From Story Worth 12/30/2017

    Lisa asks Did I ever get in trouble in School?

     Did I get in trouble at school? Not until 4th grade, unless you count the time shortly after I began school that I decided I didn’t like school and walked home. Lloyd Hope, my classmate in grades 1-12 likes to tell of a time he was sleeping over at my house. We had to stay after school. When my dad noticed we were home late he said “You boys were late tonight.” I said “we had to stay after school for something we didn’t do” “O” he said “what was that?” I said “we had to stay after for not doing our arithmetic.” Dad laughed. I have no memory of this and have only Lloyd’s word that it is true.

    “Ever” should be “always” as in I was always in trouble...nothing very serious just persistently annoying to my teachers. One of my elementary teachers made the mistake of getting in a power struggle with me about doing math problems. She made me stay after to do them, which I still didn’t do and she was trapped there with me. There was an upside for me, too. Much of the evening chores would be done by the time I finally got home.

From Story Worth 12/23/17

Lisa asks: What is one of the most selfless thing you've done?

   Wow! It’s much easier to write about something stupid I’ve done than something selfless. This question about selflessness challenges something deep in my core. Self-promotions was forbidden, but, it was so much a part of the ethic with which I was raised that I cannot remember any specific admonitions against it. However, the values were deeply inculcated. Likely that is attributable to my Scandinavian heritage. Egalitarianism was the rule of the day. “Don’t blow your own horn!” While, you may be as good as everyone else, by all means don’t act as if you are superior to another.

    There is a story which I think illustrates this moral with a bit of humor.

    “Paddy, an Irishman, and his Norwegian neighbor, Ole, are running against each other for a seat on the county commission. They are invited to give a campaign speech at the country fair. Paddy goes first. When he is done speaking the Irish in the crowd give him a rousing ovation ‘Way to go Paddy!’ ‘Paddy’s our man!’ When the cheering dies down Ole gives his speech. When he finishes his speech the Norwegians in the crowd say in disgust ‘Who does he think he is?’”

    Trying to answer this question of ‘selfless things I’ve done’ provokes an existential crisis! Even trying to think about a selfless thing I have done seems a stretch too far. As soon as I think of something selfless I did, all of the intangible benefits I received from that act come to mind. Then, whatever it was, no longer seems selfless. What I have done, that may appear selfless to another, doesn’t seem selfless to me.

    Philosophically, or perhaps theologically, I do not believe that there is such a thing as a pure motive. All supposedly selfless acts are contaminated by some aspect selfishness.

    So, there you have it, my ruminations about being selfless with no examples of selfless behavior.

from Story Worth 12/13/17

ONE OF THE STUPIDEST THINGS I'VE DONE

   Having done an incredible number of stupid things it is difficult to prioritize them. Therefore, I’ve chosen something a bit more global than an isolated dumb thing. Previously I’ve written about the one room country school which I attended. It was the site of some stupid things that I did. However, my focus will begin with something that began in elementary school but carried far beyond it.

    Judging from my report cards I was a good student....for three years. While in the first three grades all my marks were very good...including deportment, i.e., behavior on which we were graded. All that changed in the fourth grade where, I shifted from being a good student, to being one where my goal became to see how little I could do and still get by. Passing and grades became the goal, and learning was not important. This behavior continued through high school.

    Obviously that attitude did not serve me well and the reckoning came when I began college. Perhaps, even had I been a serious scholar, the shift to college would have been difficult. But, given my total lack of academic discipline for all those years, the adjustment was much harder. The joy of learning had passed me by and any studying I did was test or grade oriented. Thinking back on those years always brings pangs of regret for the opportunities I missed. On the other hand, I am deeply grateful for the second, third, fourth...chances I had so that recovery was possible. Perhaps my own history explains, at least in part, my joy now working with elementary students when I see their faces light up with discovery

From Story Worth 12/9/17

Memories Of Country School   

Perhaps I inhabit an alternative universe. Volunteering as I do now at Noble Academy, a Hmong charter school in Brooklyn Park, MN. Is a total contrast to the one room school I attended for eight grades. At Noble there are multiple computers in the classroom plus a computer lab with over thirty computers. The white board at the front of the classroom is computerized, like a huge touch screen monitor. When I asked a class which four countries border Thailand their first impulse was to turn to Google.

    Contrasted with my current universe was my elementary schoolhouse. Teaching aids were blackboards, a sand table and a globe suspended by rope hanging in the corner. The alphabet, in Palmer Method Cursive, was on cards above the blackboards. There was metal wall locker with a few books. For my first eight years heat was from coal stove which had to be stoked in the morning. The building was not insulated so no heat was retained overnight. The last four years I was there we had an oil burner so it could be turned down but kept a bit of warmth overnight. There was electricity for the hanging lights but I never remember plugging anything into a wall socket. Water was outside and came from a cistern which was replenished from run off from the roof. Water was accessed via a long handled pump. For a drink of water during school there was a five gallon Red Wing Crock with a spigot at the bottom. Lunches were carried from home in lunch buckets or syrup pails. Lunches were left in the entry room until noon and on the coldest days sandwiches might be frozen. Two outhouses, one for girls and other for boys, were behind the school. Old fashioned desks (think little house on the Prairie) were screwed to wood runners in three rows with the bigger desks at the back. Pictures of Abraham Lincoln and George Washington hung high on the front wall between the Regulator Clock. The teachers desk was like a typical office desk holding a brass hand bell for calling students in from recess and lunch. There were two 15 minute recesses, one morning and one afternoon. Lunch hour varied; if it was an hour we got out for the day at 4:00 but some years it was thirty minutes and then school ended at 3:30 but school always began at 9:00.

The amenities outside made us count our blessings as we compared our school with others. The school yard was quite large, two and half acres (?) and was ringed by a double row of quite young fir trees, 6-15 feet high, which served very well for any games that involved hiding. There was a hill, steep and long enough, for sledding. Below the hill was room for a ball diamond. About my fourth grade year The horse barn was dismantled about my fourth grade year (it had been many year since anyone had ridden horse back to school) and the wood used to make a backstop for baseball.

The school has an interesting role in our family history. My father, born 1883, was the first to attend as did his three siblings. In 1927 my mother, a single woman began teaching there. Needing a place to board she got a room with my father and his widowed mother. Dad liked to kid that she came for a room and never left. While she taught there one of her students was the father of her son’s wife. Two of my cousins attended during the thirties, Leslie and Marjorie Negstad. Finally, my three siblings and I attended. I was five when I began...no kindergarten...and didn’t turn six until my October 28, birthday. My way was eased by a sister and two brothers, which, I suppose was particularly helpful walking that mile to school and back as a first grader.

Country schools were supervised by a county school superintended elected by popular vote. Miss van Maanen was the first one I remember. She drove some old car...not a Ford or Chevy...’20s vintage. During our school day she would approach the school from the east which offered a slight downhill decline in the road. Depressing the clutch she’d coast silently into the school yard, exit her car quietly and noiselessly enter the entry. From the entry she’d listen, none of us knew she was there, I suppose to evaluate the teacher’s classroom management, before entering the classroom. At the end of eight grade all the country school students would assemble in Brookings for standardized testing before we passed into ninth grade.

The annual Christmas pageant was always a big thing. With a wire stretched from wall to wall across the front third of the room and wires from that to the front wall, curtains were hung creating stage left and right. The opening in the center was the stage area. All the families came for the evening production so the room was crammed with standing room only. Naturally it all ended with eating Christmas cookies.

Teaching must have been a challenge. During my eight years there was always at least one student in each of the eight grades. The teacher would gather a class by her desk for instruction but of course everyone could hear everything being said. Three teachers presided during my tenure; one for my first three years, a different one for each of fourth and fifth grades and one for the last thee. The final teacher, Bonnie Pierce, boarded with us during the week and went home to Bruce, S.D., weekends.

Lost in the mists of time is much clarity about what I learned. Obviously I learned to read, write and the basics of arithmetic. Home was probably as educational as school. I do remember my mother teaching my how to outline, a skill that has served me well over the years. My parents were always grammatically correct which has been both helpful and not. On the one hand, I can tell by hearing what is proper grammar. On the other hand, in English classes when studying the finer points of grammar I didn’t pay much attention and just relied on my ear. That came back to haunt me when I studies foreign languages in college and finally had to learn the essentials of grammar.

Evaluating my elementary experience is hard. At a basic level it did what it was supposed to do. I graduated, finished high school and graduated from college and seminary. It taught me the basics and I learned much from the interactions with the other students both older and younger. It is impossible to recover where I learned what I now know. Much of had to have come from elementary school. At the least it retains a place in my memory of a time long ago in a far different world that no longer exists.

Recommended Reading: Strangers In Our Midst

    This one may be a bit 'off the radar' with a local author and publishing company.  Strangers In Our Midst, Kathleen Vellenga, 2013, 40 Press.  Kathleen, the descendant of two of the characters in her historical novel, has deeply researched both her Mayflower roots and the Wampanoag Indian tribe for this book.  She served in the Minnesota House Of Representatives 1981-1994.
   Kathleen was at our book club when we discussed her book.  The plot as it relates to the passengers on the Mayflower is very accurate historically.  She did deep research on the Wampanoag Indians, and, while the story is largely fictitious, members of the tribe have verified that her representations of their life and customs are accurate.
  The main thrust of the story revolves around the friendship, fictitious, of  two young girls, one from the Mayflower and the other from the Wampanoags. The narrative shifts voices alternating  between these two young women.  Elizabeth is Kathleen's ancestor; there is quite a bit of historical record about her and many of the details in the book are true to that.  Attitash, the Indian women is fictional.
   The sequel In The Midst Of Bounty, was published in 2016 and picks up where the other book left off.  Vellenga is working on a third book that follows the same characters.

From 'Story Worth" 12/2/17

HIGH SCHOOL FRIENDS THEN AND NOW

     There were two boys on neighboring farms my age when we children. Together we attended eight years of country school and many years of Sunday School.  Wayne Risty lived two miles away and Lloyd Hope lived three and half.  We began elementary school together and remained classmate until we graduated from Sinai High School in 1956 and then we went our separate ways. While in elementary school Lloyd and I occasionally stayed over night in each other's home but Wayne and I never did. 

    Lloyd was one of six children so staying at his house was fun.  He had two older brothers and a younger brother and two younger sisters. Lloyd's father, Arndt, had immigrated from Norway, via Canada.  He was very extroverted and his Norwegian was better than his English.  The Hopes milked many cows by hand.  Arndt would carry on long conversations with himself in Norwegian as he milked.

    There were eleven students in the freshman class when we began High School.  In that first year my closest friends were Roger Husby and Wayne Quam,  We were "The Three Musketeers."   But, Wayne dropped out after a year to work as a bridge builder, which he did until he retired, a bit early, because his knees were worn out from the work.  Wayne, who died a couple of years ago, never recovered from the death of his only child, a daughter who died as a young women.  We seldom saw each other over the years even though he was never far from Sinai.  However, a few years ago I stopped at his rural farmhouse one day for a visit.  He was home alone because his wife was at work.  It was a good visit but unfortunately our last.  Charles Sween also dropped out of school and Mark Stime transferred to a Lutheran Boarding School, Augustana Academy, Canton. S.D.  Mark now lives in Brookings and we are in regular contact via Facebook.

    Roger and I continued on as best buds.  We were both on the football and basketball teams.  Roger's family moved to Brookings but, Roger not liking school there, rented a room in Sinai and graduated from Sinai High with me.  After graduation Roger enlisted in the Army and I enrolled at South Dakota State University.  When he was home on leave we'd see each other but he soon moved away and our contacts were very infrequent.  He married a couple of times, had several children and lived in Iowa and other more southern states.  The last time we talked was about thirty years ago when he called me, though I don't remember much of the conversation.  Several of his siblings remained near Sinai so I would hear about him from them.  Roger died as an unrecovered alcoholic.  

    During high school Lloyd and I were not particularly close though we were on the basketball team together.  During my second year at State College we roomed together.  Lloyd had gone to a trade school in S. D., and was working as a cabinet maker in Brookings.  His older brother, Rolf, and David Halvorson (also from Sinai) were also attending State.  We lived in the tiny basement, with two other students, Larry and Jim (who were uncle and nephew), of Reuben and Doris Skordal.  Reuben and Doris were originally from Sinai. too.

    Three years out of high school Lloyd married Judy Sneve when she graduated from Sinai High.  They lived several places including Brookings, Richfield, MN. and Sinai.  Judy died of cancer but before she did she told Lloyd that after her death he should marry the widow who lived next door to them in Richfield.  They were married but eventually divorced and Lloyd moved to Volga, S.D., where he lives now.

    While we seldom saw each over the years we remained connected by Sinai and his siblings who lived there.  Some years ago (eight?) needing a fourth person for our golf group we invited Lloyd to join us.  He played with us for several years until he moved to Volga.  Golf gave us the most regular and extended contact we'd had since we lived together in 1957-58.  When I'm in S.D. now we regularly have dinner together.

   Of the eight of us who graduated together four have died.  In September, while I was in S.D., I called Lloyd and Eleda (Sagmoe) Brotsky, and, over dinner, we had a mini-class reunion which included Joanne and Eleda's husband, Bob.  Eleda and Bob live near Brookings.   She taught nursing at South Dakota State for many years and is now retired.

    Wayne Risty and I were in contact until his death a couple of years ago.  After the Army he lived out west awhile, then lived near Sinai and finally in Brookings.  He farmed with his brother on the home farm where he grew up.  Commuting to the farm from Brookings he'd drive through Sinai.  If he saw me at my Sinai Garage he'd stop to talk.  Wayne, had a large family, eight children in all.

Sapiens...recommended reading

    Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, Yuval Noah Harari, 2015 HarperCollins 416pp.

   There's nothing like assuming a bold task and writing a one volume of humankind certainly qualifies as bold.  The book is surprisingly readable and full of new insights for me.  While, I didn't find much with which to argue, a genuine academic critique of many of his assertions is beyond my ability.
    The book jacket says "One hundred thousand years ago. at least six human species inhabited the earth.  Today there is just one.  Us. Homo sapiens. How did our species succeed in the battle for dominance?...
    "In Sapiens, Professor Yuval Noah Harari spans the whole human history, from the very first humans to walk the earth to the radical--and somewhat devastating--breakthroughs of the Cognitive, Agricultural, and Scientific Revolutions.  Drawing on insights from biology, anthropology, paleontology, and economics...he explores how the currents of history have shaped our human societies, the animals and plants around us and even our personalities."
   

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. 

11/18/17 My First Big Trip

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 2^nd 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.

From 11/10/17 "Story Worth"

How did I get my first job?

       Doesn't that seem like the easiest question in the world?   But, it has me stumped.  How did I get it?  But, more basically what was it?   Growing up on a South Dakota farm in the '40's and '50's was very different than much of anything today.   Farm children were working, at least on our farm and the others that I knew, from a very early age.  How old were we when we were first sent to bring the cows up from the pasture for milking?  How old were we when we collected eggs?  When did we start watering the calves in the barn or start milking cows?  

       Child labor on the farm could be divided into two categories.  In the first category would be daily chores.  This would include milking cows twice a day.  Feeding and watering the calves housed in the barn was an afternoon job.  The chickens had to be fed daily and the eggs were also collected daily.   One of the duties I found hard was to go to the barn after dinner ( we called it supper) to milk when it was sub-zero cold.  Included in this category could be other duties like yard word, mowing, shoveling snow, cutting firewood, carrying cobs and coal to the house and much more.

        The other category could be called field work and that was sporadic.  Manually this work was very arduous at times such as haying and harvest.  Perhaps my least favorite duty ever was, when on cold spring days, with the wind blowing (the wind always blew), picking up rocks that the frost had lifted from the ground over winter.  It seemed that we spent much time with either a pitchfork or a shovel in our hand. Tractor work I didn't mind so much: plowing, discing, cultivating, harrowing and much more.

         But. this doesn't answer how I got my fist job.  Wayne Henricksen was a local farmer for whom I worked off and on for some years and this was probably my first real job away from our farm.  It entailed the usual farm work.  He also did custom corn shelling.  In those days corn was harvested 'on the ear' and stored in cribs.  Before it could be sold the kernels had to be shelled from the cobs and that's where a custom corn sheller would be employed.  There were two or three shellers in the community who would be contracted by the farmers to do their shelling.   We would pull the Minneapolis Moline corn sheller to a farms cribs and we'd also provide a truck for hauling the corn to the local grain elevator.  Corn shelling was back breaking work.

        Wayne also bailed flax straw for sale.  Flax straw is used to make fine paper and linen. There was a good market for it. Flax was a crop that farmers added to the small grains and corn.  Flax straw is very tough and farmers were glad to get rid of it.  Wayne,working with is brother-in-law, Gene Olsen and a friend, Charles Larson, running two balers and two trucks,would bale hundreds or acres and thousands of bales.  I spent many hours baling. loading, trucking and unloading.

        Yet...I don't remember how I actually started working for Wayne.  I think it was probably in my last year of high school. I do remember how I got my job for the summer of '57, after my first year of college.  Earl Sorensen lived a mile and a half east of our farm.  He connected me with his brother, Herald,  who lived twenty miles west of us and had a big farm.  So, I signed on as his hired man for the summer. If I remember correctly, I was paid $145. a week.  I lived with his family; he had a wife and 2 year old daughter.  We had breakfast at 5:30 a.m., dinner at noon and supper at 9:00 p.m, six days a week. I had Sunday off.  One of the perks of working for Herald was driving his new John Deere Model 70 diesel. 

        I can remember no off the farm jobs before my enlistment in the USMC began in 1959/

From 11/3/17 "Story Worth"

My Favorite Toys As A Child

   We (my three siblings and I) had toys.  Growing up on a farm in South Dakota in the 1940's, having toys was not a given.  I remember visiting neighboring children who had no toys.  There was no assumption that parents owed it to their children to provide them with toys.  In fact, much of our play as children on the farm did not involve toys.  There were trees to climb, a barn with a hay mow full of hay in which to play, places to walk and swim, bottles to collect along the roads which brought 2 cents when redeemed at the store, snow for forts and snowmen, games of tag and hide and seek, etc.  With brothers two and four years older than I, and a sister six years older, there were often others with whom to play and that influenced the choice of toys.  We were fortunate enough to have a variety of toys and others with whom to play.

    We had toys, quite a few actually.  Some belonged to us all and others to one child specifically.  Among my favorites was an old, i.e., older than I, cast iron, rubber tired tractor.  It was red but not a specific replica of any brand.  Yes, my fascination with tractors began early.  My brother, David, had an Erector Set.  It was full of perforated steel strips, corners, angles, wheels and axles accompanied by screws, washers and nuts to build structures and machines to match one's imagination.  Hours and hours were spent with it.  It was preceded by Tinker Toys, small wooden dowels of various lengths accompanied by round wooden pieces drilled with holes into which the dowels would fit.  We built with it to our hearts content.   We also had a Carom Board,  about three feet square with targets guarded by wooden pegs at which we shot round, wooden, missiles; launching them with a snap of the fingers.  ( A bit like a miniature pool table.)

   Face cards, like those used for poker, were considered evil but we had Rook and other card games.  My parents would sometimes gather with neighbors to play a card game called Somerset, a bidding and trick taking game.  I've not seen a set of these cards for 70(?) years.

   At some point we got a 'family bicycle'.  It was a 'boys' bike but sister Lucille also rode it.  It was blue and white, single speed, as were all the bikes in the neighborhood. Every year our father would take our picture on our birthday and the bike appears on some of those pictures.  Before I finished elementary school, I'd guess about 6th grade, I bought my own bike.  It had belonged to Curtis Holm, six years older than me, who lived across the road.  Curtis had graduated to his own car so I purchased his bike for $10.00.  A bit fancier than most it was maroon,and, of course, fat tired.

   While we shared a bike my brothers and I each had our own snow sleds. There was hill in the pasture just north of the barn down which we could slide.  But, most of their use was at school which had a steep little hill for sliding,   Mine was the famous 'Flexible Flyer' model and could be steered by pulling on the front bar.  Once, while walking the mile to school on a snowy day, pulling our sleds, a neighbor, Frank Teller, stopped his '50s something Buick Roadmaster.  He told us to hook the ropes of our sleds to his back bumper and we got an exciting ride to school with snow and gravel flying in our faces.

   Two toy wagons were used for both play and work.  The green one was so old that it had lost its hard rubber tires before I could remember. Eventually it was supplemented with a new red Radio Flyer.  We'd use it for many things including coasting down hills.  

   Perhaps to our most unusual plaything was an old buggy.  The seats were gone and the front pole used to hitch to a pony was off.  In place of the pole a rope was tied to the front axle, one side of the rope on the left and the other on the right.   By pulling on the rope the rider could steer the buggy.  With it's large wheels it moved easily and provided many thrilling rides down the pasture hill.  Of course there were no brakes and we'd have to pull it up hill again but it was very light and that was easy.

   Ah, yes, of course there was also plenty of work to do so we were seldom bored.

This Just In "Chaing Rai"

   The second year that I taught school in Thailand I roomed with another American, Nick, in a small house in family compound in Ayutthaya. A daughter of the host family, Pear, was then in junior high and she was very interested in learning English so she and I talked often.
  In the years since I've stayed in touch with Pear via Facebook.  I've also visited with her in person and gone to dinner with her and her family.  Pear attended a university in Chaing Rai, Thailand's northernmost city, where instruction is in English.   When I saw Pear earlier this year she told me that her graduation would be in February and invited me to attend, though the dates had not been set yet. (Quite a contrast to American universities where the academic calendar is set years in advance.)
  Today's Facebook message from Pear informed me that her graduation ceremonies will be Feb. 12-16, 2018, which is while I will be in Thailand.  I plan to attend.  It's been 12? years since I was in Chaing Rai and I've never attended a university event in Thailand.  Will the ceremonies be in English?  If so, many families will not be able to understand, but,if it is in Thai I'll be out.  No matter. I'll be able to enjoy the festivities either way.  Needless to say I'm excited.

At dinner with Pear's family...Pear between her parents.

With Pear.

"Boys in the Boat" Recommended Reading

   The subtitle of Boys in the Boat: Nine Americans and Their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics, Daniel James Brown, 2013,  is instructive.  The boys are rowers in an 'eight oar boat' so there are eight plus the coxswain. The climax is their performance at the Olympics, but, the book is much more than that.  It's primary focus is one of the boys, Joe Rantz, and it gives his biography from birth to death.
   This is a very rich book putting the rowing events, and the lives of the participants, in historical context.  It relates the events that were happening in America as background to the lives of the rowers, e'g., the Great Depression.  As the books moves toward the 1936 Olympics it places those games in the historical context of Nazi Germany, Hitler's rise to power, and the propaganda power of the Olympics for Hitler's Germany.
   Inspiration drips from the book which details the sacrifices and struggles the boys endure for a perfect row.  It is a moving testimony to the beauty and power of the human spirit.  A friend said it was the best book he ever read.  I would not put it in that category but I do think it is a very good book and I'm glad I read it.
 

"First Family"; Recommended Reading

    Abigail and John Adams were unique in a number of ways, not least of which was as America's 2nd president.  Joseph J. Ellis biography owes much to their extensive correspondence.  Because his  duties often took him from home the letters written between them provide a rich trove of historical material, far beyond what is available for any of the other founders of our nation.  The book's full title is First Family: Abigail and John Adams.
   Abigail's first billing in the title of the book is an acknowledgement of the her significance both to her husband and to the nation.  She was his rock, intellectual partner and a leader in her own right. When John is away working with others on the Constitution she keeps urging him "not to forget the ladies" which prompts John to respond "next you'll be wanting women to vote."
   Neither Thomas Jefferson nor Alexander Hamilton come off very well.  Jefferson for playing dirty political tricks when Adams is running for a second term in spite of their long friendship.  They do reconcile in old age when both have retired from public life.  However, Abigail shows her mettle and adroit use of language when she confronts Jefferson via letter.
   Hamilton, though of Adam's own party, did much to undermine the President.  Reconciliation was never achieved because Hamilton was killed in a duel.  My reading is that Ellis was doubtful that it could have been achieved anyway.
   The extensive correspondence also allows insight into Adam's family life.  Two sons die as alcoholics and their daughter, trapped in an unhappy marriage, died of breast cancer.  One son, John Quincy, became a one term president like his father.
   It's not surprising that this well written book went on to be a National Bestseller.  I recommend it.
 

A Good Word For a Civil Servant.

      I remember reading a comment some years ago from a person who had an unpleasant encounter with a clerk is some government office, i.e, a person in civil service..  The commentator said to the person behind the counter "I don't expect you to be a servant but I do expect you to be civil."   I was reminded of that today when I went to the Hennepin County Service Center to transfer a title.
    This adventure began when I attended Orville and Helen Schultz auction sale.  Though there were several antique tractors on the sale I came away without one.  What I did buy was a trailer...a tractor hauler...an upgrade from the one I've been using.  Trailers are titled and licensed so I needed to transfer the title into my name.
   The Service Center is about four blocks from our condo.  This afternoon I went to do the transfer.  At the information desk I explained what I needed and was given a number which would be called when it was my turn.  After a ten minute wait my number was called.  As I approached the counter Kathleen, the clerk, welcomed me warmly, facilitated the process with a smile and in about five minutes the task was complete,  A pleasant wish from her sent me on my way.
    She was more than civil.  Her attitude turned the encounter into a day brightener.  It's not hard to imagine the unpleasant  situations she encounters but it hasn't jaded her.  Thanks, Kathleen!
   

In The School Year, 1943-1952 (Part II)

       The usual school day was 9:00 until 4:00 with 15 minute recesses morning and afternoon. Lunch was an hour, so we'd get our lunches from the entry and eat quickly at our desks.  With lunch consumed we hurried outside to play.
       When we weren't playing baseball or sliding on our sleds we'd chose another game.  Pump Pump Pull Away was popular.  Sides were chosen with one person it who was between the to two sides lined up facing each other about 20 yards apart. At a signal the the players would switch sides while trying to avoid being tagged by the one who was it.  Anyone tagged joined the person who was it in the center and would assist with the tagging.  The game ended when everyone had been tagged.
         Often we'd play Kick the Can.  One person (or a team of people if the group is large) is designated It and an empty can is placed in the open playing field. With eyes closed, It counts to an agreed upon number, and the other players run and hide. It then tries to find and tag each of the players, always keeping a watchful eye on the can. Any player who is tagged is sent to the "jail," usually in plain sight of the can. The rest of the free players attempt to kick the can before being tagged out. If they can kick the can without being caught, they set all the captured players free.
        Winter sports often used sleds for sliding.  But the ball field below the hill was also suitable for Fox And Goose.  It seemed most of our games featured running, which I guess was good for us.  
       Ante Over was played by throwing a ball over either the coal shed or the school house.  With teams on either side of the building a ball was thrown over the roof.  The team who caught the ball would race around the building and try to tag the other team before they could get to the other side. Those tagged would then join the team that had tagged them until all players were tagged.
      Those who arrive at school early would play until the school bell rang.  The bell was a small brass hand bell.  That bell also announced the end of recess and lunch hour.  There were no games after school as all students headed home for their evening chores.  Evening chores will be subject for a future blog.

I, and my three siblings are in the picture.  1946

Recommended Reading: The Edge Of the World

    Actually the full title of this book by Michael Pye is The Edge Of The World: How The North Sea Made Us Who We Are.  Not a quick read, this book of 328 pages of small print makes an interesting argument.  Essentially Pye argues that between 700 and 1700 CE, what we usually call the Dark Ages and the Middle Ages, in northern Europe many features of our common life were being developed. He contends that those developments are are commonly over looked.
    Those feature are things like written law, monetary systems. capitalism, fashion, overseeing nature, the power of traders, and the significance of major cities.  Progress did not end with the fall of Rome only to finally restart with the Renaissance.  These developments owed much to the proximity of the North Sea.
   He does not minimize what was occurring in southern Europe.  His argument is, that the developments of northern Europe during that millennium need to be understood for a complete historical record.
  The book reminds me a bit of another book; How The Irish Saved Civilization which treats of the contribution made by Irish monks and others in keeping learning alive during the time about which Pye writes.
   If you choose to read The Edge...and I do recommend it, I'd suggest  studying the introduction.  In it Pye does a very good job establishing the framework for the book.  His style is indirect so knowing his thesis is very important.  If I were to critique one aspect of his writing it would be that indirectness.  I found myself often wishing he'd just clearly say something rather than letting inference carry the message.  However, this is one book I'd like to re-read...maybe someday?

In the School Yard, 1943-1952 (part I)

     Sunshine School, District #21, (I think that's the correct #?) lay on the next section north east of our farm...a mile from our house and 'uphill both ways' of course. It was the site of my first eight years of school and was five when I first walked that mile.  Typically, there were about twelve students in the eight grades with one teacher.
     We considered ourselves fortunate because there was a hill on the school grounds which was steep enough to use to slide our snow sleds.  The track down the hill would take a little grooming and then we'd get a good ride on our "Flyer" or which ever model of sled we had.  Running as fast we could we'd slam belly down on the sled at the top of the hill and get a good ride to the bottom.
     Five structures graced the grounds when I began school.  There were outhouses (no running water in the school) for girls and boys, a coal shed, horse barn and the school house.  When I was in the 5th grade an oil burned replaced the coal stove so the room would still be warm in the morning...the building had no insulation...and the coal shed was used for storage.
     When students no longer rode horseback to school, student's fathers gathered one day and turned the barn into a backstop for our baseball games.  The level ground at the base of the hill was large enough for a baseball field.  However, the right field was not very deep and a ball hit that direction could end up in the road ditch.  Balls lost in the tall grass had to be recovered to continue the game because we had only one ball.  If a few minutes of searching did not recover the ball, a boy would roll in the grass until he felt a bump, i.e., the lost ball.
     The special nature of our school grounds was further enhanced by a double row of fir trees on three sides; east, north and west with  partial rows on the south.  With five structures and the trees Hide And Go Seek was a favorite game because of all the good hiding places.
     There were two permanent pieces of playground equipment.  A rather high teeter totter with long planks that lifted one high in the air.  Older boys would use it as a challenge ride for daring bicycle stunts.  A wheel on a fifteen foot high steel post provided an unusual swing.  Chains draped from the wheel and had wooden hand holds attached at various heights.  Students would hold on, run rapidly and lift their feet for circular ride.

(To be continued.)

Note the trees...I'm wearing bib overalls :)

Remembering my brother, Richard, on his birthday.

    Four years older than I, Richard was such a huge presence in my growing up.  I'm now 16 years older than he was when he died.  In my imagination I always saw the three of us, Richard, David and I growing old together.  Now it is almost 20 years since he died.
   The enclosure is copied from the Volga Tribune.

# 2 David, # 7 Me and #11 Richard in elementary school.

"In The Garden Of The Beasts" another book worth reading

    William E. Dodd was the American Ambassador to Germany, living with his family, his wife Martha, son William Jr. and daughter, also Martha, in Berlin from 1933 until the end of 1937.  His time there coincided with Hitler's rise to power.  Dodd, who came from an academic background was not well supported by the the U.S State Department and was never included in the elite club of wealthy ambassadors. He tried in vain to warn his superiors of the threat that Hitler and the Nazi's were to Western Civilization.  When he returned to the U.S. he actively tried to rouse the country out of it's dangerous isolation.
    The full title of the book is In The Garden of The Beasts: Love, Terror and an American Family in Hitler's Berlin.  The book, written by Erik Larson and a New York Times #1 Bestseller, clearly delineates  how, when and by whom Hitler could have been stopped.   There is plenty of blame to go around and a good reminder that democracy is always fragile.
    Dodd's family, and especially his daughter, play significant roles in the story.  Daughter, Martha, ends up a permanent exile from America because of some of the decisions she made.
    It's a tragic tale, both for the Dodd's personally, but also for the world at large.

'Canada' : A Reading Recommendation

   Richard Ford's novel, Canada. published in 2012 is written as the reflection of a man named Del, now in his mid-sixties, on his life. Most of the action takes place when he is fifteen. The action is described and the author tells what Del was thinking and observing at the time.  Del is separated from his twin sister when they are fifteen and their lives take very different directions.
   One of the intriguing aspects of living awhile, or, a long time, i.e., of old age, is seeing how many people, decisions and events turn out.  The recent school reunion that I attended was fascinating as I saw people with whom I'd no contact, sometimes for 50 years or more.  Some of the early 'high fliers' had 'crashed and burned' while others whom I'd judged to have mediocre prospects had built successful lives.
    In Canada the look back in time is the vehicle that transports the story.  Del and his sister. Berner, have very inept parents.  Their incompetence sets the twins on their separate lifelong paths.  It brings to mind the Biblical injunction:

"You shall not worship them or serve them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate Me..." Exodus 20:5

   While it doesn't seem fair to punish children for parent's sins, and it may not be the aim, children certainly often suffer for their parents misdeeds.  That is certainly true in Canada.  Del's parents do not set out to harm their children and, in fact, love them but their decisions have huge consequences.

   I'm glad I read it and thanks to LN who gave it to me for Father's Day.

Automobiles

   What would $300. buy in 1954?...my first car; a four door, 1948, Pontiac with a straight, six cylinder engine.  Having just completed my sophomore year of high school I needed transportation to school because my brother had graduated and he would no longer drive me to school in his '41 Nash. There was no school bus service.
   The seller was Tilford Nelson, one of two Nelson barbers in Arlington, SD. While not related, their barber shops were a few doors apart on Main Street.  Tilford's shop was interesting because he also sold guns...in fact I still have a deer rifle and a shotgun I purchased from him in the '50s.
    The '48 Pontiac was a good starter and it the windows and doors were tight meaning I could stay dry in the rain.  These were not universal automobile assets in those days.  Today when I drive in heavy rain I find myself grateful that I stay dry.
    Automobile heaters were also often marginal.  One of my brothers had a '36 Ford with a 60 horsepower engine.  It was equipped with a gas heater that burned more gas than the engine but it kept the car warm.
    Other cars I owned in those early years included a '46 Ford, '42 Chevy, '51 Pontiac Coupe and a '49 Oldsmobile 88 Coupe.  Yes, of course I'd like to have them now.  In fact a friend went looking for the Olds but was not able to track it down.
    LN's care experience got me to thinking about automobiles.  Her purchase may just maybe the most economical ever.  She bought a new Toyota Echo in 2001 for $9,000. with 0% financing for 36 months.   In 2009 a deer hit her and the adjuster assumed it would be totaled, but, reversed course when he discovered it's book value, so it was repaired.
   Sixteen years of use and all that the Echo has needed are tires, a clutch, batteries and sway bar links all the while providing gas mileage in the mid-30s for 126,000 thousand miles.   Oh yes it doesn't leak rain, starts well and has a good heater.

Sinai, SD All School Reunion 7/1/2017

      Sinai High School, Sinai, SD., closed since 1961, was never very large. Of the 160 attendees at the reunion most did no graduate from the school.  The reunion has become a community event attracting spouses, others from the community who attended other schools and many who were too young to attend.  It's a time to return with the best chance of seeing others one has not seen for a long time.
   Our class of 1956 started out to be the largest in school with eleven students...Yes, eleven; which tells you how small it was.  After the first year one of our classmates transferred to Augustana Academy, Canton, SD.  Two others dropped out so we powered on with eight students.  Three of us were at the reunion.  Four are deceased; Roger Husby, John Reinhart, Wayne Risty and Glen Englesgaard.
   Three teachers taught all the subjects with a part time band instructor, usually from SD State College in Brookings.  Discipline was simplified becasue each teacher knew every student by name. Instruction was questionable...such schools do not attract the cream of the crop.  The superintendent/principal was also a teacher and, for three of my years, the basketball coach.
   The school in Sinai was open for 81 years.  There were 36 graduating classes and 302 graduates. The first class graduated in 1926 with 13 students and the last class graduated in 1961 with 8.  The elementary school continued longer. The district never consolidated so now 3 districts send buses to town to pick up students; Volga (known as Sioux Valley School), Arlington and Rutland.
   When I graduated in 1956 I enrolled at SD State College.   That was a shock!  From 30 students to 3,200 and some expectation that students would study!   It took awhile for me to adjust.
   Reunions are a source of fascination. Some who seemed destined for greatness peaked in high school.  Other's, who I'd judged as having modest prospects, did very well. Too many died prematurely.  At this age I increasingly value those with whom I share memory.  Much of what I grieve as family and friends die is the loss of those shared memories.

The entire school in the assembly hall with the teachers  1956-57.

The 2 storied building housed highs chool on 'garden level and elementary upstairs.  The WPA built gym has the rounded roof.

Running Out Of Gas: A True Life Mystery!

   A few years ago, on one of our frequent trips to see family in Chicago, at a point of boredom I suggested to the Curmudgeonette that running out of gas could be viewed as an adventure.  How would I get gas?  Who would I meet?  Who might be the agent of mercy.  The Curmudgeonette thought it was one of my dumber ideas so I never did run out of gas...until today, that is.  I'm very glad she was along because with out her presence to verify the reality I would have seriously questioned my sanity...though perhaps many of you do have doubts if I'm sane.
   We'd been in SD for a few days for farming, my five year all school reunion, visiting and entertaining family and the annual 4th of July celebration.  As we headed back to Minneapolis my gas gauge showed about a quarter of a tank so I stopped in the first town, Volga, for a fill.  While the gas was pumping I washed the windows.  The pump stopped, asked if I wanted a receipt and, as I always do, pressed 'No', bought the Curmudgeonette a bottle of water and we were on our way.
    After driving a few miles the 'low gas light' came on and I noticed that the gas gauge was close to empty.  Perhaps it was a failure of the computerized gauge I thought.  When I came to a stop sign at Ivanhoe, MN I shut the car off, waited 20 seconds and restarted it, thinking that might reset the computer.  It did not.
   Driving on I was bummed about the failure of the gauge.  The gas monitor registered the decreasing range of miles left and soon reached zero.  Mile after mile with the monitor on zero we drove...perhaps 40 miles.. offering me proof that the gauge was kaput.
    About 80 miles from Volga the car stopped.  The starter worked but the stoppage showed all the symptoms of running out of gas. A quick crawl under the car showed no sign of tank leakage. Wondering about my sanity I took out my smart phone and verified a charge on my credit card in Volga. While washing the windows I had not paid much attention to the pump but did notice that the pump showed $15.++ which seemed about right, given the gas in the tank and the price of gas.
   To avoid traffic I've found a route of county roads that parallel #212 and avoid most of the towns. Now, stalled beside the road, the lack of traffic seemed less helpful.  So, what's next on our little adventure?  The Curmudgeonette pointed to mailbox and driveway about 50 yards ahead with any buildings obscured by a grove of trees.  As I walked up the driveway I saw a man working on his pick-up.  Explaining my plight to him, he, without even casting a skeptical eye when I told of filling up 80 miles previously, grabbed a gas can and drove me out to the car and put in three gallons.  The engine sprang to life and the Good Samaritan refused payment telling me to "pay it forward."  I'd certainly found my agent of mercy!
   With the 20-20 of hindsight I should have gone to the station a block from where I had restarted the car by Ivanhoe and verified the gas gauge.  Filling with gas at that juncture would quickly have verified the accuracy of the gauge.  Following up with Volga gas station is the only way I know to solve the mystery.  Perhaps in the future I'll always take the receipt and pay more attention to gas as it is pumped.
  But, as our friend, JJ, points out, it is of such adventures stories are born.

Thoughts while at Roland (Rollie) Larson's (4/18/1921-6/17/2017) Funeral

    On Sunday May 31, 1964 I graduated from Augustana College (now University) with a BA in history.  Six days later on Saturday, June 6, 1964 I married my sweetheart, know known as the Curmudgeonette.  On Wednesday June 10, she began a practicum in counseling commuting from Sioux Falls to SDU in Vermillion, SD.  It was a course she needed to be licensed as a school counselor in Minnesota and qualify for a job offered by St. Louis Park Senior High School.  Rollie Larson was the administrator who offered her the job.
   We were ecstatic!  Her salary at Agustana as director of Student Activities, Head Resident of Bergsager Hall, and instructor of psychology was $4,800. and she signed at St. Louis Park High for $8,650.  Entering seminary, as I was, it was apparent that I'd be supported in the style to which I'd become accustomed.  Imagine our delight a few weeks late when a  letter informed us that salary negotiations recently concluded added $5,000. to her salary for a total of $9,150.  Those were the halcyon days in St. Louis Park Schools plus counselors were paid on administrators not teachers scale.
   We settled in an apartment in St. Louis Park and I commuted to seminary it St. Paul.  There were some very close friends from seminary but much of our socializing was with the school counselors and their spouses.   The curmudgeonette had excellent collegial relationships with the other counselors and Rollie their supervisor.  We became very close to them and grieved the separation when we moved to North Dakota to answer my first call.
    The Curmudgeonette was in her late 20's and early 30's those years and one of the youngest of the counselors.  So, when the survivors gathered from Rollie's funeral,..Jerry,  Keith, Dick, Jim, Paul...all of whom are at least 80, frailty was evident.  With absences from ages in the 60s to ages in the 80s...the changes caused by aging are striking.
    A kind of melancholy settled over me as I was aware of the passage of time, separation and distance from people who were very important to us when we young and leaning into life.  These are people with whom we are always happy to reconnect yet seldom do.
   Rollie was a person of impeccable integrity, deep compassion, rich faith and lively sense of humor which always kept a twinkle in his eye.  Some of his favorite quotes were included in the funeral folder.  Some examples......
   >Be grateful for life's every moment and for all things great and small.
   >Choose to be happy; bring joy and laughter to others.
   >Remain optimistic and positive through life's trials. (Which he did even as he buried a son and grandson.)
   > Be true to self and others.
   >Never lose the child in me.
   >Maintain a forgiving attitude.

  Rest in peace Rollie, good and faithful servant.

Co-op Annual Meeting

     Having experienced (endured) 40+ annual congregational annual meetings during my working life the Curmudgeonette is always a bit bemused when I voluntarily attend the Sinai Cooperative Elevator Company's annual meeting.  Sinai, the village of 120 people, where we have our 'little house on the prairie' has one of the few independent elevators left.  Most have merged into chains, e.g., Prairie Ag Partners of Lake Preston also have the elevators in Arlington, Oldham and maybe more.
    Sinai was once served by a Northwestern Railroad spur that ran from Sioux Falls to Watertown on which tracks we used to drive our cars on Sundays when there were no trains.  When that line ceased operation many years ago predictions were that that would be the end of the elevator.  Trucks, now including the big double bottoms, have kept it alive.
    The elevator is one of the anchors of this little town of 120 people, the other anchor being the bank. Many of the people who live here work in Brookings which is about 15 miles away.  Our nearest house neighbor is on the faculty of SDSU in Brookings.
    So what happened at the annual meeting?  Unlike last year I did not win a door prize of a $25. gift certificate at the elevator, which would come in very handy because that is where I buy my tractor fuel and other chemicals.  The good news is that my brother won it.  The balance sheet showed a profit of $132,785. on sales of $6,602.708. compared to last years profit of $56,356.
    Perhaps that seems like a small return but the mission of the company is to proved service to patrons at a reasonable prices.  It also distributed $30,454. in patronage dividends and my dividend was large enough to buy a cup of the fanciest coffee at Starbucks.  Thee are five full time employees.
    What does an elevator do?  It buys and dries grain, sells feed, fertilizer, fuel and chemicals.  It also provides services like fertilizing and spraying fields and delivers bulk fuel to farmers. Perhaps also importantly the coffee is always on.
    Not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the meeting which included reports and elections I didn't ask why there is $1,034,567. cash on hand though that is $300,00. less than last year.   Someday when I'm in the elevator I'll ask the manager privately.
   Pump gas sales have doubled since the installation of a 24 hour pump.  Previous to this pump a customer would pump gas on the north side of the street then go to the office across the street and report the number of gallons pumped.  Now I have a numerical code which I enter and it gives me access 24/7 while recording to my account the fuel I received.  No credit cards are accepted but I have credit so I receive a monthly statement.
   

The Little House on the Prairie