The best of friends

“Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget.” Our lives are made exceedingly richer by our friendships. I was thinking of this this past week as one of my good friends -- Greg Schaefers -- celebrates his 50th birthday on February 25. Ironically, Greg and I went to the same school -- Hanson High School in Alexandria -- although he was seven years behind me. We didn't even know each other until we joined the same Army Reserve unit in Sioux Falls. And although I haven't talked with Greg in months, I know I could call him tomorrow and we'd recognize each other's voices instantly, and pick up a conversation like we'd never missed a day. Good friends are like that. “A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you just the way you are.” Over the years I've had many good friends and made a lot of great memories. And along the way I've lost some of my best friends. Three died way too young. Two of my closest high school buddies -- Barry Vlasman and Jerry Erpenbach -- have passed away. Barry went on to become a successful lawyer, practicing in Sturgis and later in Brookings. Jerry died in a motorcycle accident just outside of Alexandria when I was 22 and away at Indianapolis going through officer training for the Army. I was unable to attend his funeral, and I always felt something was missing -- that closure -- since I was unable to attend. Jerry and I used to cruise around Alex in his folks' blue pickup. Barry -- whose 57th birthday would have been on February 23 -- died about five years ago. We met in the 8th grade when Barry came to school from Fulton when our schools consolidated. We became friends with similar personalities. But after we left for college -- me to SDSU and Barry to USD -- we lost touch for several years. But after I returned to South Dakota, Barry often opened his Sturgis home to me when I drove out to Rapid City to attend weekend National Guard drills. And when he was around Alex he'd stop in and play with the kids. I remember his last visit -- he stopped in to see me in Montrose one Saturday while on his way home to Fulton. He was such a deep and thoughtful friend. It was just a matter of time later that Barry died. I felt that God obviously had an urgent need to call Barry home so young. And losing my brother Roger was probably hardest of all. Rog was the ideal big brother, mentor and friend. And his death at age 59 touched me deeply. Any problem I had, I could get advice or direction from Rog. And he was so even-tempered -- just my opposite. I cannot recall even once in all those years any instance of Roger ever raising his voice. He just wasn't that type of person. If I had a computer problem or something that required a big brother's advice, I'd call Roger. "Hey Bro," I'd say. And in his pleasant, easy manner, he'd respond, "Hey, Davy." I will never forget his voice. What a steady influence and great friend. When Rog died, a part of me died with him. “A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked” There were other good friends growing up. Lee Thomas was a good friend and high school teammate, and we spent a lot of time at each other's houses. I knew his parents well and he knew mine. And we played many games of 'whiffleball' in back yards around Alex. Then at freshman orientation at SDSU, I met another freshman -- Terry Harris -- who was majoring in journalism, and we became good friends and stood up at each other's weddings and became Godfathers to each other's children. And my years of army service account for many good friendships. That's no surprise, considering that camaraderie, trust and loyalty are hallmarks of the military profession. Wearing the same uniform in public identifies us as a brotherhood. Tom Berg was a good friend in the Army Reserve for many years, although I've lost touch with him over the past couple of years. And Lauryn Schumacher -- although he was enlisted and I was an officer -- became good friends after we drove out to Fort Carson together in the winter of 2003. Lauryn and I discovered we had a lot in common, and he was going through a particularly troubling time in his first marriage. We often crossed the Sand Hills of Nebraska, counting the windmills. Later in El Paso, TX, Lauryn and I would go jogging at 6 a.m. to get our fitness kick in before the start of the Army work day. And this past year I was a groomsman at Lauryn's wedding. There were so many other good friends from the Army Reserve. Some, like Bruce Blankley, are still "Facebook Friends" who I keep in touch with. "A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out." And now my best friend is Barb. Good marriages become great friendships. We rarely go anywhere without each other, whether it's shopping, church, computer time, even working out in the fitness center. We prefer each other's company. It's just not fun -- one without the other. We bounce ideas off each other. We text endlessly. We share in so many ways. Comedian Bill Cosby has said, "The heart of marriage is memories." It is the cement that strengthens that foundation.

That first job

There may be nothing as rewarding as earning your first paycheck. My first paying job -- the first regular paycheck I remember earning -- was working for the city of Alexandria after my freshman year of high school back in 1970. I don't remember the name of the program under which I was hired, but I do remember a little about that first job. There were a few kids my age who worked for the city -- about four, I believe. We did odd jobs -- mowed, picked up garbage or cut weeds at the ball park, painted fence near Greenhill Cemetery, and even helped clean up around abandoned houses. One of our favorite chores was emptying the garbage cans down at Lake Hanson, where we'd linger to watch the girls sunning themselves on the beach. Bud Wenande and Cliff "Putt" Mayhew were Alex's city workers, and I recall sitting around the city office talking with these guys from time to time, or riding in the front seat of the city's old, beat-up dump truck. It's kind of sad not to remember more about this job but that was 42 years ago. Thus began my contribution to the working world. After that city job I worked a summer hauling bales for several farmers, including Leona Egland, Kenny Letcher and Laverne Schoenfelder. I recall we would sit around the edge of the flatbed and ride out into the fields where two would pick up the bales and one on the flatbed would stack them. I hauled bales with several different kids that summer, but I remember in particular hauling bales with Roger and Duane Letcher. Stacking bales was an art form. If they were stacked correctly, a flatbed held many layers of bales interwoven into an almost solid unit. But if done sloppily, the stack would weave like an accordion -- or worse. Sitting on the stacked flatbed was common on the way back to the farm, so the tighter the stack, the better. Sitting on a carelessly stacked flatbed could be downright dangerous. To this day the smell of fresh-mown alfalfa reminds me of those days. And I can still smell the sweat-stained leather gloves we wore. Leather gloves were, of course, a necessity. With lots of practice one could throw bales several layers high to the stacker; but, of course, it also depended on the quality and cutting of the hay. Some bales weighed 50 pounds or more, while others -- depending on the time of year, amount of rain and the field itself -- would weigh less than half that. Then came the fun part -- unloading the bales -- sometimes outside on the ground, sometimes in a hayloft or shed, which could get very, very hot and dusty. I attributed hauling bales with my improvement of adding nine feet to my best shotput throws between my junior and senior years. I spent the summer after my freshman year of college working for Intercounty Electric in Mitchell. This meant riding up to Mitchell every day to meet the Intercounty crew at their shop on Mitchell's north end. I rode to work with Mr. Jon Wessel, who had been my football coach in high school and was now working for some outfit in Mitchell. I assisted one of the several crews who were headquartered out of Mitchell and drove every day in the Davison-Hanson-Miner-Sanborn county areas to set electrical poles, establish electrical connection or do any of dozens of other chores that were required of the electricians. The next couple of summers I worked for Hanson County's road crew, mostly helping to remove, install and fix fence with Berno Haiar and Leonard Tuschen. One summer I remember we worked most of the summer just a few miles east of Mitchell, where the county was widening a road. That meant tearing out the existing fence and then putting in new fencing along the widened roadway. The work day started early -- 7 a.m., and then we worked until 4 or 5 p.m. I remember, too, riding around in the county's old black maintenance truck with Berno usually behind the wheel. One job that wasn't really a job but I enjoyed immensely was riding along with Rog when he worked for Folsom's Store in Alexandria. Rog delivered milk and dairy goods to many area farms, along with Krumm's Tavern in Farmer and Cremer's Store in Spencer. Rog would let me accompany him in the small panel truck as he delivered dairy goods to those places, and I would get an ice cream bar as an added treat. But between my junior and senior years in college I spent six weeks in officer training at Ft. Lewis, WA, sandwiched in between shorter stints still working for Hanson County. Then after my senior year at SDSU I was commissioned and began my active duty tour with the Army. That's another story in itself, and may be the subject of another blog.

My sweet valentine

Barb, Happy Valentine's Day a few days early! What better time to write in words what I should be telling you each and every day? I was looking at valentine cards in Walmart a few days ago and some are very poignant and sweet and say exactly what I want to say. They're very pretty and heartfelt. But I thought, "Why rely on a card when I should tell you in my own words why you are so special to me?" No one else will say it in these exact words. During the past 5 years we've reminisced about what first attracted us to each other. It's been said often but still bears repeating. It started with your first visit to Montrose back in August 2006. The kids and I had just returned the day before from our rafting trip to Colorado. You and I had talked on the phone for about a month. But you drove up from Seward, NE all the way to Montrose -- a distance of 225 miles -- to meet me in person. You trusted me and made the commitment to come that far -- all alone. I was so impressed that such a pretty woman would go that distance just to meet me. I know your thoughtful response is that I had just got home from vacation with the kids and you didn't want me to have to travel again. Your thoughtfulness truly and deeply touched my heart. I remember your call when you got close to Montrose, and I stepped out on the front step to meet you. There was no GPS to follow then. And when you got out of the car, you took my breath away! You smiled and walked up to the house like we'd known each other for years. And remember that first meal? A well-done steak and a baked potato -- and no sour cream? You even remembered what I wore. Ugh! Cutoff shorts with white socks and sandals. How could I impress you with that? Did I REALLY wear that? You told me that you were impressed by my online picture holding my granddaughter Kyla in the kitchen. I doubt Kyla will ever know her role in my meeting my future wife. I was so impressed that you took a chance on me. I "winked" online at you from 225 miles away, not expecting such a pretty woman would give me the time of day or merit even a brief response. But you responded, and somehow we clicked. We talked on the phone. We had lots in common. And when you came up to Montrose that first time we watched "Legally Blonde." Oh yes, I'll always remember that movie. And then a week or two later you came back -- another 450 miles round trip -- to attend my Army Reserve unit's picnic with me. How could I not fall for a woman who so trusted me and enjoyed my company that she was willing to travel when I couldn't? And, of course, visiting you in Seward was great fun, even when you were working. I became familiar with Seward's bike trail, and brought some flowers from Walmart for your kitchen table. Your apartment was so "homey." It was so feminine, and smelled so good of candles and flowers... and you. They say that "The way to man's heart is through his stomach." Well, that was just "icing on the cake," so to speak,and to borrow an apt metaphor. I soon found out you were well known for your soups -- taco, potato and vegetable -- and beautifully decorated cakes, etc. And I've been known to like to eat. And we've had so much fun these past 5 years. We've been to Niagara Falls, El Paso, Branson, Memphis, and our next adventure will be Hawaii. I can't wait. We've laughed so much. I'm sure that's what keeps us young. And that's another trait that endeared you to my heart immediately. You laughed so easily. My favorite saying of yours is "You crack me up." I'm not normally a demonstrative person, but your gentleness, trust and humor helped put me at ease. My dry humor has found an outlet. You've seen a side of me not often or easily seen by others. And your smile is so sweet. Dimples form in your cheeks when your smile is so heartfelt. I look for that. And your green eyes are beautiful. I look into them and still wonder why or how I am so lucky as to be with this beautiful woman. I have loved having you as my best friend. You are passionate and compassionate. You are Christian and moral and have the same values I hold dear. We hold each other up when the other's down. I will always try to be your dragon-slayer -- your knight in shining armor. You took a chance 5 years ago and I want to ensure you never regret it. I love you, my sweetheart... always!

Dad, share your life with me

My purpose in blogging is to pass on to my children some of the family history, and to give them insight into what makes me the person I am. Having written that, I'm embarrassed and I owe an apology to Melissa for the following admission.... Back when Melissa graduated (this is how awful this is. I don't remember if it was her high school or college graduation), I bought a small spiral-bound booklet called "Dad, share your life with me...." For each day of the year, it asks the author to reveal a bit about himself. For example, on the February 14 page it says "Tell about a special valentine you once received." For April 10 it asks the writer to "Relate a favorite spring memory." Most prompts relate to that particular season or time of year, although some are simply unique, such as the June 2 entry, which asks "what was the funniest name or nickname in your town?" Now I thought that completing this book for Melissa would be a special gift that would give her an insight into my childhood and my personality. I am not a demonstrative person and so sharing some of my childhood memories I thought would be a great gift! Sadly and embarrassingly, at least 8 years later I still have not completed that book. Forgive me, Melissa! I will still complete this and hopefully you will find it enlightening. It may be somewhat repetitive as that was the original purpose behind my starting this Web log, and I've written about 30 of these in the past year. Some of these entries were no harder than jotting down facts, like January 1 -- "What was your day and date of birth?" Or January 6 and 7 entries asked for my mother's and father's full names. Piece o' cake. The early pages went on to ask more questions about the Stoltz family and what Mom and Dad did for a living. Who meted out the punishment? That's not hard. Pretty black and white. But the questions got harder, and a bit more painful. Some were poignant and plain thoughtful. Such as the January 23 entry requested, "Tell about the naughtiest thing you ever did. If you got caught, describe the consequences." My response, and one of the greatest regrets of my life, was this: "I took part in teasing a girl in our class who was 'mentally-challenged.' We were mean to her and I've never regretted any action so much in my life. She died at a young age and I regret never having had the chance to apologize and ask for forgiveness." Others were easily answered. January 27: "Did you ever have an imaginary friend?" My answer: "No." Some stirred distant memories. January 30: "Tell about the worst winter storm that you can remember as a child." That was the winter of 1968-69 when we were buried in so much snow that we could not get out our front door. A pathway was shoveled to the side door and we came and went through that. We missed weeks of school at a time because of the heavy snow and drifting, and I still remember each night looking out the front window toward the highway to see if the tree branches were blowing. Because if they were moving, we probably wouldn't have school the next day. Of course, there were questions about those people who touched my life... nicknames... favorite childhood meal... that "first crush"...church activities... favorite songs... bands... that first job. Through the years I've answered many of the questions. But some just defy a written answer. Either I don't have a memorable snippet or I just plain don't remember or it's not applicable. Melissa, you'll find some of the answers interesting and others just plain dull. Personally, I don't ever remember a mouse in the house (October 11) or a bat in the house (October 12). Later in life? Oh yes, the stories we all could tell about the bats who infiltrated the Alexandria Herald building. But growing up? No. No mice. Not bats, although I remember Roger finding an injured bat in the bed of marigolds. And mice? Uh uh. Mom would have none of that. Thankfully I don't have a memorable quip for the October 15 question: "Do you have a good school pants-wetting story?" Later on in that year, the questions turn toward my relationship with your mother and how it started, and then the questions were about you -- your "birth day" and your growing years. The questions for November and December concentrate logically on Thanksgiving and Christmas memories. And so, Melissa, your book has traveled with me from town to town -- from Canistota to Montrose to Sioux Falls to Hartford. And then just before Barb and I left in November for Tennessee, I considered whether to give the book to you (unfinished) or try to answer more of the questions. And I hate to ask this, Melissa, but do you mind if I hold on to it a bit longer? I think there's more good "blog material" in here. Certainly there's memories, and that's what this blog has been about. It's quite "me-centered," but I wanted to pass on to you -- my children -- all the things I've never mentioned or talked about. It will help you better understand who I am -- what made me the person I am today. And -- in the end -- I hope it was worth the wait.