St. Paul, Minnesota, Summer 1948
Almost certainly it was Aunt Agnes Hammer’s idea that my brother, David, age
12, and I, age 10, should accompany the Hammers to their home in St.
Paul. Life on a South Dakota Farm in 1948 was a far cry from life
today. Leaving the farm to go anywhere was a big deal. Both of my
parents spoke Norwegian fluently yet they seldom spoke it to each other.
Dad’s west coast dialect was so different than mother’s from Oslo they would
some times struggle to understand each other. My mother said when Dad and
his mother were in conversation she could barely make out what was being said.
Consequently, Mom and Dad used Norwegian as a code to keep secrets from the
children. When they would begin speaking Norwegian my siblings and I
would say “Can we go along? assuming a trip to town was being planned.
Once a week someone
would go to Sinai, the little village we considered our hometown. Many of
our neighbors would go on Saturday night but that was a bit worldly for Mom and
Dad. Saturday night was for baths and getting ready for going to church
on Sunday. The trip to Sinai was for groceries and other
necessities. It meant a seven mile automobile ride and the delights
of the city…population 150 (?). We attended a country church so Sunday’s didn’t
even get us to town.
Arlington was seven miles the other direction from Sinai, and, with 1000
people, it seemed very cosmopolitan. It had farm implement dealers so
we’d go there for spare parts and repairs. Our doctor and dentist were also
there and it had three car dealers. Sporadically we’d go the twenty five
miles to Brookings, the county seat and a metropolis of 5000.
Shopping, legal business and Christmas shopping would be the focus of those
trips. If we were lucky there would be an annual trip to either
Watertown or Sioux Falls. We often attended the State Fair in Huron but
never left the fairgrounds to explore the city.
Aunt Agnes, my mother’s sister next in age to Mom, along with her husband
Herald, daughter, Louise, four years older than I, and daughter Priscilla,
seven years younger than I, would spend two weeks with us every
summer. Herald worked at a St. Paul, post office and received two weeks
vacation each year. In 1948 (July?) David and I rode back with them to
St. Paul and spent two weeks there. They drove either a 1936 or
1938, brown, four door,Chevrolet, but they didn’t drive it very fast…it was an
eight hour trip…now I regularly drive it in four hours. It was must have
been very crowded with six of us plus luggage. I do remember stopping for
a picnic lunch…I’m guessing in New Ulm.
While we were with them they made certain to show us the sights of the Twin
Cities. Their house was at 2334 Carter Ave., in the St. Anthony Park
neighbor hood, near the Minneapolis City Limits. Agnes’ father, and my
grandfather, bought the house when he retired from ministry in South Dakota and
in 1939 Hammers bought it from Agnes’ mother, Minnie Bergh. It was a two
story house but not large. There was master bedroom on the first
floor and the girl’s bedrooms were on second. David and I slept on 2nd
floor summer porch at the back of the house. We were fascinated by
the train sounds from a train yard a few blocks away.
We saw downtown Minneapolis from the tallest building, the Foshay Tower…which
we can now see from our condo window. They took us to Como Park and the
flower conservatory in St. Paul. The huge onyx statue of The Father Of
Waters in the Ramsey County Courthouse was impressive as was the State Capital
Building. Agnes put us on the Como-Lake Harriet Street Car and we rode it
to the end of the line and back. We saw our first television in a store
window, perhaps an eight inch screen, showing snowy pictures. I bought my
first ball point pen…which soon leaked badly. Hammer’s took us to a beach
on the Wisconsin side of the St. Croix River. Herald dug in the sand and
came up with a 50 cent coin which impressed me and I didn’t discover until much
later he’d planted it there. It was fun hiking the trails along the
Mississippi River and we gaped at Minnehaha Falls.
For farm boys playing in the evenings with a large group of children in
Commonwealth Park north of Como Ave. was a delight. Our playmates at home
were our siblings unless it was a rare time when a neighbor boy slept over our
on Sunay when the cousins came. The games are lost to me but I still can
visualize the beautiful trees in the park. When we weren’t busy with
other activities we’d play on the front porch of the house where grandpa had
once visited with his brother via ear trumpets.
When our two weeks were over we boarded a Greyhound Bus, which took us back to
Arlington and our parents met us. I think I wrote home during the trip
but there were no phone calls. No doubt mother wrote to us. The phone, a
crank box on the wall, was only for emergencies and very important
business. Thinking about my first big trip, I’m again filled with
gratitude to the Hammers who extended themselves for two country
nephews/cousins.
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