
My good friend, Barry Vlasman, drove an old brown Pontiac with an eight-track tape deck, and after play practice we'd cruise Main and listen to the Grass Roots. My good friend Jerry Erpenbach (Erp) drove a dark blue pickup; we'd hop in, drag main for a while, then cruise outside of town -- usually down to Lake Hanson for a quick loop through the beach area -- and down side streets before joining the procession back on Main Street.
My former brother-in-law and good friend, Jeff Van Pelt, drove an old, beat up baby blue Volkswagen Beetle that had no heater. I remember rodding around Alex with Jeff in that thing. It was a struggle to stay warm during the winter months.
I was a high school senior before I found the courage and had the desire to ask Dad to borrow the family's blue Ford Fairlane. It took all the courage I could muster in the first place, and I'd warm up by asking Mom first. Her response was always, "Go ask your Dad. It's his car." And so after administering an inner pep talk, I'd ask Dad. He was always fair and good to me, and never denied me use of the family car as long as I was responsible, so I don't know why I had so much trouble asking. And, of course, I put $2 worth of gasoline in the car to pay for the gas I burned.
Once or twice, I even borrowed Terry's orange Karmen Ghia. What a remarkable, enjoyable little car that was. With a stick shift on the floor. My first experience driving a stick shift was when Pat & Frank let me drive their AMC Gremlin. And over the years I owned many manual transmission cars -- several Geos and the blue Chevy Cavalier, but now I've reverted to automatic transmissions again. One of my most memorable trips with a stick shift was once when I lived in Canistota and I cut my right hand deeply near the thumb, wrapped it in a towel and drove to Sioux Falls to get it stitched up -- all the while shifting gears and trying to avoid getting blood all over everything.
Being the youngest in the family, I remember some of the older brothers' cars -- Terry's green Camaro and his Karmen Ghia, Roger's white Ford, his green Volkswagen beetle and his lime green Plymouth Duster. I remember once Rog and I cruising around Lake Mitchell in his white Ford with the green roof, and listening to the Beatles' "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" on the tape deck. We must've gone up to see a vampire movie. And the folks had an old Chevy -- I don't recall the year -- and later a silver Rambler, the blue Ford Fairlane and then in later years that large green Pontiac. Dad let me "cut my teeth" on the Ford Fairlane as he would pull over and let me get behind the wheel and get a feel for the wheel.
After college I bought my first car from Terry -- his white Toyota Corolla -- and it was great on gas mileage. Since then I've lost track of all the vehicles I've owned -- a black Ford Courier pickup, a silver Pontiac, Chevy Caprice, Ford S-10 pickup, a couple of mini-vans -- Dodge Caravan and Plymouth Voyager -- green Buick LeSabre, an orange Geo followed by the dark blue Geo that was wrecked, and then a light blue Geo. The Cavalier then followed, along with the beige Buick Regal, the sporty little dark blue Miata, the beige Toyota Corolla I drive to work and the silver Honda CRV that Barb usually drives. Along the way there's been a motorcycle or two -- the 100cc Yamaha I had back in high school, and later when I had the newspapers for a while I had a 350 Honda, but I never felt comfortable enough riding to continue.
My only serious accident came in 1997 while driving home from work when another driver ran a stop sign at the top of the Vermillion Hill and I broadsided him. Fortunately, I was wearing my seatbelt or I would've gone through the windshield. As it was, I suffered only a few cuts (12 staples to close a cut to my head), a bruised knee and a fractured sternum, which caused some intense comfort as I had seriously painful muscle spasms for several days after that. But I spent only one night in the hospital and then recovered at home.
Kids used to drag main from the corner of the Methodist Church south to Hwy. 42 (Cenex corner), with U-turns at both ends. Back in those days there was no four-way stop by Security State Bank. That would've just put a crimp in our cruising style. So glad we didn't have to deal with it back then. Sometimes cars would break out of the lineup and drive all the way north to the end of Main Street and loop back through town before rejoining the parade.
My good friend, Barry Vlasman, drove an old brown Pontiac with an eight-track tape deck, and after play practice we'd cruise Main and listen to the Grass Roots. My good friend Jerry Erpenbach (Erp) drove a dark blue pickup; we'd hop in, drag main for a while, then cruise outside of town -- usually down to Lake Hanson for a quick loop through the beach area -- and down side streets before joining the procession back on Main Street.
My former brother-in-law and good friend, Jeff Van Pelt, drove an old, beat up baby blue Volkswagen Beetle that had no heater. I remember rodding around Alex with Jeff in that thing. It was a struggle to stay warm during the winter months.
I was a high school senior before I found the courage and had the desire to ask Dad to borrow the family's blue Ford Fairlane. It took all the courage I could muster in the first place, and I'd warm up by asking Mom first. Her response was always, "Go ask your Dad. It's his car." And so after administering an inner pep talk, I'd ask Dad. He was always fair and good to me, and never denied me use of the family car as long as I was responsible, so I don't know why I had so much trouble asking. And, of course, I put $2 worth of gasoline in the car to pay for the gas I burned.
Once or twice, I even borrowed Terry's orange Karmen Ghia. What a remarkable, enjoyable little car that was. With a stick shift on the floor. My first experience driving a stick shift was when Pat & Frank let me drive their AMC Gremlin. And over the years I owned many manual transmission cars -- several Geos and the blue Chevy Cavalier, but now I've reverted to automatic transmissions again. One of my most memorable trips with a stick shift was once when I lived in Canistota and I cut my right hand deeply near the thumb, wrapped it in a towel and drove to Sioux Falls to get it stitched up -- all the while shifting gears and trying to avoid getting blood all over everything.
Being the youngest in the family, I remember some of the older brothers' cars -- Terry's green Camaro and his Karmen Ghia, Roger's white Ford, his green Volkswagen beetle and his lime green Plymouth Duster. I remember once Rog and I cruising around Lake Mitchell in his white Ford with the green roof, and listening to the Beatles' "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" on the tape deck. We must've gone up to see a vampire movie. And the folks had an old Chevy -- I don't recall the year -- and later a silver Rambler, the blue Ford Fairlane and then in later years that large green Pontiac. Dad let me "cut my teeth" on the Ford Fairlane as he would pull over and let me get behind the wheel and get a feel for the wheel.
After college I bought my first car from Terry -- his white Toyota Corolla -- and it was great on gas mileage. Since then I've lost track of all the vehicles I've owned -- a black Ford Courier pickup, a silver Pontiac, Chevy Caprice, Ford S-10 pickup, a couple of mini-vans -- Dodge Caravan and Plymouth Voyager -- green Buick LeSabre, an orange Geo followed by the dark blue Geo that was wrecked, and then a light blue Geo. The Cavalier then followed, along with the beige Buick Regal, the sporty little dark blue Miata, the beige Toyota Corolla I drive to work and the silver Honda CRV that Barb usually drives. Along the way there's been a motorcycle or two -- the 100cc Yamaha I had back in high school, and later when I had the newspapers for a while I had a 350 Honda, but I never felt comfortable enough riding to continue.
My only serious accident came in 1997 while driving home from work when another driver ran a stop sign at the top of the Vermillion Hill and I broadsided him. Fortunately, I was wearing my seatbelt or I would've gone through the windshield. As it was, I suffered only a few cuts (12 staples to close a cut to my head), a bruised knee and a fractured sternum, which caused some intense comfort as I had seriously painful muscle spasms for several days after that. But I spent only one night in the hospital and then recovered at home.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Growing up in Alex -- Part IV
Although there's not much left for businesses on the southernmost block of Alex's Main Street, that's where most of the action used to be when I was a kid. But I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me back up a bit.
Directly across the street south of the Hanson County maintenance shop was a small building that many years ago was part of a lumber yard (Fullerton?). I remember back in the 1960s when that building was used to publicize Robert F. Kennedy's campaign (yes, there actually was a building devoted to RFK's presidential run back then). In later years, Jo Murray had her hair styling business there, and now I believe the building contains fitness equipment.
South of that building was the tavern, which was owned back then by the Murrays. Jerry Erpenbach, Barry Vlasman, Dan Wagner and the rest of my high school classmates spent many, many, many hours there -- playing foosball, pool, pinball, watching TV, eating chislic and occasionally even drinking a beer. I remember the 25-cent Grain Belt taps... ;-) And some of the best chislic I've ever tasted... Later, Larry Parce bought the tavern and I believe it has operated as "Your Place."
Still farther down that street at the end of the block was the Masons' building used by the Methodist Church for their group meetings.
Across the street and anchoring that end of main is Cenex. Back then it was the Farmers Union Oil Co. Dick Huber has been a fixture there for many years.
Just west of Cenex was where Bob Hoscheid operated Bob's Cafe, back in the days when Alexandria sported TWO restaurants. But that was many years ago and my memories of that business have faded badly. Of course, our brother, Jim, operated Stoltz Standard Service which was west of Bob's Cafe. I remember walking down to Jim's station sometimes, but again the memories have faded.
Dick Brayton operated the Mobil station, which was later operated by Tim Doyle before going out of business. And behind the Mobil station was Alexandria's other motel -- The Elms Motel. I don't remember much about that motel other than it offered travelers a second place to stay in town. I remember also that Clarney (Clarence) Steilen operated a business along the highway on the east end of town as well, but again that was many, many years ago. Of course, Clarney also operated Clarney's Auto Parts on the north edge of Alexandria for many years.
I know my recollections have omitted some businesses, and I'll probably remember more as time goes on. But these are the ones that come to my mind most often.
Oh, Alexandria used to have a dairy business just a block west of RoseBud Cafe, and across the street west of the dairy was where the laundromat used to be. That was owned by the Cremers of Spencer. And Rog used to deliver milk to Mr. Cremer's store in Spencer many years ago when he drove a delivery route that took him north of Alex to Farmer and Spencer. Sometimes I'd get to ride along with Rog, and enjoyed an ice cream bar or two.
That takes care of my recollection of Alex's businesses. I hope someone will find this an enjoyable remembrance. It taxes my brain!
Directly across the street south of the Hanson County maintenance shop was a small building that many years ago was part of a lumber yard (Fullerton?). I remember back in the 1960s when that building was used to publicize Robert F. Kennedy's campaign (yes, there actually was a building devoted to RFK's presidential run back then). In later years, Jo Murray had her hair styling business there, and now I believe the building contains fitness equipment.
South of that building was the tavern, which was owned back then by the Murrays. Jerry Erpenbach, Barry Vlasman, Dan Wagner and the rest of my high school classmates spent many, many, many hours there -- playing foosball, pool, pinball, watching TV, eating chislic and occasionally even drinking a beer. I remember the 25-cent Grain Belt taps... ;-) And some of the best chislic I've ever tasted... Later, Larry Parce bought the tavern and I believe it has operated as "Your Place."
Still farther down that street at the end of the block was the Masons' building used by the Methodist Church for their group meetings.
Across the street and anchoring that end of main is Cenex. Back then it was the Farmers Union Oil Co. Dick Huber has been a fixture there for many years.
Just west of Cenex was where Bob Hoscheid operated Bob's Cafe, back in the days when Alexandria sported TWO restaurants. But that was many years ago and my memories of that business have faded badly. Of course, our brother, Jim, operated Stoltz Standard Service which was west of Bob's Cafe. I remember walking down to Jim's station sometimes, but again the memories have faded.
Dick Brayton operated the Mobil station, which was later operated by Tim Doyle before going out of business. And behind the Mobil station was Alexandria's other motel -- The Elms Motel. I don't remember much about that motel other than it offered travelers a second place to stay in town. I remember also that Clarney (Clarence) Steilen operated a business along the highway on the east end of town as well, but again that was many, many years ago. Of course, Clarney also operated Clarney's Auto Parts on the north edge of Alexandria for many years.
I know my recollections have omitted some businesses, and I'll probably remember more as time goes on. But these are the ones that come to my mind most often.
Oh, Alexandria used to have a dairy business just a block west of RoseBud Cafe, and across the street west of the dairy was where the laundromat used to be. That was owned by the Cremers of Spencer. And Rog used to deliver milk to Mr. Cremer's store in Spencer many years ago when he drove a delivery route that took him north of Alex to Farmer and Spencer. Sometimes I'd get to ride along with Rog, and enjoyed an ice cream bar or two.
That takes care of my recollection of Alex's businesses. I hope someone will find this an enjoyable remembrance. It taxes my brain!
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Growing up in Alex -- Part III
I never dreamed there'd be so much to write about growing up in a small town.
This blog entry will focus on Alexandria Main Street's second block -- the one that begins with Security State Bank on the north and ends with the Hanson County maintenance shed on the south. If you think back to those days, you will be saddened to see how little active business activity exists there today.
Just south of the bank sits Will Funeral Chapel, and before that that building housed Montgomery's Furniture, if I recall correctly. Next to it, though, sat Schmitt's Meat Market. That was back in the day when Alexandria supported two -- and if you count Clancy's Store -- three grocery stores. I don't remember much about Schmitt's other than the meat counter there. Just down the block was Haines' Hardware Store, which was a pretty neat place for a kid to check out their selection of toys.
And south of Haines' Hardware was the pool hall. That was a place for older kids and grownups to hang out. I wasn't a regular customer there until the pool hall's final years. I remember the pool tables being toward the front, with card tables in the back for the older men to play cards. You could play eight-ball, snooker, slop, or whatever pool variation you wanted. Pete Ries and Charley Sweesy are a couple of the old-timers who frequented the pool hall. I think Don Cheeseman ran the pool hall back then.
And going further south was where Folsom's GW Store was located. That was, of course, Alex's main grocery store for many years, and where Roger worked during his high school years. Even years later, when I took over the Alex and Emery newspapers -- Bob Jarding owned the store, and he later sold it to Gary Munson and Jeff Palmquist of Mitchell, and the store was renamed "Home Court Market" to emphasize their sports affiliations. That store was my destination when I had a few coins in my pocket. I vaguely remember when candy bars were a nickel, but I have a better recollection when they cost a dime. Or licorice could be bought for pennies. And way back when, us young kids collected baseball cards along with the cardboard-like chewing gum that accompanied those packs. We would trade cards, buy multiple packs -- hoping for that one special card we were lacking, and then keep our cards in a shoebox for easy reference. Sometimes, of course, the old or extra cards were clothes-pinned to our bicycle's spokes to make that engine sound. Folsom's Store was the only place I ever remember Mom driving the car. She just never drove much.
Anchoring the east side of Main Street on that block was the Hanson County maintenance shed. One of my first regular summer jobs was working for Hanson County. I remember we fixed a LOT of fence that summer -- Berno Haiar, Leonard Tuschen and I. Another memory is our work day started at 7 a.m., which meant getting up EARLY, getting my lunch together and walking the six blocks to the county shed.
West across Main Street from the bank was Bake's Barber Shop. I have fond memories of having my hair cut at Bake's. Ellsworth Baker and -- later -- Gordy Knudson were the barbers. Inside Bake's Barber Shop was like stepping into another world -- a man's world really -- with the knotty pine interior, a collection of magazines to browse while waiting your turn. And then, if you weren't tall enough for the barber chair, Bake had a green board that he set over the arm rests for you to sit on while he cut your hair. And then, at the end, there was that good-smelling stuff they rubbed into your hair. The women's beauty shop was in the back of the barber shop, and the women would pass through the main entrance on their way to their hair appointments. As I recall, hair cuts back then were $2.00.
Next door to Bake's was -- I believe at one time -- a drug store, although in later years it was the Legion Hall and was used as a meeting place for the Boy and Girl Scouts, and we even held a dance or two there. Pitts' Dry Goods Store was next door, but I don't remember much about that store other than that it was located there.
Moving farther south down that side of the street, I remember Clancy's Store, which later became Folsom's Discount Store. My only real memory of that store was that they kept Snickers Bars in a freezer there, so it was the place to go for a frozen Snickers Bar.
South of Clancy's is where Jim Davies now has his law office. I remember, though, years ago when a music store was located there. It's kind of hard to believe a small town like Alexandria ever supported such a specialty store, but I remember that store from the mid- to late '60s.
And anchoring the corner of that block was the RoseBud Cafe. We would go to the RoseBud after a game or sports practice for a pop or a sandwich. I remember eating there once or twice at noon on school days when Mom and Dad were gone.
That's my recollection of the second block of Alexandria's Main Street. There are some other businesses that I recall and I'll save them for another blog.
This blog entry will focus on Alexandria Main Street's second block -- the one that begins with Security State Bank on the north and ends with the Hanson County maintenance shed on the south. If you think back to those days, you will be saddened to see how little active business activity exists there today.
Just south of the bank sits Will Funeral Chapel, and before that that building housed Montgomery's Furniture, if I recall correctly. Next to it, though, sat Schmitt's Meat Market. That was back in the day when Alexandria supported two -- and if you count Clancy's Store -- three grocery stores. I don't remember much about Schmitt's other than the meat counter there. Just down the block was Haines' Hardware Store, which was a pretty neat place for a kid to check out their selection of toys.
And south of Haines' Hardware was the pool hall. That was a place for older kids and grownups to hang out. I wasn't a regular customer there until the pool hall's final years. I remember the pool tables being toward the front, with card tables in the back for the older men to play cards. You could play eight-ball, snooker, slop, or whatever pool variation you wanted. Pete Ries and Charley Sweesy are a couple of the old-timers who frequented the pool hall. I think Don Cheeseman ran the pool hall back then.
And going further south was where Folsom's GW Store was located. That was, of course, Alex's main grocery store for many years, and where Roger worked during his high school years. Even years later, when I took over the Alex and Emery newspapers -- Bob Jarding owned the store, and he later sold it to Gary Munson and Jeff Palmquist of Mitchell, and the store was renamed "Home Court Market" to emphasize their sports affiliations. That store was my destination when I had a few coins in my pocket. I vaguely remember when candy bars were a nickel, but I have a better recollection when they cost a dime. Or licorice could be bought for pennies. And way back when, us young kids collected baseball cards along with the cardboard-like chewing gum that accompanied those packs. We would trade cards, buy multiple packs -- hoping for that one special card we were lacking, and then keep our cards in a shoebox for easy reference. Sometimes, of course, the old or extra cards were clothes-pinned to our bicycle's spokes to make that engine sound. Folsom's Store was the only place I ever remember Mom driving the car. She just never drove much.
Anchoring the east side of Main Street on that block was the Hanson County maintenance shed. One of my first regular summer jobs was working for Hanson County. I remember we fixed a LOT of fence that summer -- Berno Haiar, Leonard Tuschen and I. Another memory is our work day started at 7 a.m., which meant getting up EARLY, getting my lunch together and walking the six blocks to the county shed.
West across Main Street from the bank was Bake's Barber Shop. I have fond memories of having my hair cut at Bake's. Ellsworth Baker and -- later -- Gordy Knudson were the barbers. Inside Bake's Barber Shop was like stepping into another world -- a man's world really -- with the knotty pine interior, a collection of magazines to browse while waiting your turn. And then, if you weren't tall enough for the barber chair, Bake had a green board that he set over the arm rests for you to sit on while he cut your hair. And then, at the end, there was that good-smelling stuff they rubbed into your hair. The women's beauty shop was in the back of the barber shop, and the women would pass through the main entrance on their way to their hair appointments. As I recall, hair cuts back then were $2.00.
Next door to Bake's was -- I believe at one time -- a drug store, although in later years it was the Legion Hall and was used as a meeting place for the Boy and Girl Scouts, and we even held a dance or two there. Pitts' Dry Goods Store was next door, but I don't remember much about that store other than that it was located there.
Moving farther south down that side of the street, I remember Clancy's Store, which later became Folsom's Discount Store. My only real memory of that store was that they kept Snickers Bars in a freezer there, so it was the place to go for a frozen Snickers Bar.
South of Clancy's is where Jim Davies now has his law office. I remember, though, years ago when a music store was located there. It's kind of hard to believe a small town like Alexandria ever supported such a specialty store, but I remember that store from the mid- to late '60s.
And anchoring the corner of that block was the RoseBud Cafe. We would go to the RoseBud after a game or sports practice for a pop or a sandwich. I remember eating there once or twice at noon on school days when Mom and Dad were gone.
That's my recollection of the second block of Alexandria's Main Street. There are some other businesses that I recall and I'll save them for another blog.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Growing up in Alex -- Part II
As I was reminiscing about growing up in Alexandria, so many former businesses came to mind. Now, going down Alex's Main Street there isn't much left to see -- certainly not many businesses left from years ago. This probably won't hold the attention of my kids so well, but Pat and my brothers will relate. And hopefully they can correct any errors in my memory.
A couple businesses are still in familiar locations. Security State Bank still anchors its corner of Main Street. I barely recall the old Security State Bank building which, I believe, burned down the night before Jim's motorcycle accident (in 1965?). My recollection of those events is quite sketchy, but I seem to recall we were fishing at Lake Hanson when we learned of Jim's accident, and then I spent the next night or two staying with the Mohrs in Emery while the folks went to Jim's bed side. Security State Bank, of course, was rebuilt in the same location with its modern, one-story building it still occupies today.
The Alexandria Herald also still stands in its familiar location on Main Street. That building, in itself, will be the topic of a future blog. While sturdy as a rock, its cracks and crevices provided easy entry for bats, which always made summer nights a lively experience. Just ask the kids.
Just kitty-corner across the street from the Herald, and where the senior citizen center used to be, was Burlew's Store. Earl and Bus Burlew, as I recall, were the brothers who ran the store, which featured a snack bar and a counter where you could order a scoop of ice cream for a nickel, or two scoops for a dime. Bon bon was my favorite! The Burlews were an interesting pair. Their store was my regular Saturday night stop on the way home from the city library as they displayed several recent comic books on hooks on the wall, each with the handwritten date it was put out on display. My favorites were Archie, Hot Stuff, Richie Rich, and the lighter comic book fare. I wasn't as much into Batman, Superman, and etc., although sometimes I'd pick them up too when I felt particularly rich. Back then, a comic book cost a dime. The "giant" issues -- with more than twice as many pages -- were a quarter. When I felt particularly rich I'd come home with a couple comic books in addition to a book for myself, along with a couple of novels -- usually romance novels about nurses -- for Mom. My visits to the library including weekly conversations with librarian Shirley Letcher, who knew what books Mom liked.
Burlews' store also featured a number of magazines for purchase. Playboy was among those "adult fare" magazines out of the reach of little hands like mine. Not to worry. Back then I was a fan of Sport magazine. I was (and still am) an avid sports fan, and I loved reading about my favorite teams and players. Sport, however, ceased publication some time ago.
Another great memory of Burlews' was when you'd buy a soda, one of the Burlew brothers would serve you and take your dime while the other brother would retreat to the back of the store to get a replacement bottle of soda to put in its place.
Ah, the things we remember...
Next door to Burlews' was an apartment building, and next to that -- on the corner north across the street from the bank -- was the post office, where the folks' good friend, Bill Mohr, worked. In later years a new post office building was built across Main Street to the west.
That's enough for this second blog about growing up in Alex. Next time I will concentrate on the businesses that sat along the second block of Main Street near the bank -- Schmitt Meat Market, Pitts' Dry Goods, Rourkes' Drug Store (?), Haines' Hardware, Folsom's GW, Clancy's Discount Store and the Rosebud Cafe. There was even a music store in Alex once. Anyway, more reminisces next time.
A couple businesses are still in familiar locations. Security State Bank still anchors its corner of Main Street. I barely recall the old Security State Bank building which, I believe, burned down the night before Jim's motorcycle accident (in 1965?). My recollection of those events is quite sketchy, but I seem to recall we were fishing at Lake Hanson when we learned of Jim's accident, and then I spent the next night or two staying with the Mohrs in Emery while the folks went to Jim's bed side. Security State Bank, of course, was rebuilt in the same location with its modern, one-story building it still occupies today.
The Alexandria Herald also still stands in its familiar location on Main Street. That building, in itself, will be the topic of a future blog. While sturdy as a rock, its cracks and crevices provided easy entry for bats, which always made summer nights a lively experience. Just ask the kids.
Just kitty-corner across the street from the Herald, and where the senior citizen center used to be, was Burlew's Store. Earl and Bus Burlew, as I recall, were the brothers who ran the store, which featured a snack bar and a counter where you could order a scoop of ice cream for a nickel, or two scoops for a dime. Bon bon was my favorite! The Burlews were an interesting pair. Their store was my regular Saturday night stop on the way home from the city library as they displayed several recent comic books on hooks on the wall, each with the handwritten date it was put out on display. My favorites were Archie, Hot Stuff, Richie Rich, and the lighter comic book fare. I wasn't as much into Batman, Superman, and etc., although sometimes I'd pick them up too when I felt particularly rich. Back then, a comic book cost a dime. The "giant" issues -- with more than twice as many pages -- were a quarter. When I felt particularly rich I'd come home with a couple comic books in addition to a book for myself, along with a couple of novels -- usually romance novels about nurses -- for Mom. My visits to the library including weekly conversations with librarian Shirley Letcher, who knew what books Mom liked.
Burlews' store also featured a number of magazines for purchase. Playboy was among those "adult fare" magazines out of the reach of little hands like mine. Not to worry. Back then I was a fan of Sport magazine. I was (and still am) an avid sports fan, and I loved reading about my favorite teams and players. Sport, however, ceased publication some time ago.
Another great memory of Burlews' was when you'd buy a soda, one of the Burlew brothers would serve you and take your dime while the other brother would retreat to the back of the store to get a replacement bottle of soda to put in its place.
Ah, the things we remember...
Next door to Burlews' was an apartment building, and next to that -- on the corner north across the street from the bank -- was the post office, where the folks' good friend, Bill Mohr, worked. In later years a new post office building was built across Main Street to the west.
That's enough for this second blog about growing up in Alex. Next time I will concentrate on the businesses that sat along the second block of Main Street near the bank -- Schmitt Meat Market, Pitts' Dry Goods, Rourkes' Drug Store (?), Haines' Hardware, Folsom's GW, Clancy's Discount Store and the Rosebud Cafe. There was even a music store in Alex once. Anyway, more reminisces next time.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Growing up in Alex -- Part I
Alexandria was a great place to grow up. I had a unique perspective on the town, having lived there for the first 21 years of my life, and then moving back in 1987 as editor of the Herald. Now it's a rare occasion when I get through Alex anymore, and although not that much has changed it seems to have shrunk a little more each time I'm there.
The latest visit was during Mom's funeral in January. It used to be -- back when I lived in Canistota and Montrose and when the kids were much younger -- our free Saturday afternoons we packed up and went over to Mom's apartment where we kicked back and relaxed, and caught up on visiting with her and Roger. Our visits always ended with a bowl of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate sauce. Yum!
Growing up in Alex, I lived just one house away from corn fields on the west side of town. It was an ideal location. We were right next door to the Sunset Motel, where sometimes we would help Len and Mary Egland watch the office or check travelers into one of the motel's six units. And we lived only a block from school. I could walk home at noon and eat with Mom and Dad, and then walk back to school.
A small town is a great place to live. My friends -- Lee Thomas, Chris Hauge, Rollie Pitts, Mike Wenande, Rod Huber and others -- would put together baseball, softball or wiffle ball games. There was a large, open field next to Mike's grandma's house on the north edge of town and that's where baseball was often played. And Rollie's back yard worked well for our wiffle ball games. The "real" ball park south across the highway and just south of Dad's elevator was a great place to explore too. I would ride my bicycle out to the ball park 30-45 minutes before practice began and sit in the dugout, listening to the wind whistle and whip the long grass.
Some will remember Alex's other softball fields. We used to play softball on the lot where St. Mary's parish center now stands. That field was bordered by large hedges along the first- and third-base lines. Another softball field -- and a popular gathering spot -- was where the apartment four-plex sits south across the street from the Methodist Church. There was a bandstand there too. That was a popular gathering spot, particularly during the week that the Methodist kids held their summer vacation bible study.
And of course if we just wanted to ride our bikes, we could set out for Lake Hanson -- two miles south of town. And if we had lots of time and felt like exploring we walked around the lake. Or sometimes we biked out to the rock quarry a half-mile east of town. Later in my high school years, both the lake and the quarry were popular destinations established by our track coaches for us to jog out to and then jog back.
The lake was a popular summer spot. I never learned to swim; it interfered with baseball practice, but Lake Hanson was (and probably still is) a popular beach area, and our teen-year "cruises" usually included a detour lap through the spillway parking area with a short side trip down to the beach and around the band shell that was there.
There is so much to remember and write about. Next time I will write about some of Alex's businesses. Back then there was Pitts' Dry Goods, and I barely recall a drug store (Rourke's?) along with Folsom's, Clancy's Discount Store, Bake's Barber Shop, the pool hall, Burlew's, RoseBud Cafe, Haines Hardware, Schmitt Meat Market, and more. And when I was growing up there was also (Jim's) Stoltz Standard Service. That's for my next blog.
The latest visit was during Mom's funeral in January. It used to be -- back when I lived in Canistota and Montrose and when the kids were much younger -- our free Saturday afternoons we packed up and went over to Mom's apartment where we kicked back and relaxed, and caught up on visiting with her and Roger. Our visits always ended with a bowl of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate sauce. Yum!
Growing up in Alex, I lived just one house away from corn fields on the west side of town. It was an ideal location. We were right next door to the Sunset Motel, where sometimes we would help Len and Mary Egland watch the office or check travelers into one of the motel's six units. And we lived only a block from school. I could walk home at noon and eat with Mom and Dad, and then walk back to school.
A small town is a great place to live. My friends -- Lee Thomas, Chris Hauge, Rollie Pitts, Mike Wenande, Rod Huber and others -- would put together baseball, softball or wiffle ball games. There was a large, open field next to Mike's grandma's house on the north edge of town and that's where baseball was often played. And Rollie's back yard worked well for our wiffle ball games. The "real" ball park south across the highway and just south of Dad's elevator was a great place to explore too. I would ride my bicycle out to the ball park 30-45 minutes before practice began and sit in the dugout, listening to the wind whistle and whip the long grass.
Some will remember Alex's other softball fields. We used to play softball on the lot where St. Mary's parish center now stands. That field was bordered by large hedges along the first- and third-base lines. Another softball field -- and a popular gathering spot -- was where the apartment four-plex sits south across the street from the Methodist Church. There was a bandstand there too. That was a popular gathering spot, particularly during the week that the Methodist kids held their summer vacation bible study.
And of course if we just wanted to ride our bikes, we could set out for Lake Hanson -- two miles south of town. And if we had lots of time and felt like exploring we walked around the lake. Or sometimes we biked out to the rock quarry a half-mile east of town. Later in my high school years, both the lake and the quarry were popular destinations established by our track coaches for us to jog out to and then jog back.
The lake was a popular summer spot. I never learned to swim; it interfered with baseball practice, but Lake Hanson was (and probably still is) a popular beach area, and our teen-year "cruises" usually included a detour lap through the spillway parking area with a short side trip down to the beach and around the band shell that was there.
There is so much to remember and write about. Next time I will write about some of Alex's businesses. Back then there was Pitts' Dry Goods, and I barely recall a drug store (Rourke's?) along with Folsom's, Clancy's Discount Store, Bake's Barber Shop, the pool hall, Burlew's, RoseBud Cafe, Haines Hardware, Schmitt Meat Market, and more. And when I was growing up there was also (Jim's) Stoltz Standard Service. That's for my next blog.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Graduations remembered
May is the month for graduations. This year in this family it's Brandon's and mine. Brandon will graduate from Bridgewater-Emery on Saturday, May 21. Since he's the youngest, this will mark the last high school graduation for me, but probably not the last graduation. Jessica just completed her sophomore year at South Dakota State University. Brandon is yet to decide where his post-high school education will take him.
Graduation is a time to look both forward and back. It can be an exciting time with college just ahead and an uncharted future. And a time to look back and thank those who helped us get this far. But I'm not going to preach. I'll leave that to the commencement speakers.
Somewhere I still have a picture from my high school graduation. Classmates Dan Wagner, Ron Dexheimer and me in front of the Alexandria auditorium, ready to accept our diplomas and get on with life. Ron and I were heading to SDSU; Dan was bound for Mount Marty College in Yankton. As I recall, I finished 9th out of the 44 members of the Hanson High School Class of 1973. A solid "B" honor roll student. And, being seated mercifully by name, I was somewhere near the back of the class on stage, where I could fidget and daydream without attracting much attention.
Then four years later came graduation day at SDSU. Can't say I remember much about that day other than it was a graduating class of probably a couple thousand. That was also the day I was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the United States Army.
Then just 10 days ago, on May 7, I entered Frost Arena at SDSU to receive my MS in Journalism/Mass Communications -- thanks to an understanding wife, the Post-911 GI Bill, and a desire to give myself a competitive edge. Ironically, I sat in the last row -- in fact, the last person of the last row, seated among mostly other graduates who were easily young enough to be my children.
But it was an extra-special ceremony. Barb and our friend Heidi Swanson of Seward, NE were there. Ironically, the guest speaker -- former two-term South Dakota Governor Mike Rounds -- was a fellow 1977 SDSU grad. Conveying the degrees was SDSU President David L. Chicoine. But even more special for me was the presence on stage of my friend and former boss, Jerry Jorgensen, dean of SDSU's College of Arts & Sciences. "Dr. J," as I fondly called him, was a fellow officer and friend from the 5043rd US Armed Forces Reserve School, and later my commander in the 2nd Battalion 361st Regiment in Sioux Falls. I worked for Jerry both as a Reserve soldier and then later as a government civilian for our Army Reserve unit. Jerry's referral letter helped get me into SDSU's graduate school, and he's still listed as a reference on my resume. And as I left the stage with degree in tow, I got to shake his hand. That meant a lot.
Good luck, Brandon, as you cross the stage on Saturday. It would be interesting to see -- 34 years from now -- how you recall this day. I hope it's the first of many memorable and rewarding achievements for you.
Graduation is a time to look both forward and back. It can be an exciting time with college just ahead and an uncharted future. And a time to look back and thank those who helped us get this far. But I'm not going to preach. I'll leave that to the commencement speakers.
Somewhere I still have a picture from my high school graduation. Classmates Dan Wagner, Ron Dexheimer and me in front of the Alexandria auditorium, ready to accept our diplomas and get on with life. Ron and I were heading to SDSU; Dan was bound for Mount Marty College in Yankton. As I recall, I finished 9th out of the 44 members of the Hanson High School Class of 1973. A solid "B" honor roll student. And, being seated mercifully by name, I was somewhere near the back of the class on stage, where I could fidget and daydream without attracting much attention.
Then four years later came graduation day at SDSU. Can't say I remember much about that day other than it was a graduating class of probably a couple thousand. That was also the day I was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the United States Army.
Then just 10 days ago, on May 7, I entered Frost Arena at SDSU to receive my MS in Journalism/Mass Communications -- thanks to an understanding wife, the Post-911 GI Bill, and a desire to give myself a competitive edge. Ironically, I sat in the last row -- in fact, the last person of the last row, seated among mostly other graduates who were easily young enough to be my children.
But it was an extra-special ceremony. Barb and our friend Heidi Swanson of Seward, NE were there. Ironically, the guest speaker -- former two-term South Dakota Governor Mike Rounds -- was a fellow 1977 SDSU grad. Conveying the degrees was SDSU President David L. Chicoine. But even more special for me was the presence on stage of my friend and former boss, Jerry Jorgensen, dean of SDSU's College of Arts & Sciences. "Dr. J," as I fondly called him, was a fellow officer and friend from the 5043rd US Armed Forces Reserve School, and later my commander in the 2nd Battalion 361st Regiment in Sioux Falls. I worked for Jerry both as a Reserve soldier and then later as a government civilian for our Army Reserve unit. Jerry's referral letter helped get me into SDSU's graduate school, and he's still listed as a reference on my resume. And as I left the stage with degree in tow, I got to shake his hand. That meant a lot.
Good luck, Brandon, as you cross the stage on Saturday. It would be interesting to see -- 34 years from now -- how you recall this day. I hope it's the first of many memorable and rewarding achievements for you.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Those "where were you?" events
Some events are forever etched in our memories.
This past Sunday night I was intrigued watching the Twitter traffic that President Obama was about to deliver a rare Sunday night broadcast message -- topic unknown.
It just had to be something big.
Because if there's one thing I've learned in my journalism studies it's that news that governments or agencies would like shielded from the public eye is released close to the weekend, when news production sources are minimized and people's thoughts turn to other -- usually outdoor or recreational -- activities. By publicizing these events late in the weekly cycle they are either buried on inside weekend pages or are "old news" by the time the Monday work week begins again. That's what made a Sunday night pronouncement particularly curious. An announcement to be made on Sunday night when people's thoughts are turning to the coming work week had to be something really, really big. And the links gave me that feeling, but we'd have to wait to hear from the president. Finally, as I was waiting for another tweet to let me in on the big secret, I instead turned on Fox News, where a headline already announced that sources had confirmed that bin Laden had been killed. While the details were still sketchy, the cat -- so to speak -- was now out of the bag. It was very much a biggie. And what a capper to an historic weekend, which began with the royal wedding on Friday, the beatification of Pope John Paul II, and then the announcement of the death of bin Laden.
Most anyone old enough to remember the 9-11 attacks can tell you where they were when they first heard the news that somber day almost 10 years ago. I was at my computer, working in the Jonas H. Lien US Armed Forces Reserve Center in Sioux Falls. With the radio on. Listening to the report of the first airplane crash, then the second, and the third in a series of ghastly, related events.
Now while I don't remember exactly where I was when I heard about the space shuttle Challenger's destruction on Jan. 28, 1986, I was working as a writer at the Fairfax Standard back then, and was moved to commemorate the astronauts in a column that ran in the Standard.
And when South Dakota Governor George S. Mickelson was among eight people killed in the crash of a small airplane near Dubuque, IA on April 19, 1993, that death hit particularly hard. Earlier, Governor Mickelson had been our surprise tour guide in the state capitol when we visited Pierre. The governor, whom we met in the hallway of the Capitol, invited us into his office and had the children take turns sitting in his chair. He told the kids about a determined mother goose who doggedly incubated her eggs through the worst of weather on the lake beside the capitol. And after his easy-going visit with us, he gave the kids each a gold pin emblazoned with the likeness of a buffalo. After his death, I recalled the visit in a column for the Alexandria Herald/Emery Enterprise, and sent a copy to his widow, Linda. Mrs. Mickelson, in turn, wrote a warm letter of thanks.
My earliest recollection of history in the making was President John F. Kennedy's assassination in 1963. I was a third-grader in Alexandria. As I remember, someone came to the door of our classroom and our teacher, Mrs. Hershey, answered the door, and returned to the front of the classroom -- obviously shaken. She told us that the president had been killed. At recess we asked each other why would someone do that? Kill our president?
Some historic events evoke those memories of time and place. I'm not sure I can place bin Laden's death in the same category, but the online traffic prior to the announcement created a curious "buzz" that I won't soon forget. Some events are forever etched in our minds like a snapshot in time. We become witnesses to history.
This past Sunday night I was intrigued watching the Twitter traffic that President Obama was about to deliver a rare Sunday night broadcast message -- topic unknown.
It just had to be something big.
Because if there's one thing I've learned in my journalism studies it's that news that governments or agencies would like shielded from the public eye is released close to the weekend, when news production sources are minimized and people's thoughts turn to other -- usually outdoor or recreational -- activities. By publicizing these events late in the weekly cycle they are either buried on inside weekend pages or are "old news" by the time the Monday work week begins again. That's what made a Sunday night pronouncement particularly curious. An announcement to be made on Sunday night when people's thoughts are turning to the coming work week had to be something really, really big. And the links gave me that feeling, but we'd have to wait to hear from the president. Finally, as I was waiting for another tweet to let me in on the big secret, I instead turned on Fox News, where a headline already announced that sources had confirmed that bin Laden had been killed. While the details were still sketchy, the cat -- so to speak -- was now out of the bag. It was very much a biggie. And what a capper to an historic weekend, which began with the royal wedding on Friday, the beatification of Pope John Paul II, and then the announcement of the death of bin Laden.
Most anyone old enough to remember the 9-11 attacks can tell you where they were when they first heard the news that somber day almost 10 years ago. I was at my computer, working in the Jonas H. Lien US Armed Forces Reserve Center in Sioux Falls. With the radio on. Listening to the report of the first airplane crash, then the second, and the third in a series of ghastly, related events.
Now while I don't remember exactly where I was when I heard about the space shuttle Challenger's destruction on Jan. 28, 1986, I was working as a writer at the Fairfax Standard back then, and was moved to commemorate the astronauts in a column that ran in the Standard.
And when South Dakota Governor George S. Mickelson was among eight people killed in the crash of a small airplane near Dubuque, IA on April 19, 1993, that death hit particularly hard. Earlier, Governor Mickelson had been our surprise tour guide in the state capitol when we visited Pierre. The governor, whom we met in the hallway of the Capitol, invited us into his office and had the children take turns sitting in his chair. He told the kids about a determined mother goose who doggedly incubated her eggs through the worst of weather on the lake beside the capitol. And after his easy-going visit with us, he gave the kids each a gold pin emblazoned with the likeness of a buffalo. After his death, I recalled the visit in a column for the Alexandria Herald/Emery Enterprise, and sent a copy to his widow, Linda. Mrs. Mickelson, in turn, wrote a warm letter of thanks.
My earliest recollection of history in the making was President John F. Kennedy's assassination in 1963. I was a third-grader in Alexandria. As I remember, someone came to the door of our classroom and our teacher, Mrs. Hershey, answered the door, and returned to the front of the classroom -- obviously shaken. She told us that the president had been killed. At recess we asked each other why would someone do that? Kill our president?
Some historic events evoke those memories of time and place. I'm not sure I can place bin Laden's death in the same category, but the online traffic prior to the announcement created a curious "buzz" that I won't soon forget. Some events are forever etched in our minds like a snapshot in time. We become witnesses to history.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Find the joy in your life
This blog was originally going to be about bucket lists. And, as sometimes happens, as background I asked Barb to again watch one of our favorite movies, "Bucket List." It stars Morgan Freeman (Carter) and Jack Nicholson (Edward). The two terminally-ill men go off to experience life on their terms before they die.
I was going to talk about our bucket lists, which are quite short. Mine included three items: Own a Corvette, cruise the Panama Canal, and complete my Master's Degree. Well, a year ago we owned a Miata (a cute little convertible), and I will graduate from South Dakota State University with my MS in journalism on May 7. The third item -- the Panama Canal -- will have to wait.
Barb's bucket list includes going to Hawaii and owning a bed & breakfast. As for those, we hope to make the Hawaii trip a possibility yet. And the bed & breakfast, well, we're working on that -- looking into a B&B operation in Lincoln that, if we could swing it, would be a great adventure for us. But only time will tell.
But watching the "Bucket List" got me thinking. It's a great movie, and hard to watch near the end without a handkerchief in hand. In the movie, Carter and Edward go sky diving, get a tattoo, race a Shelby Mustang, visit France, go on a safari, see the Taj Mahal, visit the Great Wall of China, and go to Hong Kong. But the movie's most poignant moment begins as they're sitting atop a tomb at the pyramids of Egypt when Carter (Freeman) tells Edward (Nicholson), “You know, the ancient Egyptians had a beautiful belief about death. When their souls got to the entrance to heaven, the guards asked two questions. Their answers determined whether they were able to enter or not. ‘Have you found joy in your life?’ 'Has your life brought joy to others?’”
Later in the show, the two friends part ways when Edward is angered by Carter's attempt to reconcile him with his estranged daughter. But later, as Carter lies on his death bed, Edward reads a note from his dying friend, urging him to "find the joy in your life." As Edward gives the eulogy and pays tribute to his friend at his friend's funeral, Edward is shown finally reconciling with his daughter and then kissing his granddaughter, thus crossing off of his bucket list the entry to "kiss the most beautiful girl in the world."
I found that a most touching and beautiful sentiment, and words certainly to live by. "Have you found joy in your life?" and "Has your life brought joy to others?" Hopefully we can all answer "yes." And, if you have found the joy in your life, you have led a rich and blessed life, indeed.
I was going to talk about our bucket lists, which are quite short. Mine included three items: Own a Corvette, cruise the Panama Canal, and complete my Master's Degree. Well, a year ago we owned a Miata (a cute little convertible), and I will graduate from South Dakota State University with my MS in journalism on May 7. The third item -- the Panama Canal -- will have to wait.
Barb's bucket list includes going to Hawaii and owning a bed & breakfast. As for those, we hope to make the Hawaii trip a possibility yet. And the bed & breakfast, well, we're working on that -- looking into a B&B operation in Lincoln that, if we could swing it, would be a great adventure for us. But only time will tell.
But watching the "Bucket List" got me thinking. It's a great movie, and hard to watch near the end without a handkerchief in hand. In the movie, Carter and Edward go sky diving, get a tattoo, race a Shelby Mustang, visit France, go on a safari, see the Taj Mahal, visit the Great Wall of China, and go to Hong Kong. But the movie's most poignant moment begins as they're sitting atop a tomb at the pyramids of Egypt when Carter (Freeman) tells Edward (Nicholson), “You know, the ancient Egyptians had a beautiful belief about death. When their souls got to the entrance to heaven, the guards asked two questions. Their answers determined whether they were able to enter or not. ‘Have you found joy in your life?’ 'Has your life brought joy to others?’”
Later in the show, the two friends part ways when Edward is angered by Carter's attempt to reconcile him with his estranged daughter. But later, as Carter lies on his death bed, Edward reads a note from his dying friend, urging him to "find the joy in your life." As Edward gives the eulogy and pays tribute to his friend at his friend's funeral, Edward is shown finally reconciling with his daughter and then kissing his granddaughter, thus crossing off of his bucket list the entry to "kiss the most beautiful girl in the world."
I found that a most touching and beautiful sentiment, and words certainly to live by. "Have you found joy in your life?" and "Has your life brought joy to others?" Hopefully we can all answer "yes." And, if you have found the joy in your life, you have led a rich and blessed life, indeed.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Tropical Nebraska
Why is it that a distance of 100 or 200 miles can make a difference of 20 or 30 degrees in temperature? Oh I know my geography and all of the scientific reasons for temperature gradients and changes and equatorial distance and all that stuff. But when Barb and I visit her family in Nebraska, I refer to our heading for "tropical Nebraska," because the weather's usually warmer there (sometimes quite a bit warmer) than in South Dakota.
On Saturday we made a last-minute decision to go to Kearney to attend a family gathering in honor of Barb's nephew, Josh, who is leaving on Monday for the Air Force. We were lucky in dodging the "S" word (for the most part) on Friday. While much of the state got snow (several inches in some cases), in Hartford we only had a bit more than a dusting... to the point that when we got up Saturday morning the ground was still white, but by mid-morning the evidence was gone, except on the north side of the house, fences, etc.
We packed up and headed out of town Saturday morning. As we headed toward Hwy. 81 (near Salem) we ran into heavier snow cover, which continued all the way down to north of Norfolk, NE. But by the time we reached Columbus (app. 45 miles south of Norfolk), the sun was out, grass was green and one bank proclaimed a temperature of 61 degrees. That sent us to the Weather Channel via Barb's Blackberry to check out local temperatures... Lincoln, 62; Kearney, 64; ... and Sioux Falls, 34. Ugh! Thirty degrees difference in a matter of less than 200 miles.
As we got closer to Kearney we also came upon dandelions. And water. Lots and lots of water in the ditches. Up to 2.4 inches of rain had fallen. That would've been an awful lot of snow farther north.
On our trip home Sunday we knew snow would be waiting for us as we headed north. But near Freeman it started to snow and rain -- snain -- and then more snow than rain, and by the time we reached Interstate 90 there was snow sticking to the roadway, and it looked like things were gonna get slick. But to keep this story short, we made it home fine, and woke up this morning to a snow-white lawn. By tonight, the snow had disappeared, but there's more snow in the forecast.
Hey, it's only April. The snow shovels are still within arm's reach in the garage, and the boots are still in the closet. I expect I'll wear them tomorrow.
On Saturday we made a last-minute decision to go to Kearney to attend a family gathering in honor of Barb's nephew, Josh, who is leaving on Monday for the Air Force. We were lucky in dodging the "S" word (for the most part) on Friday. While much of the state got snow (several inches in some cases), in Hartford we only had a bit more than a dusting... to the point that when we got up Saturday morning the ground was still white, but by mid-morning the evidence was gone, except on the north side of the house, fences, etc.
We packed up and headed out of town Saturday morning. As we headed toward Hwy. 81 (near Salem) we ran into heavier snow cover, which continued all the way down to north of Norfolk, NE. But by the time we reached Columbus (app. 45 miles south of Norfolk), the sun was out, grass was green and one bank proclaimed a temperature of 61 degrees. That sent us to the Weather Channel via Barb's Blackberry to check out local temperatures... Lincoln, 62; Kearney, 64; ... and Sioux Falls, 34. Ugh! Thirty degrees difference in a matter of less than 200 miles.
As we got closer to Kearney we also came upon dandelions. And water. Lots and lots of water in the ditches. Up to 2.4 inches of rain had fallen. That would've been an awful lot of snow farther north.
On our trip home Sunday we knew snow would be waiting for us as we headed north. But near Freeman it started to snow and rain -- snain -- and then more snow than rain, and by the time we reached Interstate 90 there was snow sticking to the roadway, and it looked like things were gonna get slick. But to keep this story short, we made it home fine, and woke up this morning to a snow-white lawn. By tonight, the snow had disappeared, but there's more snow in the forecast.
Hey, it's only April. The snow shovels are still within arm's reach in the garage, and the boots are still in the closet. I expect I'll wear them tomorrow.
Friday, April 15, 2011
My favorite teacher
I think everyone has had a favorite teacher. That one person who challenged you. Believed in you. Recognized your talents -- special abilities -- and maybe made you work just a little harder so that you would reach a little farther than you thought possible. Maybe it was a grade school teacher, or high school, or college. Maybe it was your mom or dad, or a neighbor. But there was someone who recognized your special qualities and wouldn't let you quit until you recognized them yourself.
I could probably name all of my grade school teachers and most of my high school teachers, and some of my college instructors. There were some special educators in that bunch, but no one stood out -- no one simply showed so much compassion or concern for her students or left such an indelible impression on my life -- as did D.J. Cline. She is revered at South Dakota State University, and I was privileged to have D.J. as my freshman journalism advisor. I don't think I realized at the time how blessed I was, because probably no one so ignited my interest in journalism as did D.J., and during the years that I most needed that little bit of an extra push.
D.J. had the disposition of a grandmother -- a very sweet, loveable lady with a soft voice, a great sense of humor, and an interest in and love for journalism that she passed along to every student she advised and taught. D.J. taught Introduction to Journalism, and brought the profession to life for us. But what I loved more than anything was her concern for her students' well-being. She cared about us as students, as journalists, as people. Every conversation with her was an important one. We never took a back seat to her other duties. Her door was always open to her students.
And when D.J. passed away several years ago, I felt sick inside. Because I knew how important she was to legions of SDSU students who had sat in front of her, listened to her lectures, and sat across from her in her office as she helped us sketch our class schedules and our futures. I don't think I ever told D.J. just how much her mentorship and guidance meant to me. But it's why I'm still writing today. It's why I defended my Master of Science journalism project just this past Tuesday at South Dakota State University, on the very floor and just a room away from where I took Intro to Journalism under D.J.'s watchful eye back in the fall of 1973. One of my committee members -- Dr. Richard Lee -- was head of the Journalism Department back when D.J. was on the faculty.
She would've been proud of me. I have her to thank for where I am today.
I could probably name all of my grade school teachers and most of my high school teachers, and some of my college instructors. There were some special educators in that bunch, but no one stood out -- no one simply showed so much compassion or concern for her students or left such an indelible impression on my life -- as did D.J. Cline. She is revered at South Dakota State University, and I was privileged to have D.J. as my freshman journalism advisor. I don't think I realized at the time how blessed I was, because probably no one so ignited my interest in journalism as did D.J., and during the years that I most needed that little bit of an extra push.
D.J. had the disposition of a grandmother -- a very sweet, loveable lady with a soft voice, a great sense of humor, and an interest in and love for journalism that she passed along to every student she advised and taught. D.J. taught Introduction to Journalism, and brought the profession to life for us. But what I loved more than anything was her concern for her students' well-being. She cared about us as students, as journalists, as people. Every conversation with her was an important one. We never took a back seat to her other duties. Her door was always open to her students.
And when D.J. passed away several years ago, I felt sick inside. Because I knew how important she was to legions of SDSU students who had sat in front of her, listened to her lectures, and sat across from her in her office as she helped us sketch our class schedules and our futures. I don't think I ever told D.J. just how much her mentorship and guidance meant to me. But it's why I'm still writing today. It's why I defended my Master of Science journalism project just this past Tuesday at South Dakota State University, on the very floor and just a room away from where I took Intro to Journalism under D.J.'s watchful eye back in the fall of 1973. One of my committee members -- Dr. Richard Lee -- was head of the Journalism Department back when D.J. was on the faculty.
She would've been proud of me. I have her to thank for where I am today.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Lieutenant Colonel (Retired)
Today wasn't unlike most days for me. My Army Reserve unit is gone to Ft. Bliss, TX for a year of active duty. But I'm not with them. To make a long story short, I retired from "wearing the uniform" on Jan. 31 after 30 years in the active Army, Army National Guard and Army Reserve. If not for a three-year break after my initial Army hitch, that would be 33 years total. Because I am a "military technician," a condition of my employment is that I must also be an active Army Reserve soldier. And because I retired on Jan. 31, I now must find a new full-time civilian job within 12 months. Hence the graduate degree study, hence the job hunt.
But today, that "retired" feeling sunk in a bit more as I turned in my active army identification card for the pink ID that is issued to "retirees." I'm also known as a "Gray Area Retiree," because although I'm retired from the Army Reserve, I cannot begin to collect my pension until age 59, which for me is less than three years off. Thus I fall into that "gray area" between active service and full-benefits retirement.
Truthfully, I never envisioned an Army career. Had you asked me in high school what I wanted to do, being an officer would not have been my answer. But, as it turns out, it became a large part of my career and for years has defined who I am. Now I am in the process of redefining myself apart from the Army. Barb knows that on the day my retirement became effective, I packed up my Army uniforms, boots, berets, etc., and put them out in the garage. That's the way I am. That part of my life is over. No need to look back. Well, except for times like this. Something about getting that retiree card was a defining moment.
Camaraderie, travel, unforgettable experiences. I owe all of it to Uncle Sam. On his dime I've flown all over the US, flew on an embassy resupply mission to Ecuador, watched National Guard troops build a school in Honduras, and stood at Miraflores Locks, watching ships traverse the Panama Canal. I watched Operation Just Cause unfold while on annual training in Panama in 1989. We heard the gunfire and saw our planes circling Panama City. My fellow photographer, Ron Carlberg, was whisked away to photograph the swearing in of the new Panamanian president that night. Memories that last forever.
There is a camaraderie -- a brotherhood -- that putting on the uniform creates. There is a connection when you see another man or woman wearing the uniform -- wherever you are -- in an airport, restaurant, grocery store. And some of my most cherished memories came while driving through the Black Hills with Jerry Jorgensen and Tom Berg; listening to Roy Mercer while driving to drill with Greg Schaefers; or riding in a dusty jeep on the way to a news assignment on the back roads of Camp Ripley, MN, where the mosquitoes are as large as sparrows in July (or I thought they were, anyway).
It was tough to see friends leave for Ft. Bliss without me, but life goes on. That day had to come and it was not unexpected. Now begins our new adventure. In one month, God willing, I will receive my graduate degree and we will begin in earnest to plot our next move. It will be an adventure. It always has been.
But today, that "retired" feeling sunk in a bit more as I turned in my active army identification card for the pink ID that is issued to "retirees." I'm also known as a "Gray Area Retiree," because although I'm retired from the Army Reserve, I cannot begin to collect my pension until age 59, which for me is less than three years off. Thus I fall into that "gray area" between active service and full-benefits retirement.
Truthfully, I never envisioned an Army career. Had you asked me in high school what I wanted to do, being an officer would not have been my answer. But, as it turns out, it became a large part of my career and for years has defined who I am. Now I am in the process of redefining myself apart from the Army. Barb knows that on the day my retirement became effective, I packed up my Army uniforms, boots, berets, etc., and put them out in the garage. That's the way I am. That part of my life is over. No need to look back. Well, except for times like this. Something about getting that retiree card was a defining moment.
Camaraderie, travel, unforgettable experiences. I owe all of it to Uncle Sam. On his dime I've flown all over the US, flew on an embassy resupply mission to Ecuador, watched National Guard troops build a school in Honduras, and stood at Miraflores Locks, watching ships traverse the Panama Canal. I watched Operation Just Cause unfold while on annual training in Panama in 1989. We heard the gunfire and saw our planes circling Panama City. My fellow photographer, Ron Carlberg, was whisked away to photograph the swearing in of the new Panamanian president that night. Memories that last forever.
There is a camaraderie -- a brotherhood -- that putting on the uniform creates. There is a connection when you see another man or woman wearing the uniform -- wherever you are -- in an airport, restaurant, grocery store. And some of my most cherished memories came while driving through the Black Hills with Jerry Jorgensen and Tom Berg; listening to Roy Mercer while driving to drill with Greg Schaefers; or riding in a dusty jeep on the way to a news assignment on the back roads of Camp Ripley, MN, where the mosquitoes are as large as sparrows in July (or I thought they were, anyway).
It was tough to see friends leave for Ft. Bliss without me, but life goes on. That day had to come and it was not unexpected. Now begins our new adventure. In one month, God willing, I will receive my graduate degree and we will begin in earnest to plot our next move. It will be an adventure. It always has been.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
April -- the best time of year
Okay, April's here. It's time to sloowwwwww the clock down now so I can enjoy my favorite month of the year. Barb's favorite month is June. "A June bride is a bride for life," she says. (We were married June 7 -- wink, wink!). But there's something about April that lifts my spirits. I'm sure it's a combination of things.
It used to mean the approach of the end of the school year. Who could argue with that? But April is so much more. April is...
too early for mosquitoes.
too early for humidity.
too early for searing heat.
too early for the annual ant invasion.
too early for turning on the air conditioner.
too early for snakes in the lawn (or pythons in the garage -- Barb will understand -- it's a joke -- really!).
April is...
too late for bone-chilling cold.
too late for frozen pipes.
too late for snow?
No, not too late for snow. But it's a passing glance this time of year. Yeah, we've had snow storms in April, but the nice weather usually is not far behind.
Besides, April is for the Boys of Summer.
It's "spring cleaning" and opening the windows and letting in the fresh air.
It's getting off the treadmill and running outdoors.
It's when "the 50s" are on their way up and feel good, instead of on their way down and a sign of coming frost.
It means swapping the lawn mower and the snow blower (but keeping the snow blower still within reach).
April is...
putting the patio furniture out.
just right for getting reacquainted with the outdoor grill.
time to lube the bicycles and check the air in the tires.
It used to mean Dad was ready to swap the glass storm windows for the summer screens.
It's time to dig the short-sleeve shirts and shorts out of storage, and pack away the long-sleeve shirts, sweaters, heavy coats and boots. We're talking sneakers, flip-flops, sandals... well, sneakers maybe but the others soon.
It used to mean track season, one of the greatest legal inventions for skipping a day of school. Nothing compared with getting out of school on a glorious spring day to go to a track meet. We would set up our 'camp' somewhere, turn on a radio, laze around in the sun until it was our turn to run or jump or throw, and then retreat to the same spot.
April is green grass and fresh air. Ah, spring...
Gotta love it.
It used to mean the approach of the end of the school year. Who could argue with that? But April is so much more. April is...
too early for mosquitoes.
too early for humidity.
too early for searing heat.
too early for the annual ant invasion.
too early for turning on the air conditioner.
too early for snakes in the lawn (or pythons in the garage -- Barb will understand -- it's a joke -- really!).
April is...
too late for bone-chilling cold.
too late for frozen pipes.
too late for snow?
No, not too late for snow. But it's a passing glance this time of year. Yeah, we've had snow storms in April, but the nice weather usually is not far behind.
Besides, April is for the Boys of Summer.
It's "spring cleaning" and opening the windows and letting in the fresh air.
It's getting off the treadmill and running outdoors.
It's when "the 50s" are on their way up and feel good, instead of on their way down and a sign of coming frost.
It means swapping the lawn mower and the snow blower (but keeping the snow blower still within reach).
April is...
putting the patio furniture out.
just right for getting reacquainted with the outdoor grill.
time to lube the bicycles and check the air in the tires.
It used to mean Dad was ready to swap the glass storm windows for the summer screens.
It's time to dig the short-sleeve shirts and shorts out of storage, and pack away the long-sleeve shirts, sweaters, heavy coats and boots. We're talking sneakers, flip-flops, sandals... well, sneakers maybe but the others soon.
It used to mean track season, one of the greatest legal inventions for skipping a day of school. Nothing compared with getting out of school on a glorious spring day to go to a track meet. We would set up our 'camp' somewhere, turn on a radio, laze around in the sun until it was our turn to run or jump or throw, and then retreat to the same spot.
April is green grass and fresh air. Ah, spring...
Gotta love it.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Schmeckfest!
(I wrote this article originally for the Freeman Courier, and it appeared in the March 30, 2011 edition on p. 14)
Freeman, you may not know me, but I know you.
At least I feel like I know you. I’ve made 10 trips to visit your fine city since last November. You may have seen me visiting with the Courier staff, or out and about, visiting with your school superintendents, city officials or local business leaders. So coming to Freeman on Saturday, March 26, to enjoy the 53rd annual Schmeckfest for an 11th visit was a natural extension. Plus it helped relieve my natural curiosity of this festival I’ve heard so much about.
There was a hint of trouble in the air when we first parked about a half-block north of Pioneer Hall. We had skipped lunch to make sure we’d have room for the famous Schmeckfest meal. Our mistake. The smell was so tantalizing we almost skipped the demonstrations altogether and went straight for the meal, but no… A little self-discipline first!
We stepped into the auditorium and were greeted almost immediately by Vernon Hofer. Soon we met Judy Pullman Bittner, who explained what we would find and where, and then tracked down a program for us since we’d missed one at the entrance. On her recommendation, and after we’d checked out the pastries and the pfefferneusse demonstration (and had a sample), we took a seat to listen to Norman Hofer tell “From Plow Boys to Fly Boys – the Waltner Brothers’ Story.” Now neither my wife, Barbara, nor I knew any of the gentlemen Mr. Hofer talked about, but we were both interested in his captivating talk. Plus it gave us a reason to look for the airplane in Heritage Hall Museum.
Next came the main course – the meal. Both Barbara and I are mainly of German descent, but this was new territory for us. We kept reminding ourselves of the advice given to us by several people waiting in line – “Pace yourself.” We waited our turn in the hall, got in line when our number was called and then jumped to the head of the pack when two seats in the middle of a table were available.
What a model of efficiency. Hundreds of people seated and enjoying a family-style meal. Servers dressed in white, hovering over each table of hungry folks with the constant din of mealtime conversation. I was seated next to Dr. Dennis Ries to my left, and on my right, ironically, was another Schmeckfest first-timer and rural Hartford resident, Gary Meyer. So between sipping the green bean soup (loved the vegetables) and munching on the salad, gebratene kartofflen (fried potatoes), kase mit knopfle (cheese buttons), bratwurst and dampfleisch (stewed beef), I visited with my neighbors and Barb across the table. Barb and I agreed afterward that the meal was not so much about the food as it was the fellowship. I can’t remember when I’ve met a friendlier group of people. Every place that we went, every line we stood in and every place that we sat for even a minute we visited with folks from Freeman, Vermillion, Sioux Falls, Hurley and Marion.
It was impressive how many people indicated they come back to Freeman every year for Schmeckfest. After finishing our meal (the meats were my favorite), we toured Heritage Hall Museum – quite an impressive museum for a small town. The rope-making demonstration brought back memories for Barbara of her dad’s helping her brothers with a similar Boy Scout project. And I could’ve stopped and watch the basket-weaving demonstration for hours. Then we made a second trip through the auditorium, bought some pfefferneusse and rosettes, sat down with a cup of coffee and visited with Anita Neufeld and Becky Ebbesen. It seemed like there were no strangers in Freeman. I had high hopes of taking some of the rosettes home with us. They never made it off of the table (thanks to my voracious sweet tooth).
We were also surprised by so many familiar faces in attendance– people from my high school days (at Alexandria), from my work and Barb’s work in Sioux Falls. It was almost like old-home week. It also made me realize what we’d been missing so close to home all these years.
As we sat in the north bleachers of Pioneer Hall, we met Chris and Carol Eisenbeis, and struck up a conversation as we waited for the musical to begin. Like the meal, the musical did not disappoint. Tim and Jeremy Waltner had already warned me that the musical talent in Freeman was first-class. The strong, clear, beautiful voices certainly were every bit as sharp as what you would hear on Broadway. But Larry Schmidt’s and Steve Graber’s performances stole the show as the gangsters. With a little tap-dancing thrown in! The only thing a Broadway production would have over this was softer seats (I hope). Freeman’s got talent, and plenty of it.
We marveled on the road home to Hartford about the food, the musical, and the interesting people we’d met, and the thousands of hours that go into the planning, preparation and conduct of such an undertaking. And we were met with smiles, introductions and stories wherever we went. We made a lot of new friends.
And we decided this much as we drove home late that night. We’ll be back next year for #54.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
My big brother mentor
I don't think my brother Roger ever knew how much I looked up to him -- how much I respected him, admired him, enjoyed talking with him. Roger would've been 60 years old this coming May 4, but he left us way too early last May when he was found on the floor of his Mitchell home.
Roger was my mentor. And he was a character. I never realized how much so until his fellow workers at D&E Music and Vending talked about his work life in the days following his death. It was easy to tell how much they also admired and liked him. And how badly they too would miss him.
Rog had so many qualities I would love to emulate. Like Dad, he loved working with wood. If Roger is known for one thing, besides his total devotion in looking after Mom in her widowed years, it was his beautiful, ornate clocks. Rog built several of those beauties -- his first one we still display now in our home but will eventually go to his Goddaughter, Melissa. What incredibly intricate work, what infinite patience, to craft such beautiful clocks. And why didn't I get any of that talent? I have neither the patience nor the talent to hammer two boards together. Ugh.
I think Rog was truly an angel. I know he was in Mom's eyes. For so many years after Dad passed away Roger would come down on Tuesday nights as well as Saturday afternoons and Sundays, and visit with Mom, take her to medical appointments, eat meals with her, look after her well-being and her finances. We left so much of those responsibilities to Rog and he handled them flawlessly. We had nothing to worry about because Rog had our backs.
It became the kids' and my routine to visit Mom and Rog on Saturday afternoons. That usually meant kicking back in Mom's apartment with the Twins game on the radio. We'd visit about the week's activities. I'd get caught up on the week's Daily Republics, maybe watch some TV and before we left there'd be a bowl of ice cream. It was always fun, but I particularly looked forward to our visits when Roger was there.
And anything about electronics or computers meant I was on the phone to Rog. Another quality I loved was despite my calls and probably constant little-brother aggravations, I never once -- never even once -- in all the years remember Rog ever losing his patience, or treating me like I was a pesty little brother. I don't think I even remember him ever raising his voice. He always had time to talk, patiently answering my questions or offering advice. And he knew so much.
And now that he's gone he's left us mementos of his life. But nothing, and I mean nothing, can replace a great brother, mentor, adviser, role model and friend. I'd give anything to have Rog around to call, to reminisce with, to ask questions of, to emulate, to kick around the Twins' chances of winning their division again.
Be ready for us, Rog. I can't wait to talk with you again about the upcoming season.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Seen any good movies lately?
I've never been much of a movie buff. If Netflix, Redbox or Blockbuster had to rely on my business, they'd be waiting in line for a government bailout. I may be the only person alive who hasn't seen "Star Wars" start to finish. Not "Return of the Jedi" either, nor any of the others that followed. I can't tell you much about Luke Skywalker, Obi Wan-Kanobi, R2D2, C3PO, Darth Vader, Yoda, Jar Jar Binks or Jabba the hut. Even though I used to watch the "Star Trek" TV series, I never made it to a Trek movie either. William Shatner is still "Captain Kirk" in my book. And I've never been a big fan of "Batman," "Spiderman," or any of the other superheroes who have landed their own movies. And "Gone With the Wind?" I've yet to see that. Frankly Scarlett, I don't give a darn.
But this past Christmas Melissa gave us a trial subscription to Netflix, and so we've joined the movie generation. It spurred me to buy a Wii (which totally surprised Barbara) so we could stream our movies. And now that my studies are nearly over, we've had more time to watch movies. Some have been good, some not so good. But a movie spent cuddling with my wife on the sofa is never a bad investment of time.
I can remember very few movies from childhood. One of the few that stand out is "The Sound of Music," which I saw in Sioux Falls with Mom. We must've gone there shopping as I recall our going to the State Theater to see it. There are some other dim memories of movies like "Old Yeller." But then Rog and I -- in our teen years -- would head to Mitchell when the newest vampire flick came out starring Bela Lugosi as Dracula. We were up for a good scare back then. Nowadays? Not so much.
For me it's very hard to invest time in a TV movie or show, but there are some movies over the years that, no matter how often I've seen them (and some of them I've seen 20 or more times) I will stop what I'm doing, sit down and watch them again. But then again there are other movies I've liked but don't care to see more than once. What makes a movie our favorite? Great acting? The plot? Location? Favorite actors?
Some of my faves are epics, like "Ben Hur" with Charlton Heston. The story and biblical time period are fascinating, the music compelling, and the chariot race a classic. A particularly memorable scene is Ben Hur's attempt to give water to Jesus on the path to crucifixion -- an emotional story charged and revered by millions of Christians. Ben Hur has my vote for the greatest movie ever. What gets your vote?
Another favorite is "The Birds" by Alfred Hitchcock. Can't say I'm a big Alfred Hitchcock fan, but the mystery of this movie and the horror gripped me, and I still enjoy watching it to this day, particularly the eerie ending. "Jurassic Park" is another favorite of the same thriller type. But probably my favorite thriller movie of all is "Jaws." When it came out in 1975 it scared the bejeebers out of us in theater when the man's head popped through the hole in his boat; he was missing one eye. And a favorite line was by Roy Scheider after seeing the shark up close: "You're gonna need a bigger boat."
One movie often mentioned as a favorite by movie-goers is "The Shawshank Redemption." I've never been able to explain why I like this movie, but the story of an unjustly-jailed man who befriends a convict and eventually digs his way to freedom and a new life is another gripping tale. And I love Morgan Freeman's quote to "Get busy livin' or get busy dyin'."
And then, some of my favorite movies are just plain dumb. Yeah, "Dumb and Dumber" is on top of that list. "Napolean Dynamite" is too, along with "Men in Black" and "The Blues Brothers." I rarely buy a movie DVD and so when I do it's usually one I will watch over and over. And I have all of these in my DVD collection. The same goes for "A League of Their Own," with another favorite quote from Tom Hanks: "You're crying? There's no crying in baseball."
You may not expect "Pee Wee's Big Adventure" to make the list, but I think Pee Wee's eccentricities and the special effects made this an addition to my DVD library. I would play and replay Large Marge's expression for the kids (and for me). Remember that one?
Probably the only movie I've ever seen more than once in theater is "Saving Private Ryan." It is a gripping tale and a good -- if extremely graphic -- story of the horrors and the price of war. And it makes you think.
There are so many more movies I could mention. I still can't explain what makes a movie a favorite -- story line, or special effects, or great acting. Maybe it's simply laughing or crying -- sharing an emotion -- with friends or family. Or maybe it's just cuddling up with someone you love.
But this past Christmas Melissa gave us a trial subscription to Netflix, and so we've joined the movie generation. It spurred me to buy a Wii (which totally surprised Barbara) so we could stream our movies. And now that my studies are nearly over, we've had more time to watch movies. Some have been good, some not so good. But a movie spent cuddling with my wife on the sofa is never a bad investment of time.
I can remember very few movies from childhood. One of the few that stand out is "The Sound of Music," which I saw in Sioux Falls with Mom. We must've gone there shopping as I recall our going to the State Theater to see it. There are some other dim memories of movies like "Old Yeller." But then Rog and I -- in our teen years -- would head to Mitchell when the newest vampire flick came out starring Bela Lugosi as Dracula. We were up for a good scare back then. Nowadays? Not so much.
For me it's very hard to invest time in a TV movie or show, but there are some movies over the years that, no matter how often I've seen them (and some of them I've seen 20 or more times) I will stop what I'm doing, sit down and watch them again. But then again there are other movies I've liked but don't care to see more than once. What makes a movie our favorite? Great acting? The plot? Location? Favorite actors?
Some of my faves are epics, like "Ben Hur" with Charlton Heston. The story and biblical time period are fascinating, the music compelling, and the chariot race a classic. A particularly memorable scene is Ben Hur's attempt to give water to Jesus on the path to crucifixion -- an emotional story charged and revered by millions of Christians. Ben Hur has my vote for the greatest movie ever. What gets your vote?
Another favorite is "The Birds" by Alfred Hitchcock. Can't say I'm a big Alfred Hitchcock fan, but the mystery of this movie and the horror gripped me, and I still enjoy watching it to this day, particularly the eerie ending. "Jurassic Park" is another favorite of the same thriller type. But probably my favorite thriller movie of all is "Jaws." When it came out in 1975 it scared the bejeebers out of us in theater when the man's head popped through the hole in his boat; he was missing one eye. And a favorite line was by Roy Scheider after seeing the shark up close: "You're gonna need a bigger boat."
One movie often mentioned as a favorite by movie-goers is "The Shawshank Redemption." I've never been able to explain why I like this movie, but the story of an unjustly-jailed man who befriends a convict and eventually digs his way to freedom and a new life is another gripping tale. And I love Morgan Freeman's quote to "Get busy livin' or get busy dyin'."
And then, some of my favorite movies are just plain dumb. Yeah, "Dumb and Dumber" is on top of that list. "Napolean Dynamite" is too, along with "Men in Black" and "The Blues Brothers." I rarely buy a movie DVD and so when I do it's usually one I will watch over and over. And I have all of these in my DVD collection. The same goes for "A League of Their Own," with another favorite quote from Tom Hanks: "You're crying? There's no crying in baseball."
You may not expect "Pee Wee's Big Adventure" to make the list, but I think Pee Wee's eccentricities and the special effects made this an addition to my DVD library. I would play and replay Large Marge's expression for the kids (and for me). Remember that one?
Probably the only movie I've ever seen more than once in theater is "Saving Private Ryan." It is a gripping tale and a good -- if extremely graphic -- story of the horrors and the price of war. And it makes you think.
There are so many more movies I could mention. I still can't explain what makes a movie a favorite -- story line, or special effects, or great acting. Maybe it's simply laughing or crying -- sharing an emotion -- with friends or family. Or maybe it's just cuddling up with someone you love.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
The Boys of Summer
It's almost that time of year when I can say 'so long' to the treadmill and get outside to run in the fresh air and sunshine. I love spring. It's my favorite time of year -- by far. The days are getting longer and warmer, the snow is melting, the lawn reappearing. It's too early to worry about cutting grass, and too early for dandelions to be popping up.
My brother Roger loved spring. I don't remember that he was a major sports fan until the last several years when he became a loyal Twins follower. Rog would write to Pat and I about how the Twins were doing this spring... what their chances were... who was hitting or pitching well. He became a bigger fan than I was, turning on Mom's transistor radio and bringing me up-to-date on the score when the kids and I would make our usual Saturday afternoon excursion to Grandma's. And then later, when we would visit Mom at Brady Home, chances are a baseball game would be on TV, and not that Mom was a sports fan, but Rog enjoyed it. I don't recall if he ever saw a Twins game in person, although he may have seen other major league games when he was younger. I always marveled that Rog -- who never showed much interest in sports before -- became such a Twins fan in his 50s. It was our way of connecting and we stayed close, as we did with Pat too, who shared our love for sports.
I became hooked on baseball and the Twins when Dad took me on a Farmers Union bus tour to the Twin Cities when I was about 10. It was larger than life for a kid from a small South Dakota town to visit the big city. And that first glimpse of Metropolitan Stadium was awesome! Watching the Twins beat the Detroit Tigers at old Metropolitan Stadium was a surreal experience for a starry-eyed sports-crazy kid like me. I got to see my heroes -- Earl Battey, Tony Oliva, Harmon Killebrew, Don Mincher and the rest of the Twins gang. I don't remember the year, but the fact that Dad -- who was not a sports fan -- did this for me was something I never forgot. I remember that Nick Wenande and Mike went along too. It was great fun sharing the experience with a friend of mine. Since then I've seen a dozen or more major league games at the Metrodome, the Kingdome in Seattle, Kaufman Stadium (formerly Royals Stadium) in Kansas City, and US Cellular Field in Chicago. They've all been great experiences, but there's nothing like your first major league game. Mom even embroidered "Twins" on a green spring jacket of mine. Oh yeah, I was a fan.
The start of spring training still brings a smile to my face, as it did this year when my old Army Reserve friend, Max Myers, called from Ft. Myer s, FL where he was attending a Twins-Red Sox grapefruit league game. My bobblehead collection now is my unofficial "Twins Hall of Fame." Not necessarily all the Twins of great note, but many whom I idolized, including the late Earl Battey (who was always my favorite because, like him, I was a catcher); Tony Oliva (who, like me, threw right-handed and batted left), and had a sweet swing at the plate; Harmon Killebrew, who these days would never make it but back then was all power; Rod Carew, the Twins' batting leader; Tom Kelly (who managed the Twins to both of their World Series titles); Justin Morneau and Joe Mauer (the present day M&M twins); the late Kirby Puckett (probably the most popular Twin of all time); and now Bert Blyleven, the newest Twin recently elected to the Hall of Fame. Since then I've also added Pete Rose, admittedly never a Twin but whom we met in a sports shop in Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas during our vacation in January 2009. For the mere price of purchasing his bobblehead, Major League Baseball's all-time hits leader autographed it and posed for pictures too. There's no rhyme or reason or sound justification for a grown man collecting bobbleheads. Just a link to a childhood and a reminder of heroes, past and present, and a game that still draws us to the ball park.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Mother Nature's destructive side
It's hard to know what to say when natural disasters occur. What do you think when you see the devastation in Japan? In New Zealand? In Haiti? In New Orleans? It is such a helpless feeling to watch the awesome, destructive power of nature. The Japan death toll is now estimated at 10,000. Many of the missing will never be found. The destruction so widespread and pervasive that it will take decades to repair, and even then will never again be the same -- the terrain and infrastructure forever changed.
If you haven't seen this video, it will shock you. The videographer captures the scene of water rushing down the street, sweeping away -- first of all -- vehicles and small objects in its path, and then the current growing stronger and deeper, eventually moving buildings from their foundations. http://gizmodo.com/#!5781566/this-is-the-scariest-first+person-video-of-the-japan-tsunami-yet
More than 1.4 million without water since the earthquake struck. More than 1.9 million without electricity. Entire towns and villages wiped out of existence. And now the worries of a nuclear meltdown, eerily reminiscent of the Chernobyl power plant meltdown of April 26, 1986 -- almost 25 years ago. Global Post suggests that you make a monetary contribution to a reputable aid group to help the Japanese people recover from this tragedy. Check out that story at this link: http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/news/regions/asia-pacific/japan/110311/japan-tsunami-donations-aid.
One of my goals as a weekly journalist years ago was to photograph two things up close: a bald eagle and a tornado. I never got to do either one, although I have on occasion seen bald eagles in this area, and have photographed some ugly storm clouds, but no true tornadoes. But I remember coming home from Mitchell to Canistota on the night of May 30, 1998 -- the night that an F4 tornado swept through Spencer and killed six residents, leaving the town in shambles.
What was eerie was that I passed just south of Spencer on Hwy. 38 within an hour or two of the tornado that night. I remember watching the tornado warnings on television and their showing a tornado moving in the direction of Canistota, where I lived at that time. The kids and I hunkered down in the cellar of the house I was renting at that time. We were lucky that night. Spencer's residents were not.
I can't help but remember that event every time I drive past Spencer on Hwy. 38 and see much of the town was rebuilt a bit closer to Hwy. 38 than it was before. It continues to work to recover, but a very small town sustaining such a huge loss can never fully recover when homes, businesses and lives are destroyed. But Spencer's residents are resilient. They have a true sense of what the Japanese people are going through. We can throw up our hands and say "Where do we start?" or we can ask "What can I do to help?"
If you haven't seen this video, it will shock you. The videographer captures the scene of water rushing down the street, sweeping away -- first of all -- vehicles and small objects in its path, and then the current growing stronger and deeper, eventually moving buildings from their foundations. http://gizmodo.com/#!5781566/this-is-the-scariest-first+person-video-of-the-japan-tsunami-yet
More than 1.4 million without water since the earthquake struck. More than 1.9 million without electricity. Entire towns and villages wiped out of existence. And now the worries of a nuclear meltdown, eerily reminiscent of the Chernobyl power plant meltdown of April 26, 1986 -- almost 25 years ago. Global Post suggests that you make a monetary contribution to a reputable aid group to help the Japanese people recover from this tragedy. Check out that story at this link: http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/news/regions/asia-pacific/japan/110311/japan-tsunami-donations-aid.
One of my goals as a weekly journalist years ago was to photograph two things up close: a bald eagle and a tornado. I never got to do either one, although I have on occasion seen bald eagles in this area, and have photographed some ugly storm clouds, but no true tornadoes. But I remember coming home from Mitchell to Canistota on the night of May 30, 1998 -- the night that an F4 tornado swept through Spencer and killed six residents, leaving the town in shambles.
What was eerie was that I passed just south of Spencer on Hwy. 38 within an hour or two of the tornado that night. I remember watching the tornado warnings on television and their showing a tornado moving in the direction of Canistota, where I lived at that time. The kids and I hunkered down in the cellar of the house I was renting at that time. We were lucky that night. Spencer's residents were not.
I can't help but remember that event every time I drive past Spencer on Hwy. 38 and see much of the town was rebuilt a bit closer to Hwy. 38 than it was before. It continues to work to recover, but a very small town sustaining such a huge loss can never fully recover when homes, businesses and lives are destroyed. But Spencer's residents are resilient. They have a true sense of what the Japanese people are going through. We can throw up our hands and say "Where do we start?" or we can ask "What can I do to help?"
Friday, March 11, 2011
Charlie Sheen, Lindsay Lohan & Lady Gaga
My Facebook post on Thursday read, "I'm waiting for my daily 'Charlie Sheen fix.' Come on Charlie. Do something." A day without some news of Charlie Sheen's latest bizarre behavior may lie ahead of us, but for now Charlie just keeps turning up in the news like a bad penny. Today it's about a Thursday night police raid at his house that turned up a few rounds of ammunition. Big deal. As an aside the report noted that Charlie has permits for 47 guns... Yeah, 47 guns... But don't worry. They're all registered to Charlie. Perfectly legal. Nothing to worry about there.
Eccentric showbiz personalities and imploding celebrities are nothing new. The old saying that "any publicity is good publicity" must have some merit though. After all, his Monday tweet for a "winning" social media intern drew 95,333 clicks WITHIN THE FIRST HOUR, visits from 181 countries and ultimately 74,040 submitted applications. And, according to at least one source, Charlie was the fastest to ever reach one million Twitter followers -- just 25 hours after being launched on Feb. 28.
Seeing Charlie this week waving a machete on top of a building and sipping simulated "tiger blood" only confirmed the distance in my mind between the Hollywood crowd and the working class.
There are other eccentricities too numerous to mention. Michael Jackson, Brittney Spear's shaved head, Lindsay Lohan behaving badly (yet again), Christina Aguilera's recent mishaps, Alec Baldwin's and Mel Gibson's rants... the list goes on and on. Of course it's not limited to Hollywood celebrities. The athletic world is populated with meltdowns, including Tonya Harding, Mike Tyson and O.J. Simpson. What's got into these people?
Eccentric behavior has become so common it hardly gets more than a ho-hum anymore, unless a law has been broken in the process. But it's sure brought ink and air time to these people, like it or not. What is our fascination with their problems?
The latest pop phenom is Lady Gaga, born Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta. I had heard of Lady Gaga but never had been subjected to her music or videos until we studied her rise to stardom during my Women in Media class. When I polled my kids about her, they agreed they liked her music but thought her behavior a bit odd. I agreed her music was kind of catchy, but her videos were, to me, bizarre. She made Madonna -- who pushed the envelope back in the '80s -- look like a prude. Lady Gaga's crowning moments were a featured segment on "60 Minutes" and her grand entrance in an egg at this year's Academy Awards. I never actually got to see her come out of the egg. Viewers were simply told that that was Lady Gaga in there.
I used to think Elton John was the eccentric one. Roger disliked his music, except for "Crocodile Rock." And "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" got under Barb's skin. I loved Elton John's music, but thought Crocodile Rock was not one of his better songs. His "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" album was one of my favorites. It got a lot of play during my freshman year at SDSU. Rog would kid me no end (and probably disown me as a brother) if he knew my I Tunes collection includes 181 Elton John songs. Michael Jackson accounts for 17 songs, and the Jackson 5 (which starred Michael) adds another 10. By contrast, I have one song by Christina Aguilera, and none by either Brittney Spears or Lady Gaga.
And I've never watched one episode of "Two and a Half Men." I have no plans to either.
Eccentric showbiz personalities and imploding celebrities are nothing new. The old saying that "any publicity is good publicity" must have some merit though. After all, his Monday tweet for a "winning" social media intern drew 95,333 clicks WITHIN THE FIRST HOUR, visits from 181 countries and ultimately 74,040 submitted applications. And, according to at least one source, Charlie was the fastest to ever reach one million Twitter followers -- just 25 hours after being launched on Feb. 28.
Seeing Charlie this week waving a machete on top of a building and sipping simulated "tiger blood" only confirmed the distance in my mind between the Hollywood crowd and the working class.
There are other eccentricities too numerous to mention. Michael Jackson, Brittney Spear's shaved head, Lindsay Lohan behaving badly (yet again), Christina Aguilera's recent mishaps, Alec Baldwin's and Mel Gibson's rants... the list goes on and on. Of course it's not limited to Hollywood celebrities. The athletic world is populated with meltdowns, including Tonya Harding, Mike Tyson and O.J. Simpson. What's got into these people?
Eccentric behavior has become so common it hardly gets more than a ho-hum anymore, unless a law has been broken in the process. But it's sure brought ink and air time to these people, like it or not. What is our fascination with their problems?
The latest pop phenom is Lady Gaga, born Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta. I had heard of Lady Gaga but never had been subjected to her music or videos until we studied her rise to stardom during my Women in Media class. When I polled my kids about her, they agreed they liked her music but thought her behavior a bit odd. I agreed her music was kind of catchy, but her videos were, to me, bizarre. She made Madonna -- who pushed the envelope back in the '80s -- look like a prude. Lady Gaga's crowning moments were a featured segment on "60 Minutes" and her grand entrance in an egg at this year's Academy Awards. I never actually got to see her come out of the egg. Viewers were simply told that that was Lady Gaga in there.
I used to think Elton John was the eccentric one. Roger disliked his music, except for "Crocodile Rock." And "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" got under Barb's skin. I loved Elton John's music, but thought Crocodile Rock was not one of his better songs. His "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" album was one of my favorites. It got a lot of play during my freshman year at SDSU. Rog would kid me no end (and probably disown me as a brother) if he knew my I Tunes collection includes 181 Elton John songs. Michael Jackson accounts for 17 songs, and the Jackson 5 (which starred Michael) adds another 10. By contrast, I have one song by Christina Aguilera, and none by either Brittney Spears or Lady Gaga.
And I've never watched one episode of "Two and a Half Men." I have no plans to either.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
The 40 days of Lent
Today is Ash Wednesday. For us Catholics, you know what that means. No snacking today for us grownups. And fish... the only time of the year you'll find me ordering a fish sandwich at McD's or Burger King, or thinking "Red Lobster" instead of the Outback, Buffalo Wild Wings or Foley's. I often wondered how fair it was when I was back in school and we had fish on Fridays during Lent. Did the other kids resent us? It's still the only time of year you'll find me buying Mrs. Paul's fish sticks or batter-fried fish fillets. Dad would've loved it though. A pan full of fresh-caught bullheads... Ugh. Pancakes, toasted cheese sandwiches, tuna 'n' noodles and cheese pizza became my Friday faves.
I don't think any time of year was longer than the 40 days of Lent. Suddenly, candy, chocolate, cookies or ice cream or some other everyday joy was off-limits and never had it looked so good as when I couldn't have it. At least the Sundays during Lent were kind of a "mini-Easter" with those self-forbidden items allowed for one day a week.
Lent meant saying the Rosary every night after supper. We grabbed our rosaries and found a chair in the living room to kneel at as Dad led the rosary. Of course there were Stations of the Cross weekly, and the special Holy Week services. The priest would cover the statues in church the week before Easter, only to reveal them once again on Easter morning. Having served as an altar boy for several years, the smell of the incense used during the services always takes me back to those days.
Lent lost some of its sacrifice for me though as it usually coincided with my semi-annual diet to lose weight before we were required to weigh in in the Army Reserve. It was like "killing two birds with one stone" -- kind of a second sendoff to a period of self-denial. Now that I'm retired from the Army though, that second edge is gone.
I'll always remember though how Dad enjoyed eating fish. I just wish more of that would have rubbed off on me.
Dave
I don't think any time of year was longer than the 40 days of Lent. Suddenly, candy, chocolate, cookies or ice cream or some other everyday joy was off-limits and never had it looked so good as when I couldn't have it. At least the Sundays during Lent were kind of a "mini-Easter" with those self-forbidden items allowed for one day a week.
Lent meant saying the Rosary every night after supper. We grabbed our rosaries and found a chair in the living room to kneel at as Dad led the rosary. Of course there were Stations of the Cross weekly, and the special Holy Week services. The priest would cover the statues in church the week before Easter, only to reveal them once again on Easter morning. Having served as an altar boy for several years, the smell of the incense used during the services always takes me back to those days.
Lent lost some of its sacrifice for me though as it usually coincided with my semi-annual diet to lose weight before we were required to weigh in in the Army Reserve. It was like "killing two birds with one stone" -- kind of a second sendoff to a period of self-denial. Now that I'm retired from the Army though, that second edge is gone.
I'll always remember though how Dad enjoyed eating fish. I just wish more of that would have rubbed off on me.
Dave
Beginning at the beginning
Okay, this is my first blog posting. It is a sign of the times and the result of several life changes, not to mention a very healthy dose of technology. Who knew 30 years ago that technology would take us here? First came the microwave and VCR, then fax machines, PDAs, computers, cell phones, iPods, digital cameras, etc., etc., etc. Now social media keep us "connected" like never before. Not one to ride the technological band wagon too early, I got on Facebook about 1 1/2 years ago, and even hooked up with Twitter for a short time until I determined hardly anyone I knew was on there. But that's a story for another blog.
What really whetted my appetite for writing again was beginning the online journalism master's degree course at South Dakota State University in the fall of 2009. I left the profession of journalism in 1997 when I sold the Alexandria Herald and Emery Enterprise newspapers and began working for my Army Reserve unit. When I started the masters program I realized how much I missed working in my chosen profession. It has been a great course, and the best part is learning from the other students in our online classes. Most are from this area although they range from Rapid City to Georgia.
I am going to commit to writing on this blog at least twice a week. My family will say I'm a very private person, but now having lost of my parents I know it would be a disservice not to share thoughts, memories and passions with those close to me. Much of my family's history went with my parents and if we kids didn't record it the chances of doing so are lessened as uncles and aunts reach the end of their lives too. So thanks for checking this out. I hope it's worth your time as well as mine.
Dave
What really whetted my appetite for writing again was beginning the online journalism master's degree course at South Dakota State University in the fall of 2009. I left the profession of journalism in 1997 when I sold the Alexandria Herald and Emery Enterprise newspapers and began working for my Army Reserve unit. When I started the masters program I realized how much I missed working in my chosen profession. It has been a great course, and the best part is learning from the other students in our online classes. Most are from this area although they range from Rapid City to Georgia.
I am going to commit to writing on this blog at least twice a week. My family will say I'm a very private person, but now having lost of my parents I know it would be a disservice not to share thoughts, memories and passions with those close to me. Much of my family's history went with my parents and if we kids didn't record it the chances of doing so are lessened as uncles and aunts reach the end of their lives too. So thanks for checking this out. I hope it's worth your time as well as mine.
Dave
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)