from Story Worth 11/24/17

Memories of My Father

Perhaps it would be well to begin with some biographical information to set the stage.  My paternal grandparents, Lars and Sigrid (Graven) Negstad, knew each other in Norway but married at Lac Qui Parle Lutheran Church near Dawson, MN.  Sigrid had several siblings.  When she was a young girl she went to live with her childless aunt and uncle on a farm near the Negstad farm on the island of Averoy, Norway.  Her parents, the Halvor Gravens emigrated to America, settling in Lac Qui Parle County, before Sigrid did. She did see her parents from the time she went to live with her aunt until she was reunited with them as a young woman in America.   Grandpa worked as a logger and on railroad building in America  until he had enough money to purchase the rights to complete a homestead in Brookings County, S.D.   In 1885 Lars took his family by wagon to the land he purchased.

My Father, Albert Negstad, was born Dec. 22, 1883, Lac Qui Parle County, MN., and died March 2, 1969, Brookings, SD.   Dad used the initials A. L., as in A. L. Negstad, but neither he nor his brothers had a middle name.  Whence the L?  I never knew for sure but thought it may have been taken from his father’s name, Lars.  By the time he was a young man the family was quite affluent.   That changed with the financial crash, the depression and the drought of the 1930s.    Albert married Edith Bergh at her parents home in St. Paul, on November 28, 1929.  Even with children born in 1932, 1934, 1936 and 1938, Dad was able to support the family without losing the farm.

It was a big farm kitchen with many doors;  seven to be exact, they opened to outside, a store room, the north stairs (the house had separate areas upstairs, the north with a guest bedroom and the bathroom, the south with three bedrooms where out family slept) pantry and basement stairs, the south stairs, a smaller pantry and dining room.   In the center of the kitchen was a large table around which the six of us, seven when grandmother lived with us, ate.  Perhaps my earliest memory of Dad was sitting in his lap after supper (evening meal on the farm) and playing with his pocket watch.  He always wore bib overalls and in his chest pocket was his watch on a leather cord. 

The kitchen had double windows to the east looking out toward the east and over the yard toward the barn and granary.   In front of the window was a low sofa, perhaps a fainting couch.  Sometimes Dad would take a brief nap on it when work was not pressing.   In 1948 the cook stove in the kitchen was replaced by a combination stove.  One side was electric with an oven and four burners for use during warm weather.  The other half of the stove was heated with corn cobs, wood or coal or some combination of these.

Dad was strict and tolerated no nonsense.   One of my older female cousins who would help Mother said that if I got fussy at the table Dad would silently pick up my high chair and carry it to the other room then retrieve it silently as soon as I quieted down. Mother and Dad never disagreed in front of their children. Dad often would reflexively say “no” to requests.   Often he would come to me later with his position reversed.  I suspect Mother talked to him privately and persuaded him to change his answer.

It was not Dad’s style to ever enter into our children’s games.  He had a lively life of the mind and under other circumstances probably would not have been a farmer.  Other than seed time and harvest he was a man of regular routine.  He’d rise by 6:00 a.m. to milk the cows, breakfast next, a morning of farm work, dinner (noon meal on the farm) at 12:00, an afternoon of farm work, supper, the largest meal, at 6:00, and then milking again.  By about 8:00 he’d been in his rocking chair in the dinning room reading the paper, farm magazines and books until bedtime about 10:30.   He had very little schooling, as the oldest son he was needed on the farm…perhaps six grades…but his love of reading and learning made him self educated.

Dad’s age was never a topic of conversation.  Mother’s age was no secret and was easy to track because she was born January 7, 1900.  It was an accident that I learned Dad’s age when I was eight.  I was with my parents in some government office in Brookings on some official business and dad was asked his age….“Sixty three” he said.  That startled me and even at eight I could do the math and figure out there was sixteen years difference between my parents and that he was fifty-five when I was born.  He didn’t show his age but I’m sure that it was factor in his understanding of a father’s responsibility.

Apparently Dad was quite athletic and a risk taker as a young man.  There is a picture of him standing on the very top of the windmill above any handhold.   My classmate, Lloyd Hope was staying overnight with me  when we were boys, and, after milking we were trying to stand on our heads in the grass.  Dad, walking by with a pail of milk saw what we were doing .  He set the pail down, put hands to the ground and quickly stood on his head.   He was at least in his mid-sixties at the time.

He was not verbally affirming; it was the Nordic “everything’s alright and if it’s not I’ll tell you”.  I never heard “I love you” but always knew that he did so the lack of the words has never troubled me.   In retrospect some greater affirmation could have been helpful but it just was not who he was.

Dad was very interested in politics and he was a Lincoln Republican, fiscally and militarily conservative, but progressive in his understanding of human rights and racial equity.  He supported Taft over Eisenhower for the Republican nomination for president because Eisenhower favored universal military training.  His sense of equality had one blind spot…he was prejudiced against Irish.  Reading Ole Rolvaag’s books about the tension between the pioneering neighboring Irish and Norwegian communities helped me understand where that prejudice may have originated.

Quality was important to him and he would pay for it.  When I was in early elementary school I needed a winter cap.  My mother told him to buy me one when I accompanied him to Brookings.  In Montgomery Wards store we found one.  It was helmet style with a leather exterior and sheepskin inside and a leather strap that buckled on the chin.  When mother learned that he had paid $4.50  for it she was shocked by the extravagance.  But, my head was never cold even though there was short tear in the top because I didn’t duck quite low enough going under a barbwire fence on my sled.  I wore it for many years and eventually Mother conceded its value.

A gift, for which I never thanked my parents, was providing orthodontic care for me.  I had a very significant overbite.  Our local dentist told my parent about Dr. Marens, the first orthodontist in South Dakota whose practice was in Sioux Falls.  So, I got braces when I was in seventh grade.  Every three weeks for two years it meant a seventy mile drive to the orthodontist.   Fortunately commuting duties could be shared with neighbor, Donald Evenson’s parents because he, too, had braces.  This was a huge sacrifice for my parents, for which they never made me feel guilty, but, I’m sorry I never thanked them.

Community leadership came naturally to him.  The community recognized him for his wisdom and impeccable integrity.  Yes, he was good man, a good father, and a loyal and loving husband.