New American Color Photographs

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Opposite top: Lilacs and tulips, May 1999. (By Anna Muktepavels- Motivans).

Opposite bottom: “Dragon-bridge,”circa 2000. New Hampshire (Courtesy of Monica Chiu-Locke).

Left:Morning fog in blufflands, 1999. Southeastern Minnesota (By Robert J. Hurt).

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Funnel cloud seen through wide-angle lens. September 1991. Burnsville, MN (By Gerald A. Bonsack).

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Comet Hale-Bopp over Jason Bonsack’s house, March 1996. Onalaska,WI (By Gerald A. Bonsack, Jason’s dad).

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Opposite top: Autumn in northern Vermont, 1995. (By Robert J. Hurt).

Opposite bottom: God the Creator mural, Easter Saturday, 2000. National Basilica, Washington, D.C. (By Matthew A. Marcou).

Top left:Vermont church in late September, 1995 (By Robert J. Hurt).

Top right: Aerial view of hay bales and fall colors on a northern Iowa farm, 1990s (By D.Tony Kiedrowski).

Right: Autumn lane in southwestern Wisconsin, 1985 (By Robert J. Hurt).

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Windmill at sunset, September 2000. Central Nebraska (By Gerald A. Bonsack).

148 SECTION 12 New American Book Excerpts

Saturn V rocket engine, March 2000. Kennedy Space Center, Cape Canaveral, FL (By David Larsen).

Novel Excerpt from Heirs to the Guardians Dale Barclay

Editor’s Note: Heirs to the Guardians is about two ared went to the starship’s bridge and gave the first human beings who retrieve a starship of immense power Jcommand to begin the journey home: “Move us out and then begin to proceed to the planet Tarter, named in of Shaltar’s gravity well. Set course for Tarter, bring us a treaty. They rescue some Tarterian survivors from an to light speed, and don’t spare the horses. We want to attack by enemy aliens along the way, but are soon be there in less than seven days.” recalled home to their planet to assist in a war effort. It Kira replied, “About time we burned the carbon out is a war they can no longer win, but the home star of these engines.” system of the survivors is the one the crew of the lost The two fusion reactors powered them through the starship terraformed two hundred years ago for their own light-speed barrier, and shortly afterward, the meson people, and it can still be saved. drive kicked in. They were awed by the massive energy

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provided by the drive as it propelled them well past both real and imagined. Some groups became very warp factor twenty. They were traveling at over extreme in their opinions and made sure their ideas 160,000 times the speed of light. The vast distances in reached the masses. The public’s confidence in the space were a minor annoyance when traveling this government began to drop. Stories of corruption and fast, but if something broke, they could be stranded in misdeeds by public officials were common in the the middle of nowhere. news, and many of them were true. They advocated Ariel and Jared had a short talk that night in her quar- overthrowing the system, but they didn’t have ters. Jared said, “We need to find out from them what anything better to replace it with, so the government their leaders are like and the history of their people.” used the same tactics to discredit its enemies. Then “Should we tell them about the copies of the treaty one day, a minor official decided to do something we found in the captain’s safe?” asked Ariel. about a small but very dissident group: the “We will tell them the full story before we go down American Patriots. He had them arrested on some to the planet for their return,” replied Jared. trivial matter, hoping to catch a larger fish during “Kira, access the history of the Dahomey star the follow-up investigation. The case went to trial system, and try to find the history of the people who quickly and failed to prove anything beyond the settled here two hundred years ago,” ordered Ariel original charge. When the prosecution rested, the through voice activation. federal judge granted a defense motion to dismiss “I will let you know the results of my search the case, stating that the government had not proved tomorrow sometime. Shall we keep this between one point of its case. ourselves?” inquired Kira. “The American Patriots changed their name to the Jared replied, “That’s affirmative.” Freedom Movement in order to attract more members The first night of the trip home was relaxed. No one and sound less militant. Many of our ancestors joined had duties requiring much time, so everyone was it. They were mostly from the middle class, especially taking it easy. Jared and Ariel enjoyed a long swim and the upper-middle class, and many were highly soak in the whirlpool, their thoughts still on the educated. Their goals were modest at first: less federal survivors they had rescued. rule, more states’ rights, and a reaffirmation of the They stopped by the rec room later and joined in a right to keep and bear arms. The association helped game of poker. Colonel Xanadu Fallon asked, “How settle differences between states and worked for a are you all going to spend your time off?” kinder and gentler America. Ten years passed and “Well,” said Diana, “a lot of us will be with our fam- their candidate won the right to sit in the Oval Office. ilies, catching up with what has happened to them.” President Abraham Roosevelt took direct action to Captain Janeen Mallory replied, “I am going to do achieve his goals. A series of executive orders restored some of the things I have wanted to do for a long the balance between the public and the government. time, like hang-gliding.” The large multinational corporations that had paid Jared spoke up, “Ariel and I would like to meet your for influence were now worthless. They secretly met families.” with the two largest opposing political parties. They “How long will you two stay there?” asked hatched a plan to remove President Roosevelt from Lieutenant Natalie Sladen. office and regain their status quo. However, someone “We will be there for at least two months, unless we in the opposition, who had come to see that are desperately needed somewhere else,” commented Roosevelt was heading in the right direction, the Jared. direction our Founding Fathers intended, leaked the “Well I hope they receive you with the reverence details to him. He was known, and only to the and respect you both deserve” said Cathy. president, as Deep Throat Jr. They had been sending messages back and forth, “The depth and treachery of this plan led him to when permitted, but they all wanted to see their loved believe he could trust only those in the Freedom ones in person. Jared decided to raise the concerns he Movement. He asked a close personal friend to put an and Ariel had discussed earlier that evening: “How will end to it. John Marcinko recruited volunteers from your people react to unexpected events or changes that within the organization, who murdered the essential could affect them forever?” leaders and no one else. The harsh public outcry was “Our people are descended from tough, pioneer muted when the full details of the plan were made stock. They have gone through a lot and achieved public, but still someone had to pay the piper. considerably more,” said Xanadu. President Roosevelt conferred with his advisors and “Tell us about your people and how they came to resigned. be on your home world,” suggested Jared. “The vice president acted swiftly to put an end to Karen Chadwick, the ship’s doctor and a history this messy affair, announcing publicly: ‘My fellow buff, spoke up: “Near the end of the twentieth Americans: Tonight I stand before you with the century, some people were becoming obsessed with unenviable task of punishing people who stepped up tales of government spying and disinformation, to protect the presidency. Some of you want them black helicopters, the rise of the United Nations as a locked up or executed; others hold them up as world ruler, and the loss of individual freedoms, patriots. I have decided on their fate, after much soul-

150 New American Book Excerpts searching and prayer. These people will be given the ships built inside the system are allowed among the option of exile or prison. As you are all aware, we will worlds of Dahomey. It has to do with when our fore- soon be selecting volunteers for a settlement on fathers were rescued two hundred years ago. Some of Callisto, one of Jupiter’s moons. The people chosen the alien races we trade with don’t like it, but will be starting a mining setup, to be followed by a individuals are free to travel among our three planets,” farming operation once the mining operation moves replied Lieutenant Tahnee Fleming. It was getting late underground. They can take their families with them if and the poker game ended. they wish. Members of the Freedom Movement are The survivors from Tarter were curious about the welcome until all the slots are filled.’” questions asked by Jared and Ariel. They had never Karen continued: “Three months later, the colony really asked about anything relating to their world. transport lifted off for Callisto. One of the senior The Kodiak could destroy their homes without any computer guidance programmers back at NASA was trouble. As they slept that night, little bits and pieces sympathetic to the Freedom Movement’s cause. He began to float to the surface of their minds. Some even had overheard a slip of the tongue while in the dreamed of the reception they would hopefully receive restroom. The comment left no question that the large upon their arrival. multinational corporations were going to extract their Ariel and Jared retired to Jared’s quarters. Sleep was revenge from the Freedom Movement. It would take hard for them as they tried to think of ways to break them ten years to regain their influence. He the news to these people, who longed for return to programmed a minor course change into the their homeland. transport’s guidance system and changed the password The news from Kira in the morning was not good for it. The heroes-turned-colonists were in cryogenic as she informed Ariel and Jared of her search for facts: suspension. A long journey would not hurt them. The “These people resent that they are not treated as programmer left behind a message for them: ‘On your equals when on the alien home worlds. They are next home — peace and goodwill toward all people.’ followed, as if they might find damaging information He resigned from NASA the following week. about the aliens. Also, they don’t trade with the aliens “The transport was listed as missing and for items they can make themselves, even if the alien presumed destroyed. Ten years later, the ship entered goods are better. The population is now around an area under the influence of a peaceful but closed 160,000, from the 5,000 who originally arrived. The alien society. Without awakening the colonists, they current leader believes the Ikolma will never return redirected the vessel toward a distant, uninhabitable and plans to utilize the pre-built structures for his star system beyond where they live now. They came own use. The official history is very short on details of under attack and were rescued by a spaceship. The their arrival and doesn’t mention the treaty at all. rescue ship towed them to the Dahomey system and Plus, they are building homes in areas that are strictly placed them on the largest planet. They named the for our use, like the deep-space sensor-array buried worlds after Navy missile systems: Tarter, Terrier, and underground.” Talos.” “Thanks Kira, and keep on digging,” instructed Jared. Intrigued, Jared asked, “Did this so-called starship Ariel said, “We need to review those copies of the have a name?” treaty in the safe and see if there are any other details “I believe it was called the Ikolma, a starship of that could cause us trouble when we arrive.” unknown origin,” replied Susan. The news didn’t faze “Good idea,” replied Jared. “And Kira, find out if either Jared or Ariel. Their faces were like the Sphinx there is something we can do to demonstrate our — no change at all. power aboard the ship, while aiding them in some The Kodiak and the Ikolma were one and the same, fashion.” but only Jared, Ariel, and Kira knew this. Ariel spoke They talked more with the crew to learn more up: “What are your current leaders like, and what is about their home worlds. The days were counting their attitude toward strangers and aliens?” down to when they would be forced to tell them the “We have had some dealings with aliens. Only truth. W

“‘He programmed a minor course change into the transport’s guidance system and changed the password for it. The heroes-turned-colonists were in cryogenic suspension.’”

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Novel Excerpt from The Strongest Man in the World (By the Handsomest Man on Earth) Steve Terry

Editor’s Note: This excerpt is from early in Steve’s novel, of Verne Most Pleasantly Green I and basically and it sets up the struggles that occur throughout his work, anywhere else, had failed to list this planet and its although we do not see much more of the grapelike creature idyllic rest stop, yet plain as day, there it was and, that causes so much commotion here until much later on. apparently, it wasn’t a secret. Curious. There was no Still, this excerpt is a fair taste of what Steve’s book is like. question in his mind that they were going to hear Add some more characters as time passes—including a about it and hear about it good, but that would have tyrannosaurus rex, other animals, some virulent business- to wait, as his anger placed a poor second to his men, a good woman or two, and our hero—and you have tiredness. He hadn’t had a wink of sleep in more than the stuff of a great animated tale—or tongue-in-cheek sci-fi six weeks and, he was ten mind-numbing minutes past of the first order. his bedtime and was feeling the effects. So he wasted no time in landing his craft, then zapped it down to a small diagram and slipped it into his back compartment as he headed for the vines. Along the way he wondered about the identities of his surrounding kindred, whether he knew any of them; his curiosity was as great as were the stories of adventures he had to tell, yet he knew it would be rude to disrupt their sleep. With that in mind, he hopped onto the closest vine and attached himself to a limb by the top of his head. Then he retracted his limbs and all of his features into his lovely, pale green outer shell, his Exo-Shield, the Exo-Shield being the most basic form of his supremely engineered, technological wonder, the Bio-Shield. He set his timer for two weeks and went fast asleep. Bohb had made a mistake. There was no omission in the Gelatinous Free Council’s Guidebook, nor was he in a colony of his peers. He was on the planet Earth, in a vineyard among millions of sweet and juicy green grapes ready for picking. Within two days he was picked, processed, shipped, and sold, but there wasn’t a spray of cold water or bump along the road on the way to market that disturbed his hard-earned repose. In fact, there was only one thing in the entire galaxy shy of the concussive blast of an H-bomb (a big one!) that could shake him out of his slumber and, sorry to say, that event was just a few days away. “The Thinker,”a mural, ebohb VII, or Bohb to his friends, did a double “Grapes? Grapes! You know I don’t ...where’s the Downtown La Crosse,WI, take when he checked and rechecked the can of nuts?” 2001. (By Stephanie R Dabrowski). instrumentation of his spacecraft. He could not “I tossed it—accident—remember? Eat some believe what his sensors were telling him as the planet grapes.” below yielded forth a most basic and welcome “Honey, I’m watching sports, not the ballet. I’m surprise. His scanners revealed a familiarly lush and going out for nuts, be back in a . . .” green valley consisting of a habitat he found to be “Please, there’s more here than I can handle. If you both as comfortable and as welcome as any location don’t eat some, they’ll spoil.” upon the world from which he came. Bearing witness “So ...why’d you buy so many.” to acres and acres of vines made him smile and “My mistake, eat some grapes.” brought him much relief, as from those vines hung a “But . . .” massive population of his fellow space travelers— “Eat the grapes.” kinsmen—immersed in their sleeping modes. “But . . .” In the face of his find, he was feeling extremely “Here.” lucky as well as a little teed off. The Gelatinous Free With that, the exchange between husband and wife Council’s guidebook, which claimed to—and had an ended as Mr. Lloyd Alan Barkley headed from the excellent reputation for doing so—list all of the local kitchen, down the length of his hallway and into his and intergalactic rest stops between his home planet very own specially designated and designed room. He

152 New American Book Excerpts set the grapes down on a small end table, sat down in He placed his thumb and forefinger on the base of his old and comfortably well-worn chair, picked up his his tongue. Ever so slowly, he moved his fingers into remote from the end table, and turned on the glory of his mouth and, in doing so, found the first of several the seventy-two-inch television set parked a few feet in unpleasant discoveries he would be making that day. front of him. And he did so guilt-free: he had com- There were two discoveries, actually. They stood side pleted his household chores earlier that morning and by side and felt about as thick as toothpicks. But had put his yard work off for another day. His wife had unlike toothpicks, they felt as though they were made agreed to run the day’s errands in exchange for future of steel. Oh, are we getting…weird? he thought as he considerations and, with that, he was set to enjoy a pair followed the line of the toothpicks upward. In doing of days he had been looking forward to for one very so, he came upon his second discovery of the day. It long and productive year. It was now eight A.M. on a was smooth and well-rounded, as was to be expected, Saturday, just one measly day before the airing of the yet it felt oddly unlike any of the other green grapes Super Bowl, and for the next thirty-six-plus hours, with filling the bowl next to him. It was now as hard as a flick of the remote, he was set to rant and rave, to steel and sent waves of tingling energy up his fingers cheer and jeer sporting highlights and events with all and into his hand. Toothpicks of steel? Grapes of steel?! the intensity that he could bring to bear, as though the Please! he thought as he sighed, almost afraid to events were happening for the very first time. continue his search. He noted something else He sat back, popped open a can of suds and said, touching the upper edges of his fingers as he was “Let the games begin!” squeezing the “grape.” Discovery number three was They did and, understandably, given the time about as big around as his pinkie finger and, again, between events (Super Bowl to Super Bowl) and the there were two of them. They were located just above avid waiting in between, it took him no time to get the midline on both sides of the “thing” and extended seriously involved in the action as it exploded on the over its top to press firmly to the roof of his mouth screen. This rec room berserker ranted and raved, and, like the toothpicks below, they felt as hard as cheered and jeered with an abandon that defined the steel. Can this get any weirder?! he thought. room as his own. He sipped from his can between war It could. He turned his attention back to the whoops and occasionally, only occasionally, popped a roundness of the grape. It was there that he would not grape into his mouth. He barely noticed their sour only make his strangest discovery of the day but also sweetness as he soaked in the radiance of his rapture, one discovery too many. He carefully ran his forefinger an effect born of the electrifyingly brain-busting action across the face of the strange thing in his mouth, and exploding from the screen. On the verge of reacting to as he did so a look of terror passed slowly over his a spectacular play executed by defensive tackle Huge face. He began to tremble uncontrollably, and his eyes Hefley of the San Diego Chargers, he popped another nearly bulged out of his head as he came to realize grape into his mouth. This one gave him pause. that the items with which he had come into contact Despite himself, he couldn’t help but notice that the felt an awful lot like ...TEETH?! firmness and texture of this particular grape was “AAAGGGGHHHHH!” he screamed as he bolted different from the few others he had bothered to chew out of his chair and tore out of his room and into the on. Its size—extraordinarily plump—and the feel of it hallway. There on the wall was the mirror he had hung on his tongue—too slick—made him think that that very morning. He skidded to a halt in front of it perhaps he should take it out, wipe it off, and pass it and the second it took for him to see the thing in his on to Mrs. Grape Lover, who was probably busy mouth was the same second that it took for him to reading in the kitchen, as it appeared to be one that scream once again, slam into the wall behind him and could be truly appreciated by only a connoisseur of crash to sit flat on the carpet. “grapery.” Unfortunately (or fortunately for his wife as Ellen Barkley was tolerant of ritual. She was things worked out) his thoughts were circumvented by especially tolerant of this one, as it happened only once football action nearly setting fire to the screen—action a year. Annually and without fail, it was a day marked making the grape an afterthought as he rose out of his by obnoxious hooting—even worse than during her seat to jump around and wave his fist in the air. But as husband’s normal forays into the television room—but he rose out of his seat, he bit down on the grape, and not this time; this time was too much. “FOR CRYING his world changed forever. It moved! It moved, and he OUT LOUD, MR. LLOYD ALAN BARKLEY, YOU’RE couldn’t close his mouth! At the same time, he noticed WATCHING RERUNS!” she yelled as she put down her an odd tingling sensation that moved in waves from book and charged out of the kitchen and into the living his mouth, covered his entire head, and then room with every intention of giving her husband a repenetrated his skull and returned to its source. He piece of her mind. But her mind made a sudden turn as was hardly able to react to this sensation before his she found her husband sitting beneath the hallway mouth was forced open even wider. In a panic, he mirror on the finely carpeted floor with his shoulders slapped both of his hands beneath his jaw and pushed slumped forward, his mouth gaping wide open, and his upward with all of his might, but to no avail. Stunned eyes staring blankly at the wall. “Lloyd . . . ?” Her and numbed, he slowly sank back into his chair to question, barely begun, would never be completed, ponder this moment. What in the name ...?! because even before she began to speak, her husband

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was slowly turning his head away from the wall to face stop her from pulling hard and pulling long, but her, and she saw the thing wedged in his mouth. She eventually her strength failed her, and with much screamed, crashed onto the floor, and gaped with regret she let go and sat back, feeling spent, all the wonder at her husband and his new condition. while gasping and panting for breath. They stared wordlessly at one another for a time. She was a tired woman and she was a frustrated He was glassy-eyed and looked stupid, while she, with woman, but owing to the lost look in her husband’s her gaze moving back and forth between her eyes, she was also becoming an angry woman. Her husband’s eyes and his mouth, had her own mouth genuinely sweet nature masked the fact that hers was open nearly as wide as his. Little by little, her wits not a personality easily beaten. On top of that, alien returned to her. She shook her head a couple of times and obscure to her, there was something else going and took a few deep breaths, which helped to clear on—something in her bloodline—something raging away some of the numbness that had set into her that had waited patiently all the years of her life to brain. She leaned closer to get a better look at the new make itself plain. She turned, looked Lloyd straight in and unwelcome visitor. A quick study and she the eye, and said, “This ain’t the way it‘s going to be! concluded that, 1) it was alive, 2) it had wedged itself That little bugger’s coming out!” She demonstrated into her husband’s mouth, and 3) it didn’t look her conviction with the force of a hammer as she friendly. Nonetheless, in an odd sort of way it was propelled herself forward, linebacker strong, knocking beautiful. Its body was shaped very much like one of Lloyd flat on his back on the carpet while she the grapes she had sent her husband down the hall straddled him, shoved her hands into his mouth, complaining with, but this was no grape. It stood grabbed hold of the little green guy and with a scream, firmly on two thin legs. From its pulled with all of her might. She pulled and pulled “‘Lloyd ...?’ sides two arms rose upward and and pulled, lost in the throes of the greatest effort of pressed firmly to the roof of Lloyd’s her life, but for all her effort, she couldn’t get the thing Her question, barely begun, mouth. These weren’t just any old to budge. arms. They had muscles. Boy, did She was aware that once again her strength was would never be completed, they have muscles! And teeth! They beginning to fail her. She felt a sense of panic and with were big and square and gritted it a dreadful sense of despair. Her finest effort had because even before she with what could only be been of no avail. “NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” she interpreted as iron-man screamed. She continued her effort, and how she began to speak, determination. A bit above the worked! She yanked and pulled with every ounce of teeth were a pair of widespread slits strength in her body. She pulled and pulled and her husband was slowly that she took to be its eyes. These, strained and strained until, finally, with her limbs too, were clenched shut with the reduced to rubber, she began to sob. She was losing turning his head away from very same rock hard, iron-man her fight and she knew it, but something inside determination displayed by the wouldn’t let her quit. the wall to face her, and she downturned mouth. There was But then, something new, something old, every indication of big trouble something scary, something wondrous . . . saw the thing wedged in ahead. As though by design, the effects of her despair She didn’t like it, but she had a began to fuel her anger, and her anger, spilling over his mouth.” good idea of what she had to do; like liquid from a cauldron, urged her on so that all she had to do was commit. She within the span of a dozen heartbeats her face gathered up her courage, got up on her knees, and transformed itself from a look of angry determination placed a comforting hand on her husband’s shoulder. into a mask of screaming rage—a rage the likes of “Lloyd, I’m going to need you to hold still and be which hadn’t been seen on this earth in more than a patient with me. I’m going to try to pull the little thousand years. The trigger had been tripped! Lloyd bugger out.” Lloyd nodded stupidly and Ellen went to was no longer as much supportive of his wife and her work. Slowly and ever so carefully, she moved her actions as he was frightened of her. He no longer hand into the oversized cavern that was now her recognized the face he saw above him as that of the husband’s mouth. In doing so she brushed against his woman he loved and had married. No, the face he saw lips, which felt oddly smooth and tingly against her reflected an intensity not seen upon this earth in skin. She hesitated momentarily, but chose not to nearly eleven hundred years, and that face, frozen in think about it, as the entire scenario was already more the line of her lineal tree, stood alone and peerless in a than just a little bit odd. She cupped a hand carefully history fraught with violence. The owner of that face around the body of the invader, very much aware of was none other than that of Ellen’s brutal Nordic the formidable array of teeth opposing her. She placed ancestor, Bjorga “Skull Cleaver.” The incomparably her free hand on her husband’s forehead and said, spectacular countenance of Bjorga Bjorgensen himself, “Here goes!” She began to pull. Nothing. She pulled “BATTLE MAD” Bjorga Bjorgensen was, without harder; still nothing. She pulled with all her might, question, the most prolific specimen of Viking rage— but that was no good either. Things weren’t going well, battle rage—that there ever was! W and she knew it. Nonetheless, her knowledge didn’t

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Excerpt from Military Novel—Chapter Two, Part Two Samuel McKay

Editor’s Note: Sam’s novel, still in progress, deals semi- night. Each time, it was for some flimsy reason. Finally, autobiographically with a young man fresh out of college, at about three o’clock, the last of the harassers left. But facing the draft and enlisting in the U.S. Army during the the people in the orderly room left the mike on. “peacetime” years, after the Korean War and before the Tom could hear them talking. They were loud Vietnam War. The story tries to show the constant enough so their conversation could be heard in the challenges he encounters and how he copes with them. This barracks. One man was saying, “Don’t you think excerpt deals with the first night of boot camp. they’ve had enough?” “Naa!” the other shouted back. om chatted with the guy on the next bunk. “I “I’m in charge here, and I say that they’ve had Twonder what they have planned for us tomorrow,” enough!” he asked. They argued for a while and finally shut up. “I don’t know,” replied his companion. “Probably However, they placed the radio next to the mike and some kind of bulls—t. I can’t believe they’ve left us had an ethnic station on. The recruits were treated to alone this long.” He had apparently heard stories from polka music the rest of the night. Tom finally fell some of his friends who had been in the service. Tom asleep, but very lightly. felt a bit apprehensive, knowing it would not be long He half awoke when before they found out. the speakers went There was a commotion in front of the barracks, and silent. Was this the the front door flew open. Sergeant O’Rourke and calm before the storm? Corporal Kelley stormed in. “Youse are gonna hit the He glanced at his sack now,” O’Rourke shouted. “Youse’ll have to get used watch. It was 4:20. He to sleeping in your underwear, because youse’ll be was wide awake now. doing it for the rest of your time with us. There ain’t no He thought this would pj’s in the army. Youse’ll need a good night’s sleep, as be a good time to get tomorrow is going to be a long day. We’ll be getting you cleaned up and shaved, up at 4:30. O.K. now, turn in.” They went upstairs and before the crowd got to went through the same routine. After lights-out on the the latrine. While he second floor, the pair descended and turned the lights was standing at the out on Tom’s level, leaving them on in the latrine. sink shaving, he heard “Oh, by the way. There are intercom speakers at voices outside the each end of the barracks,” the corporal shouted. “If we door. It swung open, have any announcements to make during the night, and the air was filled we will use the intercom. It is connected to the orderly with the earsplitting room.” sound of a police The orderly room was the unit’s headquarters whistle. It was the ser- during the day and where the charge of quarters geant with the long resided at night. After enough time had elapsed to let name. almost everybody fall asleep, the loudspeakers blared As the lights were out with an unfamiliar voice. turned on, he yelled, “Wake up! Wake up! We’re gonna have a bed check. “O.K., everybody up,” and blew the whistle again. He Capitol seen from inside Someone was seen leaving the area in civilian clothes.” then proceeded to the other end of the room and back Library of Congress, April Just as he finished, the door burst open, and a strange again, continuously blowing his whistle and yelling, 2000.Washington, D.C. (By David J. Marcou). sergeant bounded in. He switched on the lights. “Drop your c—s and grab your socks.” There was a Another noncommissioned officer, with a flashlight, great moaning and groaning rising in the barracks as ran in and up the stairs. The sergeant didn’t identify the sergeant went upstairs, blowing his whistle and himself, but the name on his shirt ran from one end yelling the same thing over and over again. “You have of the nameband to the other, starting with an “A” and thirty minutes to get cleaned up, dressed and have ending in a “ckz” or something like that. Tom your beds made. We’ll be back to take you to wouldn’t even have tried to pronounce it. breakfast,” he announced, after descending from the “O.K., you can go back to sleep, now. Everybody other floor. After a while, Tom glanced at his watch, seems to be here,” the sergeant said, with an accent that and sure enough, at five o’clock sharp, the door flew sounded Polish or Czechoslovakian, like Tom had open and two familiar faces popped in. The corporal heard in Wisconsin. The other NCO descended from darted up to the second floor. the second floor, and they departed after turning out “Fall outside and form up the way you were yester- the lights. All the men groaned and grumbled as they day,” Sergeant O’Rourke shouted. rolled over. This went on several more times during the Three men were still in bed with their heads buried

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under the covers. O’Rourke looked furious as he strode certainly wasn’t ham and eggs. When Tom reached the over to the sacks and overturned them one by one. serving line, he discovered what it was: two pieces of “Get dressed in a f—in’ hurry, you sons of b—s! I’ll toast were placed on the tray. From a huge pot, deal with you later. When we say five o’clock, we mean something was ladled on top of the toast. It was exactly that!” When the troops finally did fall in crumbled hamburger cooked in some kind of thin, outside, O’Rourke looked a bit pacified. “I hope youse light brown gravy. Was this the famous army “(bleep) all had a good night’s sleep,” he said with a wry little on a shingle”? Upon sitting down and sampling it, smile. “This morning, we’ll go to the quartermaster Tom discovered that it wasn’t too bad. Most of the and draw all your clothing. You’ll find out what men were astonished and complaining loudly. One of happens this afternoon after lunch. Now, we’ll march the mess sergeants yelled, “Hey, you s—heads. No over to the mess hall for breakfast, come back here, talking!” The meal was finished in silence, with many and clean the quarters. Youse will be shown how to sour faces. Tom finished quickly and sat still to enjoy use a broom and a mop.” his coffee. It tasted like nothing he had ever The mess hall was just as full as it had been the experienced. He guessed it would take some getting night before. The smell was something different—it used to, along with many other things.W

Hidden Away, but Not Alone Ursula Chiu

Editor’s Note: This is a chapter of the author’s memoirs by people we hardly knew. My Sunday visiting outfit from her childhood in Germany. Ursula remembers her past of white stockings, patent leather shoes and party as intricately as the workings of a fine Swiss watch. She dress stood in stark discord to the glittering coal chips comprehends so much about her early life that readers on the ground and the coal dust in the air, which should depend on her memories for insights into how non- subdued the brightness of the sunrays and the Nazi young people felt in pre-World War II Germany. Her blueness of the skies. I was well enough conditioned memories of her relationship with “Grandma” Andree to know that the messy walkway would cause my suggest how she survived in those days and what sort of life parents to withhold permission to visit the stable, with mattered most to both of them. its heavy Belgian horses that pulled black loads of coal to private residences. In the mid-1930s, trucks were hy do other children have Grandmas and I used only for commercial deliveries and long-distance “Wdon’t?” I asked as a ten-year-old, hardly orders. Horses had to do the smaller deliveries. understanding why both of my grandmothers had to Foreseeing “good behavior boredom,” I followed leave before my birth. Although I had pondered their my parents to the second floor, where relatives lifeless, stiff, and staid presence in pictures, I did know assembled for parties and children had to answer what a real grandma was supposed to look like: Mrs. questions until the adult conversation turned to Andree, mother-in-law of my father’s sister, was the politics, gossip, or business speculations. Discussion model. I called her Grandma Andree, and she was about the latter became most heated after the National pleased to be just that when children visited her. Socialist initiative, post-1935, had revitalized the coal She lived in her small two-room apartment next to and iron industry of the Ruhr district, thirty miles offices and storerooms that occupied the lower level north of our town. For my uncle, this meant the of a three-story brick house, dark and square, at the growth of his business and clever financial corner of a courtyard in the small town of Ohligs, in speculations, which he boastfully liked to expand on the Wupper district. Her son Willie and his family in front of his more cautious and modest relatives. lived upstairs. The yard was not one with well- Once this topic was started, adults no longer ordered rows of vegetables or flowery décor, but it focused on children. “Let’s go downstairs,” my cousin opened up as a vast storage place for coal, delivered Hannelore, who was my age, suggested, interrupting from the mines of the industrial Ruhr district or from our play in the three-story dollhouse with fancy the furnaces of coal-processing plants. In the yard, furniture, miniature dishes, silverware, and the heaps were separated by wooden partitions and comfortably housed dolls. Oh, why didn’t I have a identified as black coal, gray coke, briquettes, and egg dollhouse like this, or a live horse, which she coal. All of these “black diamonds,” as they were suggested visiting now, leading the way to my favorite called in jest, were sold by Willie, owner of a large spot on her parents’ property? We crossed the vast yard coal business in town. and circled around the coal piles until we reached the On our frequent visits to the home of Uncle Willie, stable with the two heavy, brown Belgians, at rest from who liked family gatherings, I disliked crossing the their week’s work. Hannelore encouraged me to pet black-dusty yard before entering through the back their velvety noses and thick necks underneath the door to avoid the front offices, which were populated ocher-colored manes.

156 New American Book Excerpts

Grabbing handfuls of oats from the bin, she said, —in fact, why I had never seen her at her son’s family “Hold your hands flat when you feed them. They can gatherings. only bite when you have your fingers curled.” In my hesitation, I recalled my mother’s words: I followed her suggestion with fearful daring. Why “Grandma Andree’s son is not very kind to his mother. should I let Hannelore know I felt somewhat He calls her an ‘ignorant old woman,’ because she “chicken-hearted” facing the two powerful horses? The dislikes his show-off language and his lifestyle, which Belgians accepted our gifts, neighed gently, chewed, is beyond his means. She surely does not hold back in and threw their heads, spraying big drops of their wet her criticism of the things he says and does.” I could saliva on our dresses. Too late, we realized they had not share with Hannelore, her son’s child, this secret stained Hannelore’s hand-embroidered outfit, which about her father, but I was glad she liked to visit her her mother had just completed—Holy Terror! They grandma and that both of us could make her feel she also left brown, seemingly indelible spots on my light was loved by children. blue woolen dress. We had done it again! Our finery I do not recall the year of her death or how much was ruined! Where could we go with the mess? How Grandma Andree saw of the ups and downs of her could we escape our mothers’ screaming and son’s career, but I do remember that she was upset scolding—or more painful consequences—for visiting when Willie’s son and two daughters became out-of-bounds horse quarters? members of the Hitler Youth in its early stages. Willie The only human who could save us was Grandma proudly presented them in uniforms when we visited Andree. Had she spied us already through the and explained the advantages of their decisions. geraniums in front of her window? Was she waiting At the beginning of the war, in 1939, after many for us? We knew that the fragile beauty of the red more parties and many trips, our visits no longer flowers on her window meant that a heart for troubled found Willie in his big brick house, but rather in a children was hidden behind. rented flat of an apartment house. It was on one such “Come in,” she answered our knocking. “The door occasion that I learned about bankruptcy and the loss is open. I am happy to see you.” of money and property due to mismanagement. Did I There she was, my model of a grandmother, seated detect a touch of “I predicted that long ago” in my in her armchair, walking cane leaning on the armrest. mother’s explanation? She thought it a tragic thing, Her auburn hair—why was it not grandmotherly shameful and depressing, but I noticed no change in white?—was combed upwards and folded under into a mood and hospitality on the part of the Andree knot at the center of her head. family. Since we saw each other almost every Sunday, “She wears a wig,” my mother had once explained. we learned, after a year, that the business had We knew her secret, but our reverence kept us from reopened under a new name and soon became the asking her about it. As usual, her dress was black and sole distribution center for coal in town. guarded by a black apron. A touch of lace along the During the war years, coal was strictly rationed and collar was her only decoration. Her dark silhouette obtainable through coupons only. A businessman as was outlined by the green-fringed silk shade of her clever as my uncle managed side sales of surplus for table lamp, which she kept dimly lit when she wanted hefty prices on the black market, thus obtaining the to rest. Her Bible, on a small table next to her chair, means to pay for rationed food and clothing. His pros- was always open. Wasn’t she lonely or bored, we perity became obvious after the horses were replaced wondered when we did not see a radio—a luxury until by heavy trucks and loading ramps on the expansive Hitler introduced the cheap People’s Radio, which yard that was just off city-center. Even an automobile offered German programs only. for personal use was permitted to him, at a time when We explained our troubles to her while she pointed, private vehicles were confiscated for Army purposes. as always, to the cookie jar on the shelf and to the At this time, my closeness to my cousin Hannelore milk, delivered to her daily. faded. She now spent free time in Hitler Youth Camps “Have something to nibble with your milk,” she and with a boyfriend whose father owned the largest said. “Then we’ll see how we can save your dresses.” food chain in town. Was this the reason that fancy She limped and searched among her supplies, cake and coffee continued to please the guests in my returned with a wet cloth and her secret soap, and uncle’s house, well-run by his wife, Grete, my father’s quickly rubbed away the horse drops on our dresses, sister? A net of relations with National Socialist leaving bigger watery spots. We protested the enlarged officials, reaching from the coal mines of the Ruhr to spots, but she promised they would be gone by the the delicatessen at the Andree table, maintained the time we had to face our mothers. With that, she success of the Andree business ventures during the brought out the hair dryer and blew away the watery latter war years. Uncle Willie’s son, in impressive party remains on our outfits. Indeed, they were as neat as uniform, followed his father’s example and found his before, and we now could enjoy our cookies with own connections to black market advantages. relieved minds. Within the confusion of the declining war years, “How is the party upstairs?” she asked. “Who is Grandmother slipped away while I was in boarding there, and what do they talk about?” I hardly dared to school. When I came home for vacation, the green ask why she was not invited as a member of the family lamp shade, now in her son’s living room, shed its soft

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light steadily. I felt her presence under it, encircled in liked to do. While working to store away the “black an aura of peace, and now understood fully what was gold,” we repeatedly jumped under the truck to seek meant when she had said to her son, “You are too shelter from the strafing of low flying planes. There ambitious. There are more important things to create was no longer any German counter-attack attempting than wealth and prestige.” to protect us, since German troops had retreated from But her son continued to belabor his questions to our territory during the early morning hours, leaving my father: “What do you need or want? I can get it for us open to advancing enemy troops. The frequent you at the click of my fingers,” hinting that my father attacks delayed our work until we realized that the really was not smart enough to use his own business tanks, moving along the highway two hundred yards to illegally supplement the needs of his family. from our house, carried white stars and the letters US. “Willie needs to be more cautious,” he said to my Almost simultaneously, white bed sheets appeared mother. “His need to show off will cause him trouble from houses lining the street. It was then that we left in the long run. Why should I feel the urge to boast of our precious heap of coal alone and walked to the my own activities on the black market? They are main road to watch the enemy occupation of our demeaning and shameful, but often necessary.” town, which we accepted with sadness and relief. Uncle Willie remained generous enough toward his During the weeding out of war profiteering by the extended family with extra deliveries of coal. He kept occupying forces, my uncle lost many of his politically us so well supplied that, now and then, we could share based business relations, but he retained his business some briquettes with the neighbor widow, who was on a smaller scale and mourned the death of his wife too old and without black market resources to keep from cancer when we visited. When thus depressed warm during the winter of 1945. and alone, did he ever realize that Grandma Andree’s On the last day of war for us, April 15, 1945, the lamp with the green-fringed silk shade had remained Andree coal delivery truck had again just dumped a for me the symbol of moderation, kindness, whole load in front of our house. Now it was up to my loneliness, and immersion into concern for others—in parents and me to carry the heap, in piles, to a chute short, the symbol of a model grandmother? W leading into the cellar—a messy job that none of us

Book Excerpt: Chapter 1 of My Life Joyce Crothers

Editor’s Note: Joyce believes in the value of remembered of thunderstorms and firecrackers, and would run ways. A wife and mother born and raised near New York upstairs and hide under my parents’ bed whenever City, who also has lived in the La Crosse, Wisconsin, area they crackled. for more than thirty years, she realizes the value of both big I became interested in art at the age of three. That and little things. Here, she establishes the foundation for Christmas, I received a coloring book and a large box her autobiography, which she hopes will suggest the basic of Crayola crayons. Bobbi, who was interested in art ways in which she has negotiated her life. also, sat down on the floor with me and taught me how to color inside the lines. She explained to me was born Joyce Ellen Gleason on January 17, 1940, about shadows and shading. If the sun were on the Iand lived at 115 Delaware Avenue, Freeport, Long right side of the page, then the shadow would be on Island, New York. My street was lined with beautiful the left side of the object. She was a great inspiration maple and oak trees. to me. Later I would draw on my own and go on to oil My earliest recollection comes from when I was painting. three years old. That was the year my younger sister, When World War II ended in 1945, I was five years Pam, was born. I was so looking forward to having old. My father was an air raid warden. When the air another sibling to play with, as my older sister, Bobbi, raid siren sounded, it was his job to check the homes was thirteen years older than I and involved with on our street to make sure they had their shades things other than playing with a three-year-old sister. drawn and lights out so an enemy plane flying over At the time Pam was born, we had an Irish setter would not see lights indicating a town below. I named Rusty. He was very good with us kids. In fact, remember looking out my bedroom window at all the many times he would lie next to Pam’s playpen, and neighbors in the street whooping and hollering and she would reach through the bars and pull on his fur, blowing on noisemakers to celebrate the end of the sometimes pulling out a fistful. war. I asked my father, “When are we going to have Rusty was the mascot for my father’s Boy Scout another war, Daddy—you’re having so much fun.” troop. He used to march with Dad in the Memorial During the war, Americans were encouraged to Day parade wearing a jacket Dad had made for him, grow victory gardens to help in the war effort. We had adorned with his Boy Scout medals. Rusty loved the one, as did two other neighbors on our block. One of excitement of all the people and behaved well in the those was a lady everyone called Grandma Keener. We parade. He had one fault, though—he was very afraid grew tomatoes, beans, peppers, eggplant, and squash.

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Pam and I were not allowed in the gardens. One day I ballet lessons. I, on the other hand, sported guns on went into Grandma Keener’s garden and took a red my hips, climbed trees, and wanted a horse. Pam was fruit off one of her plants. After taking a bite, I ran the messy one. Her dresser drawers were a disaster area. screaming into the house, as the fruit was burning my If I loaned her a sweater or shirt to wear, it would end mouth. It turned out to be a chili pepper. I learned my up in a ball in her drawer. My mother got so frustrated lesson, as always, the hard way. that she finally started dumping Pam’s dresser drawers On Sundays during the summer, we usually went to upside down on the floor while she was at school. Jones Beach. There were several beaches that made up When she got home, she had to pick up everything and Jones Beach—#4 contained two pools near the beach put it neatly away before she could go anywhere. The parking lots: the Olympic-sized pool, with one high message finally got across, and the situation improved. diving board and two low boards, and the kiddy pool, When we were little, my father shaved with a safety which was shallow, for the little ones. Number 9 was razor and used a brush and shaving soap. Pam and I the family beach, and that’s where we went most of loved to sit in the bathroom and watch him shave. the time. All the entrances to the beaches had Every so often, he would kid around with us and chase beautiful gardens full of petunias. My father had never us around the house with a loaded brush, trying to get learned to swim, so he never went into the water, but soap on our faces. enjoyed the beach anyway. Most of the people were Bobbi got married when I was seven years old. Pam from Long Island—they came early. The people who and I were unable to attend her wedding due to a came out from New York City usually went to another horrendous case of chickenpox. We had spots in our part of the beach. ears, on the One time when we were there, my father said he bottoms of would give me a dollar if I could swim across the pool. our feet, on I was just getting comfortable with swimming, and the palms of this was a challenge for me. I swam across and got my our hands, dollar. Of course Pam was not going to be outdone. and in our She said she wanted a dollar also, and jumped into the scalps. Some pool. She made it almost the whole way, and Dad gave time later, I her a dollar as well. also had We built giant sand castles, only to have them measles. I dissolve in the waves of the incoming tide. We hunted couldn’t the elusive sand crabs, which burrowed quickly into stand the the sand. We walked the beach for hours, looking for light, so shells and anything else the waves washed up on Mom shore. To this day, beachcombing is one of my favorite covered all pastimes. Over the years, we watched families grow up the windows on that beach. with Sundays were special in the winter, also. We always blankets. ate our dinner at noon, and in the evening we had Whooping cough was another childhood disease I Childhood home of something light to eat, like ham and cheese on toasted had, and it was probably the scariest for me. I think I Joyce (Gleason) Crothers, Freeport, Long Island, NY, English muffins. We ate in the kitchen most of the was in seventh grade. I went into fits of coughing and circa 1950. (Courtesy of time and listened to Our Miss Brooks and The Jack could not get my breath. When this happened, my Joyce Crothers). Benny Show on the radio. If it was really cold outside, mother made me put my hands on the floor, as if to Dad built a fire in the fireplace and we curled up in do a handstand, and kick my feet up in the air. She front of it and ate our supper in the living room. would then grasp my legs and slap me on the back to Other nights during the week, we could listen to the get me to breathe. news with Edward R. Murrow and to mysteries like The One day, shortly after I came down with whooping Shadow and The Green Hornet. cough, my mother went to the store. I was on the I remember my father trying to wake Bobbi in the second floor, and my father was working in the mornings. He tried everything, including dripping basement. Suddenly, I started coughing hard. I raced water on her head. Finally, he just took her mattress down the stairs to the basement, not able to breathe. and dumped it and Bobbi on the floor. One day, Pam My father heard me coming, and met me at the and I heard Mom singing, as she was quite prone to bottom of the basement steps. He had never done the do, but she was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. handstand thing with me, and it took a few seconds How could she do this? That’s when we found out that for him to realize what I wanted him to do. I planted mother had dentures, which she had worn since she my hands on the floor and kept kicking my feet in the was a young woman. air. Finally, he caught on, held my feet, and slapped Pam and I got along pretty well. We had our me on the back. To this day, I am slightly squabbles which, now looking back, were insignificant, claustrophobic and get a little panicky if I dive off a but at that time seemed monumental. We were very board into a pool and go down too deep, because it’s different. Pam loved dolls and paper dolls and took hard to breathe.

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When I had a cold, Mother put a mustard plaster horses then, and a western jacket was tops on my list. on my chest. This was a large piece of fabric with a My folks downplayed the jacket, saying that it was too mustard concoction in it that when moistened and expensive. Christmas morning came, and we opened put on the chest was supposed to draw the cold out. I our presents. Pam had wanted a large baby doll, and also remember getting spoonfuls of cod liver oil when she received it. I had opened a few small things, but I was young. no big present. My father called my attention to the Thanksgivings were spent at my Aunt Ruth and farm scene we had under our tree. One of the sleds Uncle Burr Houghton’s house. Aunt Ruth cooked carrying logs had tipped over, and he asked me to right dinner using both a large, black, wood-burning cook- it and replace the logs. I dutifully obeyed. After I fin- stove and a conventional gas stove. It was always very ished and stood up, I saw that on the back of a chair warm in the house with the cookstove going, and after was my suede-fringed jacket. Mom had gone upstairs dinner we all had to get outside for a breath of fresh air. while I was working under the tree and brought it Ruth and Burr had a very large and very cowhocked down. I was elated! St. Bernard named Carla. Carla always slobbered a lot, I loved the house I grew up in. We had three so Uncle Burr kept a towel with him to wipe her bedrooms and a full bath upstairs, and a living room, mouth when company was around. Their living room dining room, eat-in kitchen, and half-bath downstairs. was small, so when Carla laid down there, you had to In the basement was our family room, or “play room,” step over her to get anywhere else. Aunt Ruth was very as my folks called it. That’s where we watched TV and petite and weighed only ninety-two pounds. It was played ping-pong. Dad had built a bar in one corner, as comical to watch her walk Carla, who weighed two my folks loved parties and had one every New Year’s Eve. hundred pounds. Dad always joked about who was My favorite room was my bedroom. It was a sunken walking whom. bedroom—you had to walk down two steps to get to it. I was the boy my father never had. He taught me I had three windows, the front one being a dormer. how to throw a baseball (not a softball) and, during There was a wedge-shaped closet on either side of the the summer after supper, we would go out in the street front window. These closets were full height for about and play catch. He bought me a beautiful glove, and I two feet, and then followed the roofline down to got quite proficient at throwing and catching. Of nothing. The backs of the closets were great for storing course, I threw like a boy. Our neighbor, Mr. Levy, was toys, suitcases, etc. My father built a window seat under an older man, and didn’t like the ball accidentally the front window that housed my toys and, in later going on his lawn, so we didn’t bat very often. When years, blankets. Mom made cushions for it, and I we did, though, we waited until Mr. Levy wasn’t home. would often sit there and read. With three windows, I My father was very handy around the house. When had plenty of light, and it was a great place to draw and I was little, he bought a long telephone pole and split paint. When Pam and I were punished for some it himself to make a split-rail fence along one side of indiscretion, we were sent to our rooms. Of course, I our property. He built what we called the “kiddy loved my room, so it wasn’t really punishment for me. garage” onto the back of our house. This was an I spent hours there doing artwork and reading such addition in which we stored bikes, lawn mowers, etc. books as Albert Payson Terhune’s collie stories, Walter He also made an outdoor fireplace out of fieldstone Farley’s Black Stallion books, and the Bobbsey Twins and a swing set for us kids. Shortly after that, he took books. I was a voracious reader and would get so the screens off the front porch and built a porch on involved in a book that I was completely oblivious to the back of the house. He also built a desk and what was going on around me. bookshelves in our living room and also in his My bed was always my safe place, although I always bedroom. He paneled half the basement with knotty checked under it and in the closets before getting pine and made a nice family room. under the covers to see if anything or anybody was One day, he was laying a flagstone path around the there. I don’t know how I became so fearful, but when house. He had stacked a few flagstones behind the I was little, I was afraid to go into the basement by bushes, up against the porch. My next-door neighbor, myself, or even answer the phone. Diane, and I were playing tag, and when I ran through My mother made all of our clothes up through the bushes where the flagstones were stacked, I tripped junior high. I remember a cowgirl outfit she made for and fell on them. I had a large hole just above my me because I wanted to go to the Buster Crabbe Rodeo knee. My mother took me into the house, sat me that was in town. It was a navy blue felt skirt and vest, down on the closed toilet seat in the first floor bath- with yellow fringe and a yellow shirt. She bought a hat room, and poured iodine in it. You could have heard to match and also made cowboy boot spats for me to me scream several towns away. I still have a scar there. wear over my shoes. She made a snowsuit for me out Since then, I have not wanted to use iodine, even on of a blanket when I was a year old. Smocking was my own children. quite popular when I was little, and Mom made My folks always gave Pam and me one big present smocked dresses for Pam and me. She later made my each at Christmas, and then some smaller ones. When wedding dress, Pam’s bridesmaid dress, and her I was eleven, I had been pestering them for a suede- mother’s dress. fringed jacket. I was very much into cowboys and Mother loved seafood, especially lobster. She went

160 New American Book Excerpts down to the docks in Freeport and bought them right —so she had the fisherman put the lobsters in paper off the boat, as they came in. She paid sixty-five cents bags tail first so that when she emptied them into the apiece for them. She didn’t like handling them—I boiling pot they went in head and claw first. guess she was afraid to get pinched by one of the claws These are just a few of my childhood memories.W

Novel Excerpt from Carrie and the Crazy Quilt Chapter 8: “A Seltsam Wind” Nelda Johnson Liebig

Editor’s Note: Nelda’s Carrie trilogy begins with Carrie The sound in his voice made Carrie stop on the and the Crazy Quilt. In this chapter, a firestorm descends ladder and look. “Seltsam!” she whispered. Across the on the town of Peshtigo, Wisconsin. The local priest gathers road, tongues of fire lapped hungrily at the tinder-dry Carrie and other children together to begin the struggle to grass and underbrush. the river and escape. “Seltsam” is a German word that Mama hurried to the door. With a gasp, she means “strange” or “odd” and refers to the wind that clapped her hands to her cheeks, but said nothing. propels the fire toward Carrie and her family. Carrie and “Now, Kate, the fire that broke out last Sunday the Apple Pie, the second in the series, relates how Carrie across the river was worse than this. We put it out in a and her brother live with a family in a neighboring town few hours. If we’re in danger, Jake Mueller’s boys will later. The third book in the trilogy, scheduled for help trench around the buildings and beat out any publication by summer 2002, tells how Carrie and her small fires that break out.” family return to Peshtigo and rebuild their lives. His voice was calm, but Carrie saw the look he gave Mama. ama wiped her hands on her apron, which was Fear sucked the breath out of Carrie. Her legs went Mstained with blackberry juice. Her face went dark limp. She could hardly pull herself up the ladder to at the sight of her daughter, who looked nothing like the loft. She changed into her other homespun skirt. the neat, slender girl who had left the cabin a few She brushed soot from the old crazy-quilt on her bed hours before. Carrie’s honey-colored hair, now in before she sat on it. She ran her fingers over the gray tangles, almost covered her sunburned cheeks. Instead and black patches, put together every which way. She of braids as her mother liked, Carrie always pleaded to thought of the evenings she and Oma had worked on have it hang loose down her back. it, when she was only ten. The little scraps from Oma’s “Please, Mama,” she would beg, “I want to feel the sewing basket didn’t look like much until they were all breeze blowing through my hair.” But there had been one quilt. no cool breeze all summer. “Your life is like this quilt,” Oma had said. “Each “What am I to do with you, Caroline Hildegard?” thing that happens is like a piece of crazy-quilt. Some “Now, Kate.” Papa put Fritz down and held up his things were bad and don’t make sense until God calloused hands, as though surrendering. “There is stitches them together to form patterns.” more to this than you see. Our Carrie girl does love the “You mean like this patch I can’t make fit together water.” with any others?” Carrie had asked Oma. Carrie saw the mischief in Papa’s eyes. Carrie Now, still sitting on her bed, Carrie brushed the squirmed inside. He rarely teased. And she wished he quilt again and looked for that troublesome patch she wouldn’t tease now. She understood him better when had to redo, but she couldn’t find it. he was stern. “Carrie!” Mama stood at the foot of the ladder. “Are Carrie pulled her hair behind her ears. “Oh, Mama, you changed?” I am sorry, truly sorry.” “Yes, Mama, I’m coming—right now.” Mama sighed. “I have a blackberry pie, venison “Fritz, you help carry the food,” Papa said. stew, butter, and fresh bread for Father Pernin. I know “I don’t want to go.” He clung to Mama’s skirt. he needs the food. His housekeeper is a good worker, “Don’t be such a baby!” Carrie snapped as she but she can’t cook.” backed down the ladder. As soon as the words were “But Kate,” said Papa, “you don’t cook French out, she was sorry. She lowered her voice. “Please, I food.” need your help, little bruder. Maybe we will see Lisa.” “Food is food.” Mama frowned. “Besides, he She helped Mama wrap the food in clean dish towels. doesn’t need all those sweets and fluffy things. A big Fritz went to get Kleine from under the buggy. man needs hearty fare.” “Tell Father Pernin he is welcome to come here,” Carrie climbed the ladder to the sleeping loft. Mama said, wiping her hands on her apron. She wiped “And hurry home,” Mama added. “You know how her hands again, even though they didn’t need it. She difficult it is to see along the road in the dark.” talked faster and kept looking out at the fires. “Fritz,” “She won’t have trouble seeing the road,” said she called out the window, “can’t you find Kleine?” Papa, standing in the doorway. Carrie liked to go to the church. Father Pernin was

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easy to talk with, even with his thick French accent. He Kleine inched along behind Fritz, whimpering. The told such good stories. Carrie felt close to God when long hairs on his hind legs, usually as fluffy as she was in the quiet church. She thought of the feathers, were stiff with gray ash. His big paws stirred soldiers killing Jesus on the cross. She had asked up puffs of dust with every step. Suddenly he stopped. Father Pernin why God didn’t stop them. He sniffed the air and growled. He circled Fritz, then “Don’t question God’s ways, child. We must not grabbed his pants leg in his teeth. blame God for bad things that happen.” “Now stop that, Kleine!” Carrie commanded. Carrie tucked a clean dish cloth over the food in the “He doesn’t want to go, either,” Fritz said. basket. Suddenly, Kleine let go. He turned back toward the The clock on the fireplace mantel struck five. “Time house. He stopped and barked at Fritz and Carrie. to be on your way,” Papa said. Then he began to whimper again, his nose turned The flames across the road danced up and down skyward. the ditch. Carrie felt sharp pains in her stomach as she “Now don’t stop for anything,” Mama warned. She watched him. She wanted to run back, too. She handed Fritz the loaf of bread, wrapped tightly in a wanted to hug Mama and Papa and tell them she large, linen napkin. loved them. She looked down the smoky road. “Come “Come on, Kleine,” Fritz said. “We’re going to on, Fritz.” She reached for his hand. “Let’s hurry.”W town.”

Novel Excerpt from The Dance: Prologue and Chapter 1 LuAnn Gerber

Editor’s Note: After a hit-and-run driver drastically alters brakes. Only a dull thud that seemed to penetrate her Angie Dalton’s life, she struggles to rebuild it with the bones. She sighed and shook her head. That made compassionate help of police detective Mike Orlean. The three deer so far this year. Only one more to go and accident looks like murder as Mike exposes blackmail, they’d achieve what had become their annual quota. mysterious disappearances, and secret obsessions in Angie’s The poor animals didn’t stand a chance now that the quiet academic community. Mike must risk his life, and college had expanded its grounds and the latest series Angie must risk a second loss, to bring the killer to justice. of subdivisions had reached completion. Only thin ribbons of woods remained where lush forest had Prologue once abounded. e saw it coming, but there was nothing he could She went to the back door, and with the lights still Hdo about it. off, tried to look beyond the stand of trees that made a The car caromed around the curve, still natural fence across the back of their property. Her accelerating. Had he been able to make his feet neighbor, Mrs. Viceroy, stood like a sentinel near an respond, it wouldn’t have mattered. He stared at the opening in the trees, a cordless phone pressed to her onrushing car and shifted the backpack slightly on his ear. Angie retreated quickly into the house, sure that shoulder, an unconscious and wholly useless attempt Mrs. Viceroy would see to it that the deer was hauled to cushion the impact. Disbelief was overtaken by away as soon as possible. understanding in the split second it took for the car to Angie had another fifteen minutes before she reach him. He was propelled violently off his feet, needed to leave to meet Greg after his night class. and the rush of air that exploded from his body She’d walk over and they could take a moonlit stroll robbed him of the scream that should have pierced before coming home. She settled herself back on the the night. The backpack whirled soundlessly from his couch and picked up her latest Book Club selection. It shoulder and landed with a dull thud on the grassy had one more chance to engage her attention, but the verge of the highway. unexciting plot and mundane characters still plodded There was no physical pain—the trauma of the along like foot-weary soldiers. A few minutes later, the impact assured that—but there was intense rage and sirens of rescue vehicles interrupted what little paralyzing terror. He had time for one anguished concentration she had, so she gave up on reading for thought, completely uncharacteristic of his agnostic the night. She sat silently listening to the sounds beliefs, before his skull was crushed against the drifting over from the accident scene, and glanced at unyielding pavement. the clock. It was nearly 9:50, so Greg would be God help them. winding up his lecture. If she left now, she could hurry him along and they’d have more time for their walk. Chapter 1 She pushed herself off the couch she’d hastily he crash vibrated through the air as Angie Dalton picked out after the last one had succumbed to one Tsaid good-bye to her mother and hung up the bounce too many, and shoved a wayward cushion back phone. There were no squealing tires, no whining into place. She smiled at the casual disorder of her

162 New American Book Excerpts home as she flipped a pillow back onto the couch with her foot. In her house, throw pillows lived up to their name. The kids tossed them everywhere, lounged on the floor with them, and piled them into forts. Steve’s latest fort was tumbling down in the corner behind the couch. She’d have to live with it until Saturday. She pulled on a sweater to combat the slight chill of an early-September night, and knocked on Mark’s door. “Yeah, Mom?” “I’m going to walk over to Dad’s office. Unless he’s standing around gabbing, he should be about done. We might walk a bit, so don’t expect us back right away.” “O.K. Anything in the fridge I can have? You want me to watch ’til you get over there? What’s with the sirens?” Angie was used to his rapid-fire questions, so she answered in kind. “Anything in the fridge is fair game. If you’d watch ’til I wave, that’d be fine. It sounded like “Ma’am, we have an accident here. Please stay Mule deer, 1998. another deer got hit.” back.” He spoke automatically, but trailed off as he Gunnison National Park, CO (By Carol Michaelson). “The driver must have gotten hurt for there to be noticed her ashen face. sirens,” Mark said as he stood up from his computer She thrust the backpack toward him, but kept a and stretched. tight grip on it. “My husband’s,” she said. “I found it “I’ll get the scoop and report back, sir!” She gave him over there.” She swayed dangerously as she tilted her a mock salute and a grin. “Jeanie and Steve are asleep, head to indicate where she’d found the pack. so keep an ear open in case they need something.” Detective Mike Orlean grasped her firmly by the He followed her out onto the back porch and upper arms and held her steady. She was a little bit of watched her take the bike trail around the trees to the nothing in size, but he could feel strong muscles edge of the highway. The dense spruce trees blocked tensed beneath his hands as she gripped the pack. He his view of the accident scene, but that didn’t stop him let her keep it for the time being. Wind blew her long, from craning his neck, however useless an effort it was. dark hair across her face, but she didn’t notice. Her Angie waited to cross the highway, the flashing lights eyes were wide and so black that Mike couldn’t tell if of the emergency vehicles blinking around her like a they were naturally that way or if they were a reflection strobe. of her fear. She idly noticed the controlled chaos of the “Hey, Rex. I need help here,” he called to his partner. accident scene. Police photographers and uniformed Rex pried the backpack gently from her fingers and officers were everywhere. The EMTs weren’t busy, but watched warily as she tried to steady herself with neither were they leaving. Two men in jackets seemed Mike’s help. She was glad of the detective’s firm grip to be running the show. That was all she could see on her arms. He was solid, while everything around through the people and cars milling about. Mark her was slipping away. She clutched at his jacket would have to get his report from tomorrow’s paper. sleeves, and the rough texture of the tweed against her As she stepped out to cross the highway, her toe palms provided a tangible, if tenuous, hold on reality. nudged a small canvas lump that had been difficult to Mike swallowed hard. “A man was hit while see in the glare of the flashing lights. Gooseflesh rose crossing the road. I’m afraid he didn’t make it. He had on her arms as she stared at the backpack she’d nearly no wallet on him.” He looked closely at her, trying to tripped over. It seemed hours before she tore her gaze gauge what she could handle. from it and looked across the commons toward Greg’s Angie closed her eyes and breathed deeply several third-floor office. His light was off. The icy chill spread times. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Greg from her arms to her heart, then plunged down her teaches at the college. He ...he keeps his wallet in his spine. It couldn’t be. With a forced calm, she turned and backpack. His class was supposed to be over about now. waved to Mark—her signal that he could go back in the I was going over to meet him. His office is dark, and he house. She silently prayed for him to do just that. always leaves the light on while he’s still in the building. He hesitated, waved back, and headed into the house. I don’t see him walking across the commons. I ...If She expelled the breath she’d been holding and you haven’t identified him ...I...I have to see...” bent down. It felt as though her arms were no longer Her voice faltered. “Please, I don’t think I can move.” part of her body when she picked up the pack and “My name’s Mike. I’ll help you.” clutched it to her chest. She drifted toward the “Rex . . .” Mike gestured to Rex, who moved off accident scene on legs leaden and barely mobile. The quickly and conferred with the rescue personnel. An taller of the jacketed men saw her coming and moved EMT tried to arrange sheets in such a way that the to intercept her. enormous damage to the back of the victim’s skull,

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and the resultant puddle of blood, would be less Mike put a restraining hand on her arm. Her panicked noticeable. Rex nodded to Mike. eyes scanned his face. “What’s your name?” Mike asked. “I have to go home,” she said. “Mark will worry.” “Angie.” She was unraveling, like a spool on a sewing machine. “Okay, Angie, we’ll walk over together. Are you Mike looked directly at her and spoke slowly, much ready?” as one would talk to a child who wasn’t paying Angie nodded and started walking. Mike kept hold attention. “Angie, your husband was killed by a hit- of her shoulders and backed up slowly, keeping and-run driver. Detective Langloss and I will be himself between her and the body. She locked her eyes investigating the accident. He’ll see that you get home, on his, afraid to look anywhere else. She could see the while I go get your sister. We’ll have questions for you, faint rings of his contact lenses floating on irises the but they can wait, O.K.?” same color as the Tennessee sippin’ whiskey Greg kept Angie nodded and blindly started toward home. in the cupboard at home. She counted the toes on his Rex held awkwardly onto her elbow and glanced crow’s feet: four on the left, three and a half on the nervously at her every few seconds. Her eyes were right. He was talking to her. blank and unfocused, and she aimed them in random “That’s right, just keep moving. Keep looking at me, directions, like a searchlight—a searchlight that Angie. O.K.—we’re almost there. Breathe, Angie.” He wouldn’t find what it was seeking. said her name each time he felt her attention Rex rather admired her control, but he didn’t trust wavering. “All right. I’m going to let go of you now.” it. She reminded him of spun glass—a fragile Her face contorted, and he quickly reconsidered. “It’s appearance that disguised underlying strength. But O.K. I won’t let go. I’ll just move to the side a little even spun glass had its limits, and he wondered when when you’re ready. Are you ready now?” she would reach hers. He hoped Mike would be back She nodded and he moved slightly left, one hand with the sister before it happened. Rex had still encircling her upper arm. She forced her eyes to compassion; he just didn’t know what to do with it. focus. She saw the shirt first, and raked her eyes up to Mark met them at the back door, his eyes wide. the dead man’s face. His eyes were closed, his face as Angie took his hands and forced herself to make eye calm as always. She jerked herself down to him and contact. The words inched out of her mouth, as Mike let go. though she had to breathe between each one: “Mark. “Oh, God, Greg.” It’s Dad. He was hit by a car. He’s ...he’s dead.” After a time, she felt a weight on her shoulders and Mark stared blankly at her, then he crumbled, hands firmly lifting her to her feet. beginning with his face and working down from there. “Come on, Angie,” the soothing voice said. “We She supported him to the couch, soothing him—and need to make sure you’re all right. It’s better if you herself—with the same rocking motion she’d used come over here.” when he was little. Rex left the room. He’d seen plenty She looked at him, sure she should know his name, of people confront a sudden death, but Mark’s naked but unable to recall it. He gently maneuvered her into sorrow knotted his stomach. He thought of his own the back of a police car, and she pulled the heavy teenage son and daughter, then pushed them from his blanket more tightly around herself. Mike. His name mind. was Mike. She felt immense relief at being able to He surveyed the kitchen. The coffeepot was already remember. She huddled into herself and stared at the full. She must have started it before she left to meet mottled pattern of shoe prints on the floormat while her husband. He quietly opened the door to the an EMT checked her for shock. attached garage. The Daltons had two vehicles. The An officer squatted down next to her and asked her one closest to the door was a Honda Odyssey minivan, what should have been easy questions—names, phone metallic silver, and the other was a light pickup, dark numbers, addresses. She had trouble locating the blue with spots of rust. Both were cold to the touch, answers in the fog that had descended on her brain. He and neither had any indications of accident damage. soon gave it up and went away. A female officer brought He slipped back into the kitchen, satisfied that neither hot coffee and stayed with her in the squad car. She car had been involved in the accident. couldn’t taste the coffee, but it burned enough going By the time Rex returned to the living room, Mark’s down to temporarily slow the chill that crept steadily anguish had turned to anger: “Who did it? Was he through her veins. She closed her eyes and leaned her drunk? What happened?” head back against the seat. “I’m not sure exactly what happened. Detective Many minutes later, the detectives returned to speak ...uh . . . ?” Angie stopped. The forgetfulness with her. frightened her. “I’m Detective Rex Langloss, Mrs. Dalton. Mike here “Rex Langloss,” he gently reminded her. “We don’t is Detective Orlean. Is there a relative or friend we can know yet how it happened. Our only witness so far is call to come and stay with you?” a neighbor of yours who was out with her dog. Her “My sister lives a few blocks away. She’ll come.” Her eyes are bad, though, and she didn’t have her glasses eyes opened wide, and she tried to clamber out of the on. She heard the accident and saw a greenish-brown squad car. Rex dodged, barely keeping his balance. car speeding off. She looked for a license plate and

164 New American Book Excerpts thought that was brown as well—probably muddy, had she even mentioned it? Greg had never bothered what with all the rain we’ve had. She thinks there were about his title, so why would it matter now? two people in the car. The radio was playing loud— “I see. We’ll canvas the neighborhood. If anyone country music, she thought.” saw anything, heard anything, we’ll know it,” Rex said. “Mrs. Viceroy,” Angie said, for no particular reason. “Why, Mom? Why would anyone do that to Dad?” “She thought at first a deer had been hit, but then Mark was crying again. realized it, uh, wasn’t, and went in to get her phone. “I don’t know, son. Sometimes terrible things just By the time she came back out, another car had happen.” Her voice was bodiless, as though she’d stopped to help. Since her dog had run off, she went pushed the play button on a tape recorder. She was to find him, then came back to talk to us. She said she saying all the right things, but she felt nothing. Why didn’t think it could be Mr. Dalton—he’s usually not wasn’t she screaming, beating on something, shouting that early coming home.” until she couldn’t shout anymore? The noise, the “Doctor,” Angie said. vibrations, would wake Greg, and bring him back to “I’m sorry?” Rex said, slightly confused. her. But she didn’t dare. She couldn’t let go or she’d “He was a professor. Officially, it’s Doctor Dalton. spiral out of control and shatter into a million jagged He only used the title in the classroom, anyway.” Why pieces.W

Novel Excerpt from The Dummy, “Adam Playing at Soldier” Mary Lou Ryan

Editor’s Note: Mary Lou’s novel is the story of Adam, born exuberant voices gleefully proclaiming that the tide of with a severe cleft palate, which has made speech for him war had turned at last. almost impossible. The story spins out in the 1940s in a His reverie was broken now by the wail of the small Midwestern town where Adam works and witnesses approaching 7:15 freight out of Minneapolis. It things he wishes he hadn’t. usually arrived at the Evans Creek Bridge just after he did on his evening walks, but it was early today. He e walked along the tracks headed north out of scrambled down the bank and sat under some bushes Htown, kicking at the black cinders that lay thick to wait until it thundered by. Usually he sat under the beside the shiny rails. It was still light out; a long June creek bridge, and the explosion of sound above him evening lay ahead. He was finished with work for the gave him a strange feeling of euphoria. day, and now he put his hands out in front of him, The freight today was an unusually long one, and examining the skin all wrinkled and puckered from Adam read the names as they flashed by: Santa Fe & eight hours of dish washing at Ed’s Diner, across from Western, Great Northern, Union Pacific, Milwaukee the Milwaukee Road Station. He made a wry face and Road. And as he watched the cars speed past, he clasped his hands behind his back, as if to hide from thought, Here I am, thirty-four years old and all alone. himself the proof of his menial existence. His thoughts drifted back to his early school days. It had been a rough day. Ed’s sharp words echoed Learning to read had been so hard for him. in his head: “Dummy, yer dishwater’s gettin’ greasy. Handicapped by an untreated cleft palate, the sounds How many times do I have to tell you to take fresh he uttered were understood only by his mother. The soap and water when it looks like that?” Ed had school children tormented him, and often he’d come hollered so loudly that it had hurt his ears. He kicked home crying, with their chant of “Dummy, Dummy, some more cinders and sent them flying. Who’s the Dummy” ringing in his ears. His mother would dry his dummy? he thought. Doesn’t Ed know, after all these tears, give him a hug and say, “Listen and learn, listen years, that even though I can’t talk, I can hear perfectly and learn,” and firmly push him out the door and well? I’ll forget my name is Adam, because everybody calls back to school again, day after dreadful day. He soon me Dummy. I have heard very few people call me “Adam” learned to stop trying to talk. If he was silent, the kids since Ma died, he thought. paid less attention to him. At the age of twelve, he He sent another toe full of cinders spiraling refused to go to school any longer, and at fourteen, his upwards, thinking of Ed. “Hurry up, Dummy! Come mom marched him down to the diner when the and clean off the counter. The crew from the four- dishwasher job opened up. eighteen will be here soon,” Ed had growled. It had It wasn’t easy back in 1924 to find a job for been like that all day—Dummy this, Dummy that. someone like Adam. But Henry, the man who owned Adam had been distracted by all the conversation in the diner then, had been a friend of Adam’s father. He the diner. Everyone was so excited. It was June 6, 1944, had much sympathy for Adam’s mom, who had been and everybody was celebrating; the radio said the widowed when Adam’s father was killed in France in Allies had invaded Europe at 12:30 last night, and the Great War. Henry admired her courage. She had behind the partition where he worked, he could hear gone to work in the local box factory, leaving Adam in

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the care of a neighbor. Henry was a kind employer, but all day, but at night he played ragtime and new pop he soon retired and sold the business to gruff, blustery tunes. Sometimes he played classical music, and Adam Ed. Adam’s job continued, but Ed was a little short on liked that best of all. compassion and long on yelling. Adam had been at When he tired of listening, he’d continue up Birch the diner for eight hours a day for the past 20 years, Street and see if the Olsons were arguing. He knew a washing dishes and doing general cleanup. lot about the Olsons, as Mr. Olson always had a bottle The caboose whooshed past now, and Adam picked of beer in his hand, and by the time Adam reached himself up, brushed off his overalls, and headed back their house, the beer had loosened Olson’s tongue and toward town. It would be getting dark by the time he the dialogue crashed through the window into the got back—time to walk his evening route. When he night, loud and clear. neared the station, he spied a broken khaki-colored If it was quiet at the Olsons’, he’d cut over to Oak packing case by the side of the track. It must have Street and hope to catch a glimpse of Harriet Martin. fallen from the freight. White stenciled letters on the She had been in Adam’s class back in his early school- side said, “U.S. Army.” And lying at his feet was a hand days, and she had grown to be a beautiful woman. She grenade that had rolled free of the protruding raffia. had not been among the children who teased him, but He picked it up and stared at it, fascinated. He knew it would smile sweetly and say, “Don’t mind them, was dangerous, but he knew also from watching war they’re stupid.” Sometimes, her shades would be movies down at the Paramount that nothing would drawn, but once in a while they were open, and he happen if you didn’t pull the pin. could see her sitting bent over her needlepoint. He felt He looked around and saw no one. He hesitated a great affection for Harriet. Around ten o’clock, the moment, wondering if he should go and fetch the lights began to turn off, and Adam would turn around stationmaster and report the box. No. Then he and leave the west side, trudging back to his tiny little couldn’t keep the grenade. And besides, the section brown house across the tracks. crew that came through each morning would find the Now, he shifted in his chair and pulled his billfold crate. Quickly now, he moved beyond the crate and from his back pocket. Staring at the grenade turned in the direction of home. He’d skip his route reminded him of his draft status, and he took his tonight. Home was to the east, just across the draft card from the wallet and grimaced as he saw the sprawling expanse of tracks opposite the diner. He 4-F rating. He had registered for the draft, like turned in at a small, brown, shingled bungalow, let everybody else, when the Selective Service started. But himself in with his key, and sighed. He placed the the draft board wouldn’t even let him take a physical. grenade in a bowl in the middle of the table. Then he In a small town like New Bergen, everybody knew sat down and just stared at it. What had he done? Why everybody, and they just stamped his card 4-F and had he been so impulsive as to bring it home? sent it on. He thought of all the windows on his route He sank deeper into the battered old mohair morris where the blue stars hung. Boys who were much chair, and pondered. I wonder if Rufus will miss me younger than Adam were off to war, but many Adam’s tonight, he thought. Rufus had started accompanying age were also in the fray. Adam on his route a couple of years ago. At least he He shrugged, returned the card to his wallet, and did when Adam walked the route on the west side of began preparing for bed. He again thought of Rufus— Harris Street, where everybody kept their shades up. the big, shaggy St. Bernard—who would come Adam had fallen into the habit of walking at night bounding out from behind the two-story frame house after Ma died; it was so lonesome sitting in the little on the corner of Harris and Tenth and patter along house all alone in the evenings. He’d given up walking beside him until he cut over to Birch Street to listen to in town in the daylight, preferring the open spaces Mr. Thorson. Sometimes Rufus came along and would along the track, where there were few people to stare at plop down beside Adam in the shadow of the blue him or taunt him. But at night, the darkness hid him spruce and beg to have his ears scratched. Rufus and out there on the sidewalk, and he could look in at the Adam had several things in common: they both liked families inside. He had his favorite families to spy on, to roam, they both communicated in quiet ways, and and they seemed like old friends to him. they were both town characters. In the daytime, Rufus He looked up as the old German kitchen clock followed children to school, and some of the more chimed nine o’clock, and then glanced back at the adventurous kids climbed on his broad back to get a grenade. He should have left it there, beside the box. ride. Rufus didn’t mind, and the kids thought him a He was missing story time at the Websters’. He usually good substitute for a pony. Rufus lent Adam his quiet walked by in time to see Mrs. Webster sitting on their companionship for a short time each night, and then living room sofa with her three youngsters crowded suddenly bounded away toward his home. Ah, well, around, reading them their bedtime story. And from thought Adam, I’ll see Rufus tomorrow night. there, he’d amble over to Birch Street and sit, invisible, The next morning at breakfast in the diner, Adam on the lawn in the shadow of a big blue spruce and heard the section chief bragging about his heroic deed listen as Mr. Thorson played his ebony grand piano, of the day: “Found a whole crate of live grenades sending rapturous music out into the night through beside the tracks this morning—enough to blow up the open bay window. Mr. Thorson gave piano lessons the whole town.” And yes, he told Ed, they’d informed

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Army Ordnance and were instructed to put the The grenade rolled out of Adam’s pocket and repaired crate on the next freight. It was already on the stopped at Rufus’s feet. Rufus picked it up in his mouth way to Camp McCoy. Adam heaved a sigh of relief and trotted toward Adam. What if that pin got loosened behind his partition. There was no talk of a grenade as I fell? thought Adam frantically. He reached out to being missing; the subject was closed, and the men Rufus, retrieved the grenade, and realized that there went on with local gossip. wasn’t enough light from the far-off corner streetlight As the late June days grew gradually shorter, Adam’s to examine it. He felt for the pin. It wasn’t in place. He routine remained the same: work till four o’clock . . . quickly pressed the lever to the side of the grenade and walk out to Evans creek and back . . . then, as night fell threw himself down on the boulevard with his arm and the lights twinkled on, turn west to walk the under his body. If only I could tell Rufus to get out of here, “route.” On Wednesdays, he skipped the Evans Creek he thought, and though he hadn’t tried to speak for walk and braved the daylight to go directly to St. years, he now tried to shout a warning. The agonized Ambrose Church, where he sat quietly in a back pew guttural sound that rent the night air did not move and listened to the choir practice for the coming Rufus, but it frightened the Webster child, and she slid Sunday service. Some days, he went home before his off Rufus’s back and scampered toward home. walk and tucked the grenade into his pocket. It gave Adam squeezed his eyes tightly shut and thought: him a strange feeling of power to know it was there. Any second now, any second, it’ll blow up. The seconds When the shadows lengthened, he pretended to be a ticked by. It seemed an eternity as Adam counted back- GI, dodging German soldiers that were all around him ward from ten. He got to zero. Nothing happened. in the darkness. Puzzled, he opened his eyes and rose from the The news from Europe during the summer was ground, still clutching the grenade. Maybe it was a dud. good. The Allies were making progress across France. He kept his hand firmly on the lever and headed for The diner radio was on all day, and Adam listened the gravel pit. He walked swiftly, but was afraid to run. carefully to all the war news. In the evenings on his It was only a couple of blocks to the south. Sweat began rounds, he fantasized about the battle of the day and to trickle down his face—more from fear than from the started including the gravel pit south of Birch Street in August heat. A half block left to go. When he reached his meanderings. It seemed a good place to play at the brink of the sand pit, he paused for a moment, then being soldier. One hot August night as he approached threw the grenade on a high arc toward the water in the the Websters’, Rufus came bounding out from between middle of the pit. He’d often stood here throwing the houses with the Websters’ three-year-old girl on his stones in the water on nights when he’d been playing back. Adam could hear the sound of laughter; the soldier. But this time was different. The grenade flew up family was sitting in the backyard, postponing and came down squarely on a large rock protruding bedtime for the children to escape the heat indoors. from the murky water. A loud explosion shattered the The three of them walked companionably along silence, then echoed off the walls of the gravel pit and Harris Street in the deepening twilight. Suddenly, a cat re-echoed off into the night. Not a dud after all. He sank darted across the sidewalk in front of them, and Rufus, to his knees, shaking from aftershock, realizing what startled, jumped in front of Adam, tripping him and might have happened. Rufus was still beside him. Adam sending him sprawling. put his arm around Rufus, buried his face into the dog’s soft fur, and began to cry. W

German Girls’ Catholic School Capers Ursula Chiu

Editor’s Note: This is another chapter from Ursula’s The school, dating back at least as far as 1700, had childhood memoirs. attracted government protection, even during Nazi time, because of its excellent reputation. When my two he eighth graders of St. Mary’s private gymnasium friends and I prepared for the new school year there Twere upset and milled around in protest when after Eastertime, 1939, however, we were thinking their principal announced that their school was to be more of the new life in a community of peers than of secularized under Nazi leadership in 1939. Most other the school’s historical background. Traveling by train private schools in Germany would suffer the same fate, from a densely populated area around Cologne to the but some remained open, though they were many central German red-earth farmlands, we speculated miles from our town. I pleaded with my parents to about the new venture, but also wondered if we were allow me to attend the private gymnasium of the transplanting ourselves out into the sticks. We hoped Ursulines in Duderstadt, a boarding school, along Duderstadt would remind us more of our own with my best friends, and they reluctantly agreed. As a modern, urban environment than the endless stretches teenager, I could not quite fathom their heartbreak of rolling farmland and scattered dwellings we saw when they agreed to allow their only child to live far from the rolling train. from home except for vacation time. A horse-drawn wagon from the cloister was waiting

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for us at the Duderstadt station to cart off our luggage. Gisela, Maria and me. With our strong mutual support An upper classmate asked us to walk the mile to the and our urban sophistication, we were soon called combined school and cloister buildings. After she had “The Triumvirate,” and enjoyed acceptance by other us take the historical tour through the city center, we new arrivals. We were quick to explore the buildings, realized that we could not avoid history. We found including the pig stables. After our survey, we were that this town of thirty thousand had its own sure we had landed in a place far inferior to our thousand-year traditions. The citizens still lived previous school. behind remnants of medieval walls and four city We soon discovered that the antiquated atmosphere gates—which no longer could be closed at night, we extended to etiquette.“Can you believe it?” Maria learned with relief. The city center, quaint and colorful exploded. “The polite way to leave the study hall is to with well-kept Baroque buildings, featured carved walk backwards through the door, leaving remaining façades on houses and welded trade signs on shops. peers with the impression of your smile, not your The town reminded us of pictures from backside.” Gisela added: “We need a special written “‘Guide young women fairytale books. When would the Pied Piper permission, given on weekends only, to leave the of Hamlin step forth to whisk us away? building. We live in a double prison: a walled-in city in your care with love “Antique iron horse ties on some houses and a caged-in convent.” show that the town was once a resting place Coming from the outgoing, witty mentality of the and gentleness, not for travelers who had crossed an extensive Rhine population, we did not adjust easily to the swampy area,” our guide pointed out. “The heavier-mindedness of the Middle Germans. Accents with harsh first German emperor, Henry, gave this and word choices were different. Religious practices territory to his wife, Mathilde, in 996. She appeared more severe, yet we appreciated gradually demands ...Do not was a practical woman who had horse that the Sisters were friendly but demanding teachers, stables built for imperial travels in the area. highly educated women, and very independent spirits. force them to follow The town then developed gradually around They certainly followed St. Angela’s advice of five these stables to provide travelers’ needs.” centuries ago: “Guide young women in your care with your advice, but Quick images flashed in my mind of St. love and gentleness, not with harsh demands . . . Do Mary’s school at home, a highly modern not force them to follow your advice, but remember remember that God building of the early thirties, with easy that God has given free will to each of them . . . access to modern stores and convenient Remember, that personal example and modeling is the has given free will to transportation. When would we reach that most convincing style of teaching” (450 Jahre part of Duderstadt? Ursulinen, Duderstadt, 1985, p. 22). Once we began each of them . . .’” Down a cobblestone street, we finally to experience these qualities in our teachers, we were faced large, half-timbered three-story able to forget the perceived deficits in the physical buildings forming an open court, with an adjoining environment. red sandstone church. The entrance, preceded by a Life at the boarding school did not focus only on wrought-iron fence and a small garden, featured a serious study. We also developed the mischievous side brightly painted Baroque door. It opened onto a dimly of our personalities once we gained insight into our lit hallway with a grilled gate that was opened after we teachers’ foibles. Sister Stanisla, our literature teacher, had identified ourselves. With the quick judgment of a was old and near-sighted. When she assigned a ten- teenager, I concluded that we had put ourselves into a page paper telling our life stories, we decided a break medieval prison, and now we had no choice but to was needed. Before her class, we hid in the back of the stick it out. classroom, all twenty-five of us, and kept absolute From the formal reception room, with antique silence. She walked in, went to her desk, hesitated, furniture and plenty of saintly pictures, my friends and since she did not see any students, and walked out I were led to the study room, with old-fashioned again. We had the hour off, and spent it in the attic to desks and purple wallpaper, where I soon would escape detection. A feast of sausage and bread from spend most of the day, with classes in the mornings care-packages sent from home, helped us celebrate the and homework in the afternoons. There was no “victory,” which remained without consequences. comparison to the separate classrooms, study rooms On our daily group walk, accompanied by a nun, and living areas that St. Mary’s featured. At least the one or two students at times lingered behind the dormitory, right next to the classroom, wasn’t group and vanished into the only Café House in town disappointing. The large room contained twenty cells for some pie, purchased with food coupons during the formed of three wooden walls with a curtain in front. war. Often the nuns knew about the venture even Bed and washstand completed each individual room. before the group returned from their walk—there were “This is no different from living like nuns in the always people in town who wanted to make sure the cloisters. I hope we’ll get out to see real life every once in cloister inmates lived up to the school’s reputation. a while.” Maria’s wry comment was audible only to us. I have to admit to one infraction that still shames With the beginning of classes, we found out that me today. Our group was asked to do spring cleaning most intern students came from eastern and northern of our storage cabinet, a large armoire in which each Germany. Nobody else was from the Rhineland like of us held an open square. With my mother’s

168 New American Book Excerpts meticulous training, I was known to be neat and well- prepare for university exams. Most of the now-vacant organized. I was sure my storage area was in order and school buildings were used as an Army hospital in relaxed without checking. After inspection, the Sister which Sisters worked as nurses. Other Sisters prepared in charge held up items that were not in appropriate themselves to leave the cloisters for outside work until places or seemed ownerless. I was shocked when she the end of the war. “Let’s help make our teachers fit for held up my beautiful leather briefcase. the world!” was our challenge when we advised, with “Whose is this?” she asked. “It was lying around at delight, which dress, coat, or hat would properly replace the bottom of the armoire. Anyone claim ownership?” their habits. As social workers in bombed-out cities, the Claiming it was mine would have spoiled my Sisters would focus their support on single women who reputation for order. I could not bring myself to admit were on their own. By the end of the war, all forcibly to the oversight, and the leather case, purchased with laicized Sisters returned to their cloistered lives. great difficulty under the wartime restriction on such For myself and my classmates, Duderstadt, that goods, disappeared, to be disposed of. Whenever I hidden-away, historical town, and the Ursulines’ have difficulties admitting to some weakness, and cloistered, protective school, had become temporary there are many, the case of the denied ownership of a safeguards from bombing raids in the West and the school bag comes to mind. onset of defeat for German troops in the East. We were During the four years at St. Ursula boarding school, offered the tranquility and guidance needed for no new students were allowed admission, with the serious study, leading us all to pass our University intent of phasing out the institution. By the fourth year, entrance exams in February of 1943. W 1943, only twenty-five twelfth-graders were left to Book Excerpt from Rosena Danice (Stanton) Taylor

Editor’s Note: Danice and her great-grandmother Rosena the majority of which lived within a twenty-five-mile were brought close together by an accident. As they spent radius of Platteville, and set up a schedule so Rosena time together, Danice discovered in Rosena a treasure she would receive the assistance she needed. Rosena’s had previously overlooked. Rosena’s stories provided her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were with a link to the past and a wealth of insight about life. more than happy to help out in her time of need. Published here is the first chapter of Danice’s book, still in At the time, I was a student at the University of progress, about Great-Grandma Rosena. Wisconsin-Platteville. Therefore, it was easy for me to spend a couple of nights with Rosena. Even though t all began with an unfortunate accident. My great- my family lived only twenty miles away, we hadn’t Igrandmother, Rosena McPherson, attended the Dairy really spent much time at Great-Grandma’s. Instead, Days parade in Platteville, Wisconsin, at the urging of a most of our family time had been spent with our friend one bright, sunny Saturday morning. After grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, who all lived watching the high school bands, agriculture-related in the same small community as our immediate floats, and farm machinery parade down Main Street, family. Of course our family visited Great-Grandma on the ladies prepared to leave. As they made their way to holidays, but I didn’t know her very well by the time the car, Rosena misjudged a curb, lost her footing, and she took her fall. fell. She came to as she was being loaded into an After I finished classes, spent some time studying in ambulance and winced at the agonizing pain in her hip. the library, and worked a few hours at my part-time job, After a successful surgery to repair her broken hip I headed to Great-Grandma’s home, a large two-story and a week of physical therapy in the hospital, Rosena house on a corner lot, which was about a mile from was eager to discuss the conditions of her release with campus. The green house with white trim was fairly old her doctor. Even though she was in her nineties, but well maintained. The yard had several flowerbeds, Rosena still lived independently in her own home in and flowers still bloomed in the planter next to the side Platteville. She was eager to be released so she could door, although it was well into fall. In a small garden resume her normal daily routine void of nurses and behind the garage, Rosena had planted a couple of doctors who were constantly poking and prodding tomato plants, a few hills of potatoes, and “Foote and running one test or another. Rosena’s doctor beans,” which had been in her family for generations. agreed that she could go home if she had some help Great-Grandma lived on the ground level of the home once she got there. She would need assistance with and rented the upstairs out to supplement her income. household chores and meal preparation for a while. With an overnight bag in hand and a backpack of Rosena’s daughter, Wilma, made the necessary homework slung over my shoulder, I knocked on arrangements. She and her husband, Geoff, stayed Great-Grandma’s door. I was a bit nervous. I had never with her mother for the first few days. However, they visited her by myself before. Would we have anything both had jobs in Milwaukee and needed to return to talk about? Would the evening be filled with an home. Wilma contacted her mother’s extended family, uneasy silence? Would she feel comfortable having me

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spend the night? After a few moments, I heard mostly we chatted. I was relieved that conversation movement toward the door—the thumping of a flowed easily between us. She shared with me stories walker preceded footsteps. She unlocked the door and of her life, which held me spellbound. I could scarcely smiled broadly as I entered. As she hugged me, many imagine the changes she had lived through since her of my fears melted away. birth in 1899. Her memory was sharp, and the details Rosena was sturdy and stood erect at about five of her stories were vivid. feet, two inches. Her face was lined with the many As the evening passed, I realized that Great- wrinkles her ninety-three years had ingrained upon Grandma’s needs weren’t physical. She could get her. Her glasses were supported by a generous nose. around the house fine—a bit slowly, of course, but she Eyes of a beautiful clear blue shone through her could do it. She didn’t want anyone waiting on her, as glasses. Her hair was short, and even at her advanced she’d demonstrated at suppertime. Certainly, for age, it was not completely gray. She wore a knee-length precaution’s sake, she needed someone to stay with dress, her usual attire. her, to make sure she didn’t fall or have any difficulties Great-Grandma led me to the guest bedroom so I related to her fractured hip. More than her physical could stow my things. The bed was adorned by a needs, though, Great-Grandma was lonely. She beautiful, brightly-colored quilt she had made. The enjoyed having someone to talk to, to share her stories walls were covered with pictures of her children, and time with, as would anyone who spent a majority grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Near the of her time alone. window was a table that held several Christmas At eight o’clock, Great-Grandma announced she cactuses of various sizes. I placed my bags next to the was heading to bed. After I made sure she was safe in bed and followed her to the kitchen. It was nearing bed, I retired to the guest room to tackle some five o’clock – suppertime. homework. By eleven o’clock, I was tired enough to go I was amazed that Great-Grandma was so mobile. to bed myself. As I lay in bed, thoughts from the One could scarcely believe she had broken her hip just evening spun around in my head. I was both happy a few short weeks before. To my dismay, she refused to and sad— happy because I had immensely enjoyed let me prepare supper. She did the cooking, and spending the evening with Great-Grandma, sad (and allowed me only to set the table and help serve the ashamed) because it had taken something as tragic as meal. It would take more than a fractured hip to take my great-grandmother’s breaking her hip for me to away any of her independence. The rules of hospitality discover what a wonderful person she was. I’d come to she lived by did not allow her to sit back while a guest a realization: Loneliness is one hundred percent waited on her! preventable; and I promised myself that I was going to After the table was cleared and the dishes were done, do my best to alleviate the loneliness Great-Grandma we retired to the living room. The room was large and experienced in her life. comfortable, with several chairs and a couch arranged The next morning at breakfast, I asked Rosena if it around its perimeter. There was a hutch filled with would be all right if I stopped by to visit her more keepsakes and many interesting dishes. Several shelves often. Like most college students, I had a few breaks on the wall were covered with ornate teacups and between classes during the day. I would gladly give up saucers, which Great-Grandma had collected over the some free time during the week to spend time with years. In a basket next to her chair were the beginnings her. She said she would like that very much. After I of the blocks for the latest quilt she was piecing. Next had finished the breakfast dishes, I gathered my to her chair was a shelf that held many bird figurines. belongings and prepared to head off to the library, We watched television to pass the evening, but where I worked in the morning. Before leaving, I gave Great-Grandma a hug and let her know I’d stop by later in the week to see her. Little did I know, as I headed to campus that day, that I was embarking on a wonderful jour- ney. Over the course of the next several years, Rosena was going to share with me stories about her life. She was going to share with me the joys, as well as the sorrows. In essence, she was going Spirit of La Crosse/Spirit of to share with me the lessons of a America publisher Sean lifetime. Along the way, I was Niestrath, Colleen Neman (Sheila’s sister), and going to learn more about her, my Sheila and Mel Loftus at a family and myself. W book signing, 2000. La Crosse,WI (By Yvonne Klinkenberg).

170 SECTION 13 Innocents, at Home and Abroad

Left:Looking up at the world’s second tallest building, the Sears Tower, My Kind of Town April 2000. Chicago, IL Dona Popovic (By David J. Marcou). Right: Amtrak train en group of us from La Crosse, Wisconsin, chartered was tired, but enjoyed everything anyway. I slept most route to Chicago, March Aa bus to Chicago for a baseball weekend in August of the way home on the bus. 2001. La Crosse,WI (By of 1946. We saw the Cubs play the Phillies three times, In September, a friend and I went to Minneapolis to Steve Londre). and I was hooked on baseball and became a Cubs fan. see about taking art classes, and stayed at her cousin’s Looking out the open window of our tenth floor hotel apartment. We had a good time, and I liked their room that night, I fell in love with Chicago, too. At the friends, but there were no Cubs or Lake Michigan, so I ripe old age of eighteen, I vowed to come back there to came home on the bus. live someday. The following year, after a neighbor, Delores, As my roommates slept, I sat fascinated for hours, graduated from high school and decided to go to staring at that small section of State Street I could see modeling school in Milwaukee, my mother suggested from our window. At dawn, I watched a golden sunrise that I ride along with Delores’s family to see how I over Lake Michigan, then crawled back into bed for a liked it, reminding me that Milwaukee was also on few hours’ sleep. Later that day, at the doubleheader, I Lake Michigan. So off we went, lugging big overstuffed

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suitcases. I stayed for a week to help her get settled, commuters from the suburbs. I was excited, a little and then came home. I was closer to the Cubs there, scared, and felt like a kid on her first trip. but it didn’t seem like the same lake to me. Carrying a small suitcase and wearing high heels, I At Christmastime, Delores came home for a visit. began the long walk to the main concourse, glad that After hearing about all the fun she was having and see- the rest of my things had been shipped ahead in that ing those big black-and-white glossies from her mod- big trunk. Coming out into the station, I saw the eling school, I again got the urge to leave home. Since coffee shop and realized I hadn’t eaten since 11:30 the Milwaukee was out of the question for me, my mother night before. My mother was right: I should have said, “Why not visit Aunt Minnie for a while? She lives taken a ham sandwich. in Skokie, a Chicago suburb.” Wow! What a great idea; The crowd had thinned out by then, and I was able but no way was I going to stay at my aunt’s house. I’d to find an empty stool. Worried about thieves, I tucked be twenty-one in August, and it was time for a change. the suitcase between my legs and the counter, ordered I started reading about Chicago—anything I could the special—eggs, hash browns, toast and coffee—and find. I even went to the library, and my mother wrote ate it all. The waitress eyed my empty plate and letters to Aunt Minnie. Then, during my research, I suggested seconds. I settled for more coffee. noticed an ad in a fashion magazine about the Patricia “You new in town?” she asked. Stevens Modeling School. Why not? If Delores could, I “Yes, from Wisconsin.” I replied, not giving any could, too. details. “Where can I get a cab?” I asked, as I paid the I completed and mailed the application the next check and left a tip. day, before I could change my mind. In a few days, I “The cabstands are around the corner,” she received a reply asking for more information and an answered, pocketing the change. “And take a Checker entry fee of $25. I sent a letter with the additional if you can find one.” information and a money order, but expressed I found a Checker Cab, and the helpful driver gave concern about a place to stay. By then, it was late me a tour, pointing out interesting places along the October, and I had been saving most of my money for way. We went north on State Street, crossed the more than a year. I had bought a trunk, and I probably Chicago River, then passed Oak Street Beach and knew more about Chicago than most natives did. entered the Outer Drive, where dark, angry waves were A week later, I received a nice letter from the washing over three of the four northbound lanes. director at the modeling school informing me that she It was exciting, and in no time at all we arrived at had found a place for me at the best girls’ club in 2344 Lincoln Park West, my new home. town, where the manager was a personal friend of The five-story building had huge stone arches over hers. The club was only two blocks from Fullerton the front door and a covered drive, where the cab Beach and the zoo, and was across the street from stopped. The driver helped me out, opened the heavy Lincoln Park. She went on to say that there was good oak door with leaded glass, and set my suitcase down transportation to the Loop and shopping nearby. The on the white marble floor. As I paid the fare and next day, I gave two weeks’ notice at my job and thanked him for the tour, he said with a twinkle in his started getting my things together. eye, “You’re going to like it here, I know.” Very early on a Monday morning in November of I took his cab many times over the next few years 1948, I arrived at Union Station in Chicago. It was before I got married, and he was right! My husband cold and gloomy outside, but the platform was packed and I spent more than thirty years in Chicago before and people were running. Only a few of us carried any returning to La Crosse to retire. W luggage. Later, I learned that most of them were daily

The Great Trip—1948, Part Fourteen Samuel McKay

Editor’s Note: In August of 1948, Sam, his parents, his nice, clean coffee shop, we ate there instead of brother, and their brand-new 1948 Chrysler Windsor went picnicking. on a month-long trip across the country and back. Sam was After breakfast, we took off on faithful Highway 14 sixteen years old and his brother was twenty. The family toward Sturgis. Along the way we saw signs directing started just outside Boston, Massachusetts, went out to people to various caves, but didn’t stop. However, Seattle, Washington, and returned by the northernmost when we got to Piedmont, we couldn’t resist the sign route. As this part opens, they had just spent the night in for the Black Hills Petrified Forest. It was fascinating Rapid City, South Dakota. seeing stumps and logs that over the years had turned to stone through the infiltration of silicon into the t first light the next day, I awoke and was up and wood fibers. They looked like regular chunks of wood, Adressed before anyone else stirred. Before long, but you could tell by touching them that they were everybody was up and eagerly awaiting our planned solid rock. Just outside Sturgis, we stopped at the Fort tour of the Black Hills. As the tourist cabins had a Meade museum, but did not go through it, as we were

172 Innocents, at Home and Abroad pressed for time. Finally, after leaving Sturgis, we were that looked like it might have been a library or maybe on our way to fabled Deadwood. All the western even a bank at one time. It was full of exciting displays movies and the folklore of western heroes and of all kinds of mementos of the early Deadwood min- characters flashed through my mind. ing days. In one display case, I noticed a rifle with the Deadwood was founded in 1876 after gold was name “Deadwood Dick” carved on it. It looked like a discovered in Deadwood Gulch in 1875 and was fake, but I have to named after the burnt-out forest that surrounded it. believe it was real. Deadwood’s streets ran up the steep sides of the gulch. I had never heard All the legendary saloons were on historic Main Street. of Deadwood One of these was Sweeney’s Silver Dollar Saloon, Dick, but I soon where famed Wild Bill Hickok was shot to death on learned that his August 2, 1876. real name was Wild Bill was a famous U.S. marshall and gunfighter Nate Love, and he in the cow towns of Kansas from 1866 to 1871. He had was a Black cow- been a Union scout in the Civil War and an Indian boy who had been scout later. He was born James Butler Hickok in Troy born a slave in Grove, Illinois, on May 27, 1837. He had been Tennessee. In nicknamed “Wild Bill” because of his behavior, and 1876, he was liking the name, he let it stick. He left the farm at age working as a cow- eighteen and went west. In 1872 and 1873, he toured boy in Texas and the eastern part of the United States in the play Scouts Arizona, and his of the Prairies with another western character, Buffalo outfit got orders to Bill, who later gave him a job with his Wild West Show. drive a herd of cat- Alcohol began to take over Wild Bill’s life, and he tle to Deadwood was unable to hold a steady job. He loved to gamble, City in the Dakota so he ended up in Deadwood, which was a wide open Territory. They gold rush town. Here he met a woman bartender who, arrived on July 3, as biographer Jerome C. Krause said, “shared a good and the town was number of his traits: brash; vain; fiercely individual; preparing for a big alcoholic; and was available for hire as a woman of Fourth of July cele- relaxed virtue when times were lean. Her name was bration. The mining men and gamblers had put up Buffalo Bill monument, Calamity Jane.” prize money of $200 for the winner of a contest of rop- 1999. Cody,WY She was born Martha Jane Canary in Princeton, ing, throwing, tying bridles, and saddling a mustang in (By David Oelfke). Missouri, on May 1, 1852. She became well-known as the shortest time. Nate performed his feat in nine a sharpshooter and horsewoman. She claimed she was minutes and mounted the mustang when he was done. the equal of any man, and she dressed in male attire. The one closest to him did it in twelve minutes and Her nickname was said to derive from her threats that thirty seconds. There was a rifle shooting contest from calamity would befall any man who offended her. She 100 and 250 yards. Nate placed all fourteen of his shots also claimed to have been a scout with the U.S. in the bull’s-eye and ten to twelve pistol shots in the Cavalry and to have carried mail from Custer, bull’s-eye. Not only did the town award Nate with prize Montana, to Deadwood. After Wild Bill’s death, she money, but they gave him the title “Deadwood Dick.” toured the country in several wild west shows As usual, my mother was picking up a pile of exhibiting her marksmanship. She died in 1903. postcards, and while we were at the gift shop, the lady We paused in front of Sweeney’s, looked in the behind the counter told us not to miss the Mount window, and saw four wax dummies sitting at a round Moriah Cemetery, where the legendary characters were table playing poker. One of them represented Wild buried. She then gave us the directions on how to get Bill, who had his back to the bar. Behind him stood there. After we left the museum, we walked back to the another wax dummy, with a Colt 45 in his hand car and drove to the outskirts of town, where Mount aimed at Bill’s back. This was Jack McCall. The story Moriah was located. They were all there. We found the goes that Jack believed that back in Kansas, Bill had plot for Wild Bill, with the grave of Calamity Jane next killed his brother, Lew McCall, who was a thief and to it and the gravesite of Deadwood Dick close by. loudmouth. As he uttered his last words, “The old Wild Bill’s plot was surrounded by a high steel fence duffer—he broke me on the hand,” Wild Bill Hickok around it that had been installed to prevent vandals was shot in the back of the head and killed instantly. and souvenir hunters from getting at a life-size The hand he was holding became known as “the dead sandstone statue placed in the center of the plot in man’s hand.” I could see through the window that he 1903. It was sad to see that the fence had not served its was holding a pair of aces and a pair of eights. purpose: Bill’s head and arms had been chipped off, From Sweeney’s, we went down to the corner of and Calamity’s headstone also had been chipped at. Deadwood and Sherman Streets, where the Adams Bill’s statue was removed in 1955 and placed in the Museum was located. It was a brown brick building Adams Museum. W

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Excerpt from Vital Washington David J. Marcou

Editor’s Note: At Eastertime, 2000, the author and his son Monument. In addition, Mount Vernon, the White visited the nation’s capital for one week, to spend time with House, the other Presidential Memorials, the Air and his brother and sister-in-law and photograph the sights. Space Museum, What follows is most of his conclusion to Vital the Women’s Washington: A Jubilee Year 2000 Photo-Essay. Military Memorial, and the Congress, t’s been said that Washington, D.C., combines Supreme Court, ISouthern efficiency with Northern hospitality. I Pentagon, Library suspect that remark is meant as a wry commentary on of Congress, and the disinterested spirit of the capital. That remark yes, the National confuses the truth a bit. First, it is not necessarily Zoo—not to uncharming to be businesslike about running a capital mention the stops city. The people who live and work in Washington pace along the way, like themselves to get things done in a reasonable amount “that toddlin’ of time. They do not rush about headlong, but their town,” Chicago— pace is hardly slow either. Instead, they keep busy have all inspired enough to give the sense that they are getting things us to try to be bet- done, even though they do not often get things done as ter Americans, quickly as a good sprinter. It’s a middle-to-long- better children of distance run that concerns the people of Washington God. And we most, except on the beltway, and they are getting their won’t ever forget jobs done well, for the most part. And while they are the actions of Tom

not necessarily the most charming people I’ve ever met, and Joy Marcou, (L to R) Mr.Yi Do-Sun, his daughter Jee-Eun, they are polite enough. That said, it was enjoyable for plus my parents, wife Ms. Lee, and Daughter Jae-Young, Matt and me to see how the nation’s business gets the Yi Do-Sun friends of the photographer and his son, outside of their home in Vienna,VA, April 26, done, where it must get done in a big way, every day. family, and many 2000. (By David J. Marcou). Tom and Joy Marcou, What we have been trying to suggest in this photo- other decent visiting from Washington, D.C., 2000. La Crosse,WI essay is that Washington is a vital place, not only to people, who made “our D.C.” possible. (By Vicki Marcou, their the country, but to the world, and even to the Church. It may be relevant here that my good friend Mr. Yi, sister-in-law). As far as one wishes to travel, then, he or she cannot an inscrutable man sometimes, once told me, “Mr. be better served in terms of what America Marcou, you have the potential to be a peaceful means to the world than to first ambassador.” That is what I try to be now. I was not experience what Washington, D.C., New yet that in Washington, because I made several mis- York City, and thousands of other places takes there, including my failure to visit the Holocaust —so many of the latter resembling La Museum’s collections and my failure to take more pic- Crosse, Wisconsin—mean to each other tures and spend more time at the FDR Memorial. But here, in America, on a day-to-day basis. our best words and pictures still help us become better We cannot help but feel grateful to have people today. We do what we can, when we can; and been to many of these places, and to we hope our best efforts save our immortal souls. I do have lived in a few of them, meeting not mind either that our family, friends, employers, thousands of people who “belong” to teachers, students, other associates, and confessors, are these places. The world looks wonderful helping redeem Matt and me, even as I write this. A lot enough to us, in most respects, as a result. Add in goes into every person’s life; it takes a lot to make each Seoul, Korea and London, England, and I’ve been of us whole. We pray daily that our words and pictures lucky enough to have done some useful sightseeing, will never be wasted, and will cause all readers and not to mention living, there as well. viewers to respect and realize the humanity God gives After seeing our D.C.-related photos printed, us all, in this and every nation and community. mainly by American Photo and Precision Photo of La The U.S. government is in no way a government of Crosse, and a few of our best by the Bert Hardy simple islands. As individualistic as most of us think Darkroom Ltd. of London, I now truly appreciate we are meant to be, it is our common destiny that is recalling our stops at the National Catholic Shrine the greatest thing about our personal potentials. We (also known as the Basilica of the Immaculate are all meant to be part of the human family, and that Conception), National Cathedral, St. Timothy’s includes the American family. What a great experience Church, Arlington Cemetery, the Korean and Vietnam Washington, D.C. was and is! May we see and War Memorials (where we were quite moved), and photograph all the other great capitals of the world towering physically above all else, the Washington someday, LIVE, as we did Washington.

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People sometimes think that Washington, D.C., is state governors, when he relinquished his command the murder capital of the world (or a security of the Continental Army: “I now make it my earnest nightmare waiting to happen). But, although we did prayer, that God would have you, and the State over visit that capital city when a murder took place in it, of which you preside, in his holy protection, that he a 12-year-old boy whose name was never released to would incline the hearts of the Citizens to cultivate a the media, we can’t help but think that the two African spirit of subordination and obedience to Government, American gangs who were feuding on Easter Monday, to entertain a brotherly affection and love for one 2000, at the National Zoo, would never have been another, for their fellow Citizens of the United States feuding if they could have traveled just a few miles up at large, and particularly for their brethren who have the George Washington Parkway to Mount Vernon, to served in the Field, and finally, that he would most learn more about what that great man did for the graciously be pleased to dispose us all, to do Justice, to African-American slaves he once owned. George love mercy, and to demean ourselves with that Charity, Washington was religious, strong, honest, smart, hard- humility and pacific temper of mind, which were the working, compassionate, loving, happy, and humble, Characteristicks of the Divine Author of our blessed when he needed to be. He led our nation out of the Religion, and without an humble imitation of whose wilderness, example in these things, we can never hope to be a giving us a happy Nation.” truly Matthew and I saw the true Washington, then — momentous both the Man and the City. The Father of Our Country example of was opposed to monarchy and “pure” theocracy, and proper may have been equally opposed to slavery, in the end, civilization. for he was inspired each day in his prayers to do And he Good. And he knew how diverse elements can be suggested the united; after all, his rag-tag troops at Valley Forge man- nation’s aged to pull themselves together and get started again. capital be Their leader’s faith in God moved mountains, or located where should we say, inspired monuments—just ask the it is, built in British. It was his greatest accomplishment: a strong tribute to our belief in what God had in store for him and America, great during the Revolution and beyond it. I know that’s republican why First President-General George Washington freed Matt Marcou looking to his dad as he enters the democracy of his slaves: to reach heaven somehow, and to inspire White House, April 2000. diverse, God- others to do the same. Washington, D.C. fearing, God- George Washington got up very early every morn- (By David J. Marcou, Matt’s dad). loving ing, to work at making his conscience clean. I guess he Spirit of St. Louis, Charles Lindbergh’s humanity. But knew how to make fresh starts. Even our nation’s cap- (Additional Washington, historic plane, at the Smithsonian. April 2000. he was not ital needs to make fresh starts every so often, too, if D.C., photos can be seen Washington, D.C. (By David J. Marcou). on pages 138, 139, and perfect, and the American people are to live in a “happy Nation.” 146.) he realized that. In his will, he provided for the In this Jubilee Year and beyond, emancipation of all of his 123 slaves, after his wife’s then, Washington, D.C., which death, for he really believed in “brotherly affection.” depends on the goodwill of the He took that action before the abolition movement American people for its was born. Martha Washington freed all those slaves one existence, should be as vital to year after her husband died. Fittingly, in 1983, a Slave all of us as is the “departed” man Memorial was erected at Mount Vernon, where many it is named for, guided by the slaves are buried, designed by architecture students at Spirit and Love of Jesus Christ the very respected Howard University, whose student and His mother, the Virgin Mary body consists mainly of African Americans. The — Who reside in many places memorial’s plaza and granite memorial shaft are the like our nation’s capital, as They focal point of an annual commemoration conducted do in Matt and my heartland by Black Women United for Action and the Mount hometown of La Crosse, Vernon Ladies’ Association. Although he had earlier Wisconsin, on the banks of the defended the rights of slave-holders, George Mississippi River, the Father of Washington did an about-face and wrote near the end Waters. Vital Washington sets a of his life, “I wish from my soul that the Legislature of high standard for all of America this State could see the policy of a gradual Abolition of and her people, and for the Slavery.” Today’s visitors to Mount Vernon are well- entire world. May the Spirit and served by those words and that Slave Memorial. Love of Jesus Christ, the Virgin It shouldn’t be forgotten that the first president of Mary, George Washington, all of the United States wrote in his valedictory letter to the us, and it, live forever! W

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Travel Poems Ty F. Webster

Author’s Note: In 1999, I traveled to Europe to visit my brother in Germany and then to visit some friends and do some traveling around the Republic of Ireland. I was very excited about the prospect of traveling again, as it is one of my passions. The first poem reflects my excitement at being “Out There” again. The second poem hints at a prevalent mood of mine while I was in Germany, a land where I did not know many people or the native language and felt somewhat out of place. The third poem is much more upbeat, a reflection of the wonderful time I had while traveling in Ireland, which is my favorite travel destination in the world.

Up Here On Second Thought Trad Sesiún* Flying along You sit alone Walking around mid-afternoon on In a big metal machine In someone else’s apartment a Sunday Made by men In someone else’s country With the weather lashin’ out: wet So men could make like birds, Staring out the window at the and windy, Cruising along scene Dropping into a nice, cozy pub 15,000 feet off the ground Passing you by five stories below— Dripping like you just hopped out Looking down on The hustle and bustle of the of the tub, Fluffy-white pillowy, workaday world Discovering a quality trad sesiún Cotton-candy billowy At the end of the workaday day. hoppin’ Cumulus clouds Everyone’s rushing With a fiddler, a ’boxer,** and a Accumulated as far as eyes can see, Hither and thither guitarist boppin’, And gazing down through holes On feet, on bicycles, Poppin’ out lively jigs and reels In the clouds In cars, trucks and vans— With tappin’ of toes and stompin’ Clear down to the patchwork Vroom, vroom . . . Beep! Beep! of heels, ground ... vroom, vroom, vroom— And the occasional sad So far below— On buses, on trams But beautiful ballad Where roads look like ribbons Even a plane high in the sky. That brings a tear to your eye, And cars look like bugs Seems like everyone’s got Makes you utter a sigh, And bugs are too small to be seen somewhere to go Ordering up a hot whiskey at the From way up here Somewhere to get to, bar In the sky— Except you. And pulling up a chair right next Makes me high. Seems like everyone’s going to the fire— somewhere A nice, warm fire of orange- Without you . . . glowing coal— No! Warms you, body and soul. It seems like everyone’s going * trad sesiún—a traditional Irish somewhere music session, or gig WITH you ** ’boxer—one who plays the Watching them go! squeezebox, a.k.a. accordion

“Connemara Sunset,” April 1999,West Irish Coast, near Leftrock, Ireland (By Ty F.Webster).

176 Innocents, at Home and Abroad

The Experiences of an American Nurse-Midwife During the Kosovo Winter of 2000 Barbara A. Hammes

Reprinted, with amended title and editing, from the Journal sources now tentatively are in Macedonia and Greece. of Midwifery and Women’s Health, Elsevier Press, Winter Electricity is often on for six hours, off for six. The 2000, with the journal’s and author’s permission. hospital has been without running water for as many Editor’s Note: Although Kosovo, formerly a republic of as six days at a time this winter. To make matters Yugoslavia, is a European nation, it has one of the highest worse, latex gloves are washed, left to dry on towels maternal-infant morbidity and mortality rates. Doctors of placed on the floor near the electric space heaters, and the World (DOW)-United States has earned respect for its reused. Not surprisingly, high infection rates are Maternal-Infant Health programs in Kosovo since 1995. inevitable despite the widespread use of antibiotics. The following are excerpts from the journal of an American When I arrived on the unit, a baby had just been midwife while on assignment there during the winter of born. A thin cloth was placed over its blue and limp 1999-2000. The experience solidified her belief that body as it was carried at arm’s length down the women everywhere share a basic universal sense of survival hundred-meter-long, unheated corridor to the nursery. and love, for each other and their families. I was wrong in assuming it was dead. Their neonatologists express frustration, because they anuary 17, 2000—Two days ago, I celebrated the big understand the importance of the “warm chain” J“50”! Today, flying over the familiar Midwest concept, but since there are no protocols in the OB farmlands, journeying to a new land, I am feeling a units, there is no planning ahead. There are fleece mixture of exhilaration, pride, doubt and fear! I am blankets and stethoscopes in a cupboard at the end of reminded of the old saying, “Be careful of what you ask the hall, but not in the delivery room. The chief for!” My husband and youngest son have assured me neonatologist told me that last week a baby had a that they will take care of the home front. The three temperature of 34ºC (93.2°F) when it reached the older children, away at universities, all promise to e- nursery, making their job very demanding! mail. My teaching colleagues at the University of About midnight, the chief obstetrical resident for Wisconsin have granted me a semester’s leave of that shift hurriedly invited me to accompany him down absence. No more excuses! All know how long I have three flights of stairs to the emergency unit, where desired to be part of an international health project, ultrasound had shown a late first trimester ruptured and have encouraged me to accept an invitation by ectopic pregnancy in a young woman. As her family was Doctors of the World-USA. I know only that I am one instructed to go back to their village to round up blood of two nurse-midwives assigned to a midwifery training donors, she was carried on a stretcher up four flights of project in Kosovo. I am thankful for the opportunity to stairs to the operating suite. (The elevators don’t work push my normal comfort limits and to learn more when the generators are the sole source of electricity.) about myself as a global community member. To make a long story short, the woman survived, and I witnessed amazing surgical skills. The obstetricians and January 25, 2000—It is 10 A.M.and I feel very much anesthesiologists were courageous, scrubbing with water like a midwife, exhausted from being up all night! from a reused two-liter Coke bottle and struggling with Yesterday, the administrator of the Prishtinë University malfunctioning equipment and inadequate supplies Obstetrical-Gynecological Hospital invited me to work and anesthetic agents. alongside his midwives and doctors. Excited about this After assisting with nine vaginal deliveries and possibility, I figured there was no time like the present, observing one C-section, I was invited to attend a and stayed on through the night. Fortunately, there woman who had just reached the unit and was were two young medical students who knew some delivering. After performing the required episiotomy, English to supplement my Albanian-English repair, and resuscitating the newborn, which appeared dictionary. Everything else was done by demonstration to be approximately thirty-two-weeks gestation, I was and use of universally recognized medical terms. The offered a job. Nice to know! Here only physicians building is typical of many built in the communist repair episiotomies, and almost all are done with style of its day, utilitarian rather than esthetic, with external closing. This is very uncomfortable for the long glass and steel-walled patient wings offering no women, and nearly impossible to keep clean, since privacy. During this freezing month, doctors and there is only sporadic running water in the cities and midwives wear their coats over their scrubs, and cats none in rural homes. Midwives here have a high school run from one radiator to the next in an attempt to education. Physicians have six years of medical keep warm inside these cold corridors. Women in education after high school before going on to labor wear heavy sweaters and layers of their own residency. Case management is not known. The current clothing. Supplies of patient gowns are sparse. The city director of midwives has politely refused past offers of power plants are in need of repair and their power midwifery training updates, explaining that her

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midwives need only to follow the directions of the Albanian-speaking ambulance driver took me to see a physicians. building intended to be a new health house with When I shared photos of births I had attended in maternity unit. At present, it is being used to house the States, midwives and physicians here explained that eighty Albanians whose rural homes were burned out with more than a thousand births a month, they do during the war. They can stay warm here for the winter not have time to cater to the needs of childbearing while their homes are being rebuilt. families like we do. Yet I notice no shortage of staff, While touring this site, the caretaker invited me to his with each delivery room having two midwives, an OB family’s room, which he shares with his wife and three resident, an obstetrician, and four medical students. daughters. We spent an hour together, sitting on the Although women are not allowed to leave their delivery floor cushions having tea, as I listened to their stories of table or take oral nutrition in active labor, most of the what happened to the people over the past three years women last night were given direct injections of and how they hid in the woods. They told of a woman oxytocin during transition and second stage. To hasten whose throat was slit. The ambulance driver described cervical dilatation during transition, an IV how he tried to keep her one-week-old baby alive by “antispasmodic,” which seems to be a derivative of encouraging the newborn to nurse from her breasts. scopolamine (last used in the States in the early (Even though she was dead, there was still milk in her 1970s), is also used. Although each woman receives a breasts.) The baby died after two days—incomprehen- monitor strip upon entering the labor unit, I observed sible to me. Yet, here we are sharing English and Alban- only rare use of fetal heart tones auscultation in the ian words, tea, cookies, and photos of our children. active labor and delivery suites. I was grateful that the DOW director, an OB resident, happened to appear at February 17, 2000—Every Wednesday and Thursday, the door at the time I was delivering the premature I have been traveling to the mountainous city of infant. He understood the fear in my eyes and stopped Suhareka. It has a health house birthing center with the resident from aggressively pushing on the woman’s nine midwives, two apprentices, and an obstetrician. abdomen as a routine procedure to expedite delivery. Before the war, they were delivering approximately two When the nearly two-kilo infant was born, I held it hundred babies per month. Now, during the cold close to me as we rushed down the hall to a semi-warm winter, with only sporadic electricity and running water, overhead radiant heater. Although there was a approximately fifty women per month are delivering resuscitation bag with a normal full-term, newborn- here. Others stay at home, or believe it is safer to travel sized mask present, someone had to run down another over treacherous roads to the medical center hospitals hall to locate a stethoscope to auscultate a pulse. in either neighboring Përzeren or the capital, Prishtinë. Before leaving the hospital this morning, I was Because of damage caused by bombing, heavy tank reassured to see this newborn resting comfortably in transport, and winter freezing, the roads are all but the warmer of the premature unit. I am beginning to impassable. To make matters worse, one is often understand a common belief here in Kosovo: “What required to pass oversized and slow-moving KFOR doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!” Even though our (Kosovo Forces of the United Nations) tanks and supply Albanian DOW director laughingly believes that they trucks. Even though Prishtinë is less than fifty miles have the strongest surviving babies, he readily from Suhareka, it takes two hours to travel there. accepted an invitation by the chief neonatologist to The scenery is breathtaking and my driver is skilled, develop a modified neonatal resuscitation train-the- so I really enjoy these trips as a type of “R-and-R”! So trainer course. Our American obstetric consultant and comforting are the rural farms, border fences of I will team up with two pediatricians from other woven, spindly tree trunks, hillside vineyards, and NGOs (nongovernmental organizations) to write up, scrub oaks dotting the mountainous ravines. Still, I am translate, and conduct this within the next two weeks. gripped with sadness and horror to see the scattered Fortunately, together we have the necessary resources, mass gravesites along the roadsides we travel. A including the important coffee and cakes! Perhaps one colorful plastic flowered shield covers each of the of the best things we can demonstrate is teamwork victims’ raised graves. A single red flag with black between midwives, obstetricians and newborn staff. back-to-back double eagles (Albanian flag) flies high All agree this is a problem worldwide! above each mass gravesite. Just as difficult to adjust to are the colorful yellow January 27, 2000—It is hard to believe that we and red plastic warning tapes—“Danger MINES!”— have been here one week already. Today, I was asked posted along these countryside roads. We have learned by the DOW maternal-infant medical director, a local from others’ mistakes not to venture off the hard road Albanian obstetrician, to drive from our headquarters surfaces. How strange for Americans to see posters in Prishtinë to Klinë. He wanted to obtain information hanging in the hospital maternity wards that warn regarding the feasibility of establishing a health house mothers to keep their children from wandering into birthing center there. Fortunately, I was able to hitch a the farm pastures and wooded areas. Winter snow ride over the ice- and snow-covered roads with two prevents the land mines from being cleared by the consultants from another NGO. After morning coffee mine specialists of UNMIK (U.N. Mission in Kosovo) with the Klinë health house director, a local English/ until spring.

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So you see, just getting to a birthing center or birth center, as she was to have attended a WHO hospital in Kosovo for birth can be dangerous. It is conference in a city near there. She told me she didn’t understandable that few women get there for prenatal want to miss me, and being paranoid, I thought care. Once there was an effort to create a working maybe she didn’t trust me teaching her midwives patronage nursing system, in which trained nurses while she was gone. In reality, she couldn’t wait to would go out into the community homes to assist discuss a case she had had the day before. A primip families in need. Since the war, the health system is presented in labor, and after pushing for three hours, being completely revamped, with Albanian health with the vertex still high, the midwife was desperate specialists, now in the majority, updating their skills to enough to try some of the techniques we had take over the leadership of the main health centers. demonstrated in class. She got the woman out of bed The Serbian health specialists, now the minority and had her push, leaning over the bed, using power, are trying to establish a parallel system of gravity—and allowing the baby to rotate from occiput healthcare in their villages. It will take years to posterior to anterior, I suspect. Well, in fifteen minutes establish home and institutional services for both the baby was born to the triumph of all the midwives populations. and, of course, the mother herself! Today, a DOW obstetrical consultant, Dr. Anne, accompanied me to demonstrate the physician- midwife team approach and to talk with their obstetrician, encouraging him to promote our training program. Our class session was abruptly interrupted when a woman climbed the stairs to the birthing center bleeding heavily. She was supposedly in her fifth month of pregnancy, and reportedly had just fallen. She rapidly proceeded to deliver what looked more like a twenty-eight-week baby. The nurses quickly wrapped it up with a small towel and placed it on the side counter. Attention was given to the mother, who was now stable, with little bleeding. The little covered body on the counter was wiggling and obviously struggling for life. Resuscitating it was out of the question, as there is nothing here to sustain life for such a small baby, unlike in more resource- abundant regions, where resuscitation would be the norm. I instinctively found myself going over, picking Earlier in the week, another midwife had tried Nurse, nurse-midwife up the package, and holding the baby close. Anne and some position changes, and these also worked. Barbara Hammes (center), and new mom, winter of I, through our interpreter, tried to explain our belief Proudly displayed by the midwives on the delivery 1999-2000. Prishtine that the mother should be asked if she would like to room walls were the handouts of various labor University Hospital, see or hold the baby. The midwives stated sensitively support techniques I had brought last week. They are Kosovo. (Courtesy of Barbara Hammes). that this would only make the mother cry. We tried to enthused and want Dr. Anne to return next week to say why we thought it was good to cry for a lost baby. meet with their doctor. We agree—they should be When the midwives understood that it might help her, charting fetal heart tones, vaginal exams, progress, etc. they asked the young mother, who indicated she At present, whatever they do is conveyed to the doctor wanted her baby. whenever he comes in, maybe the next day. He then I brought the still-warm body over and unwrapped charts it. Here, unlike at Prishtinë Hospital, the a perfectly beautiful baby boy, expired by this time. midwives rarely use IM or IV push oxytocics or IM The mother sat up on the delivery table, in front of all antispasmodics to hasten labor. The birthing center’s of us, leaned over, and kissed her infant on the supply this winter is so scarce that when a woman forehead. Time stood still as we all cried in that frozen arrives at the unit in labor, her family is sent to a room. I don’t think any of us will ever forget this nearby pharmacy to buy oxytocin, IV solution, needle, experience—we bonded together with this woman’s and tubing, in case of emergency. Even though they sadness. As we resumed class, with warm cups of have to pay only the equivalent of $8 for all of this, it Turkish coffee, the head midwife shared how she, too, is a tremendous financial burden to them. It is ironic had lost a baby son the same age, fifteen years ago, at that the birthing center has an almost infinite supply the Prishtinë University Hospital. She had never felt of IV magnesium sulfate, donated by a well-meaning comfortable discussing it with anyone before. Here we NGO unaware that all complicated cases are were, nine women, all sharing the hurt still there in transferred to Përzeren, thirty miles away. Breech her heart today. deliveries, even with primips, are not transferred unless labor is protracted. I admire the skill and February 25, 2000—Great week! On Wednesday, I calmness that accompany these breech births. was surprised to see the head midwife at the Suhareka Arriving back at DOW headquarters, we learned of

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another case of infanticide last night in the Prishtinë the new shift. I felt comfortable with and a respect for Hospital. A mother killed her newborn son while he my new colleagues. During the month since that time, was in her room. She had been raped during the war I have continued to come twice a week for classes, and and knew no other way. She left the hospital without they have continued to deliver an increasing number being found. No social services here. Much sadness and of women from the surrounding communities. Today anger—worse yet, numbness. Many infants are left here when I arrived, there was much excitement. I was by their mothers. Tragically, until there is an official honored to receive a sweater that was handknit by the government, mechanisms for adoption are impossible. senior midwife. It was the traditional one worn by local women of postmenopausal stature. I will wear it March 29, 2000—Desiring to better witness first- proudly and warmly! A reporter was there from the hand the lives of on-call midwives here, last month, I local radio station and newspaper to do an interview decided to accept the Suharëka midwives’ invitation to with the midwives. It was readily apparent that these spend thirty-six hours with them. It was clear that the midwives were highly regarded in their community. senior midwives wanted to show me the expertise they You can imagine my surprise when the midwives had developed over the years. Because the most senior opened the delivery record book and proudly pointed midwife only worked nights, she was never present for out to the reporter that only two episiotomies had our classes, and, for this reason, I had not met her. I been cut the past month, out of ninety-two births! knew that unless I could admire their skills, I would be unable to convince them to reconsider their firm April 14, 2000—The experience of teaching our belief in episiotomies for all primip and para-two curriculum in a minority clinic at Donja Gusterica to women. Although there was only one birth during that Serbian midwives was one I never expected and one I’ll time, I was richly rewarded. During our time together, never forget. One reason I signed up to work with DOW we learned much about each other, as women and was because of its expressed neutrality. Working with midwives. both the Albanian and Serbian midwives in Kosovo Across the open hall from the delivery room, there seemed essential to the philosophy of midwifery— is a cramped lounge for the midwives. It serves as their “with women.” One treasured memory is our first classroom by day and their sleeping room by night. session together. I had arrived to teach the postpartum Above the sink hangs an electric water heater that was course, complete with overhead projector, Serbian donated by an NGO but never installed. For classes, we translated transparencies, and handouts. No electricity bring our own diesel fuel to operate the generator that day. No generator either. The small room in the needed to provide electricity for a space heater or the temporary shelter, now clinic, was damp, cold, and overhead projector. I say “or” because the generator smelled bad. Instantly, we all agreed that since the sun only has enough power to operate one at a time. was shining, we’d move our chairs outside. The yard out Through the cold night, without running water or front made a wonderful classroom for the eight of us— electricity, we shared photos and stories of our families or should I say twenty of us. In no time, we had at- and hobbies. We used great charade skills, and the tracted the attention of several townsfolk as well as a Albanian-English dictionary was in constant use! We few large pigs, chickens, and the dogs chasing them. I worked by candles and my battery-operated reading even learned that it is possible to teach with tanks light. They taught me how to tat (to make lace with a passing and soldiers crying out to the young midwives! shuttle). They shared traditional foods brought in from After returning twice the following week for more home. As I viewed photos and heard the stories of their training, the midwives asked for an extra session on burned-out homes, I felt their tragedy and understood internal repair of episiotomies and tears. Unlike in the their courage. Here they were, with no official States, there are almost no teaching tools available here. government, being paid almost nothing at all for their Desperate to find a way for them to actually practice skills and dedication, and yet they continued to serve. this new suturing technique, I discovered an unused Finally, about 1:30 A.M., after swapping endless foam mattress behind a storage cabinet on the third birthing stories and tips, we settled down to sleep. floor of the DOW headquarters. Using a kitchen knife, I Even though I have no photo, I will never forget the chopped off the end, figuring no one would miss its last sight, sounds, or smells that night. Imagine this: two four inches! Despite stumbling to perfect the skill with fifty-year-old, overweight midwives, a young eager inadequate suture materials and worn needle holders, apprentice, and a cleaning lady sharing two single cots. my students were very enthused and appreciative. I have to admit, it was a perfect way to keep each other I am humbled as I prepare to pack up and return to warm! With no working washing machines in the the U.S. Today was my final day with the DOW project hospital, reused blankets are shared by both midwives here in Kosovo. I have learned much about courage, and laboring women. The odor is strong. Outside our stamina, making do, generosity, and the universal large window, a wooden shutter clanged back and bond that women have with each other. After twenty- forth all night in the howling wind. And yet, we were five years of practice in the States, this experience has grateful for sleep. taught me what midwifery (with woman) means on a The next morning, I walked the senior midwife to universal level. W her bus stop and purchased juice and sweet rolls for

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Mardi Gras Time Marieta Mae Hogue Orton

Editor’s Note: Although Marieta wrote this story in 1955, Cabildo, a museum, is Jackson Square, which still is a it still is relevant. First edited on Fat Tuesday, 2001, it will historical meeting place for artists. In the center is a be enjoyed by all lovers of Mardi Gras, including historians. monument to General Jackson, victor at New Orleans during the War of 1812, which was erected by the eaving Wisconsin for New Orleans, Louisiana, to Clarke Mills Company in 1856. The sculptor was Lview the excitement of Mardi Gras was a big event praised for his successful work. The statue’s figure for me. I went on a Berry Tour with a group of people shows Jackson on a horse balancing on its hind legs. who were just as inspired by the trip as I was. Boarding The bronze statue weighs ten tons and has no props or the train from Chicago, the “City of New Orleans,” I braces to hold it up. It was said at the christening that became acquainted with many of them. I was the it would not stand twenty-four hours. A century later, youngest person on the tour, and the others were Jackson is still on the rearing steed—a sign of perfect married couples or older people. Everyone was happy balance. and compatible as we arrived and soon were taken on The colorful history of New Orleans is outlined in the rounds of sightseeing, to view Old and New its antebellum homes and quadroon halls, with all Orleans and the history behind the history. their gaiety. They suggest, via lacy wrought-iron balco- The written history of Louisiana dates from just nies, the days of pirates and their mysterious deeds. after the discovery of the New World, and the city was This is also the city of promiscuity and scandals noted by Hernando de Soto in 1541. It has been under that were quite notorious in days of old. In fact, a red French, Spanish, English, and American rule from the marble monument in a notable cemetery was set aside sixteenth century forward. There are 4,800 miles of as a memorial to one woman’s notoriety. At night, car navigable waters in that area—waters that have caused headlights reflect from a road sign onto that woman’s much sickness and other problems. The Louisiana tomb, giving off a red glow. Purchase was signed in the State Administration The Mardi Gras in New Orleans is a historical Building when the territory was divided into seventeen feature of the South. It is compared to the triumphant states in 1803. It is a very rich state and is replenished spectaculars of Ancient Rome at its height, with in many ways. beautiful parades. The festivities were derived from In visiting the city of New Orleans, one will find a Rome and Paris. The organization of the Mystic modern, historical, and very great city of the South. It Kreune of Comus and others followed. Rex is the King has half a million residents, who still carry on its long- of the Carnival, and he is appointed from the best held traditions. In the French Quarter or Vieux Carré, social circles of the city. A queen is also justly chosen. there is a law against destruction of any part of the old The peak of Mardi Gras is the fabulous parade, city. The government and people want to retain it in its which everyone takes part in. People plan all year for historical splendor. it. This happening on Shrove (Fat) Tuesday ends when The school systems in both New Orleans and the clock strikes twelve, the start of the observance of Baltimore are outstanding, mainly due to a couple in Lent (Ash Wednesday). love. John McDonogh and Elizabeth Johnson wanted The city of New Orleans is virtually all manmade. to marry, but because of paternal objections, their Water flows less than six feet beneath it, so the city’s plans were abandoned. She became a nun and he a tombs are above-ground. Deceased persons’ bodies are bachelor. A few years before he died, he went to visit placed in tombs and the salty, damp air and sun soon her, she then being a Mother Superior. The conversa- begin to erode the body. When any member passes tion is unknown, but McDonogh left a fortune for the away within a family, he or she cannot be buried in schools at his birthplace, Baltimore, and in his beloved that tomb within a year and a day of the last occupant. New Orleans. Also, there was a pair of dancing slip- Many residents have expensive, privately-owned pers in his personal possessions. Since that first tombs. Unique “ovens” or wall vaults border the meeting in 1850, twelve of the thirty-five schools he cemetery and can be used by anyone a year and a day established are still in use. Theirs was true love. after the last occupant was placed there. There is a The oldest cathedral in the United States is New small hole where the remains of each body are Orleans’s Saint Louis Cathedral, which is where Con deposited. The oldest epitaph goes back to 1800. This Andres Almonaster y Terxas was buried under a church is truly an interesting city, don’t you think? slab at his request. A Saturday morning prayer is said Coming back to present-day reality, we decided to there regularly for the repose of his soul. leave this fantastic and unique world. We ate dinner at The red brick building on one side of Jackson Diamond Jim’s Restaurant and visited the Court of Square is where Jenny Lind sang. Also, the Ursuline Two Sisters and Pat O’Brien’s in the French Quarter. nuns have long educated the young ladies of the The following day, we went on the steamboat community there. President, for a thirty-mile voyage up the Mississippi Across the street from Saint Louis Cathedral and the River. The water frontage is dotted with various

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wharves and warehouse docks. New Orleans is artists. I next strolled into a teashop and had my America’s second most important port, and it is the fortune told via tea leaves. I then stopped into the gateway to the Mississippi Valley, South America, and René Perfume Shop and purchased “Magnolia” the Orient. cologne. (The magnolia is the state flower.) We left the boat to go on a nightclub tour, which Alas! Today is Mardi Gras Day; one doesn’t mind consisted of the Sho Bar, Pete Herman’s, and the the rainy, cloudy weather, but endures it as long as Moulin Rouge. The aura of bygone days was still in the possible. We ate lunch in a group at Aurand’s. In the surroundings. We ended up at the French Market and evening, we all went to the Roosevelt Hotel, where a dunked doughnuts in Creole coffee, a traditional banquet was to be held for all the people in the Berry nightcap. (The term “Creole” is misconceived, but Tour from around the country. Every one of the five basically refers to the true descendants of pure French hundred people on this tour had a wonderful time— or Spanish stock who have lived in the area and their dancing and laughing with noisemakers and hats. traditions.) The following day included a restful bus After an appetizing dinner, the merriment continued ride to Biloxi, Mississippi, where we had lunch at the until midnight, when everything ceased for the Buena Vista Hotel—then, back to New Orleans to do observance of Lent. as we wished. We left this gay and picturesque city—now in its The next morning, I went exploring by myself. I slumber. We sat around in the dining car and went to Jackson Square and visited the prison and exchanged memories of our adventures, but retired museum at Cabildo. Then I had my portrait drawn at a early. It had been a fast, exciting, and exotic tour. New reasonable price on the square, a friendly place for Orleans truly is America’s most interesting city. W

Los Angeles: From Village to Metropolis Carl Liebig

n the Mexican War of 1846-1848, the United States Tourism rapidly became a multi-billion-dollar Iacquired Alta California from Mexico. It became a industry. One attraction was not man-created, but state in 1850, and was renamed California. On the earth-formed. In the prehistoric era, mastodons and rolling hillsides of present-day Los Angeles, settlers other creatures became trapped in a boggy quagmire planted grapes, plums, dates, and citrus fruit. These that was part of what became today’s L.A. Their crops were the forerunners of a prosperous wine and remains decomposed, creating a liquid known in fruit industry. Grain fields thrived in the warm day modern times as crude oil. These La Brea Tar Pits are a climate, adding another aspect of agriculture. prime tourist attraction. In the 1920s, oil was discovered in the area. The The influx of new residents during and following rich pools lay close to the surface, and extraction was World War II swelled the L.A. population. By 1990, it less costly than with the deep pools in other regions of had become the second largest U.S. city, with five the country. Petroleum continues to be a major export million people in central L.A. and ten million in the in the greater L.A. metropolitan area. greater metropolitan area. Newcomers choose L.A. for The expanding city examined its transportation various reasons, including its ideal climate and needs. An extensive rail system was imperative for employment opportunities. They come from every transporting fresh produce swiftly and efficiently to region of the country, but predominantly the avoid spoilage. Local and interstate bus lines expanded northeastern and north-central states. Immigrants to meet the needs of the growing population. By 1990, from Mexico and Central America swell the multi- the L.A. International Airport had become one of the cultural population. five busiest in the nation. In less than three centuries, Los Angeles has evolved Also in the 1920s, some movie industry from an adobe village on a trail known as El Camino entrepreneurs realized that it would be expedient to be Real (The King’s Road)—which connected many located in a climate favorable for year-round filming. Mexican missions along the length of Alta California L.A. was selected, and the industry moved there from —into a magnificent coastal southern California New Jersey. By the 1940s, three major studios—MGM, metropolis. Today, it vies with Washington, D.C. and Universal, and Warner Brothers—were billion-dollar Chicago for the title of “America’s Number Two City” industries. Today, tourists flock to Universal Studios to after Number One: New York City. (See photo on page experience the history of filmmaking and special 137.) Of course, when you’re Number Two, you try effects, including the parting of the Red Sea in the epic harder. W The Ten Commandments, starring Charlton Heston.

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Street Cred*: An American Woman’s Britain Ann Morrison

lthough I grew up in a small, western Wisconsin often have a different coloring, at least the Caucasians Afarming town, when I moved to England in my among them. They are very pale—shockingly pale, early twenties I adapted quite easily. Directly prior to some of them. The most common English hair color is my move to London, I had lived in Southern a kind of dishwater blonde/light brown. They have a California for a couple of years, and, believe me, tendency towards very pink cheeks or faces utterly small-town Norwegians such as myself are fish out of devoid of color. The common eye color is hazel, and water there. Strangely enough, though, English culture they have, as a rule, very nice, straight noses. I never revealed itself to be not entirely dissimilar to that in knew until I lived there that English people look which I was born and raised. At any rate, I felt far more English, French people look French, and Spanish at home in England—despite its being an entirely people look Spanish. I had always just thought White different country and an ocean away—than I ever had was White, Black was Black, etc. Mostly though, I in the state of California. could tell the Americans apart from the English and It was a relief to move to England during the 1980s. French because the Americans were unbearably clean. In California, it seemed as if almost everyone worked a The Scandinavians were tall, so I didn’t mistake them sixty-hour week, nobody drank or smoked, and they for Americans. Occasionally, I would mistake Germans didn’t even drink coffee—practically unheard of in for Americans, though, because they were big and Wisconsin. The whole Southern California suburban clean, too. But their obviously European shoes and culture at the time seemed to be anti-fun, so when I total disregard for sock color would usually give their got to London and no one dreamed of apologizing for continental identity away. drinking beer by the pint and coffee and tea by the As for clothing, my fellow Americans, almost to a gallon, and I discovered my workweek would be only person, wore what has come to be known as “classic thirty-five hours long, I knew I was going to love my casual” clothes: Levi’s Dockers or some other form of new home. Here were people who could relax and cotton casual slacks, polo shirts, often a soft matching have fun. Although the people weren’t instantly gregarious and friendly, I was used to that. Growing up with reticent Norwegians had taught me to respect other people’s spaces—give everyone a three-foot perimeter, and for heaven’s sake, don’t go around hugging people. Don’t bring undue attention to yourself— blend into the woodwork; small-town Norwegians are especially good at that. Be patient and wait for people to get to know you before claiming close friendships. They need to see you around a few times before they think you belong. Once you made friends in England, though, they were pretty much your friends from then on—not unlike my friends in Wisconsin. Also, due to my Midwestern upbringing, I was quite familiar with pub life and more than adept at drinking beer. This was a plus. The London borough of Hackney, where I lived, was the poorest in the city. It was pretty rough by all accounts —the inner city and then some. Violence is not as much a part of the culture in England as in the United States, though, and no one carries guns, so I didn’t feel cardigan wrapped around their necks. They all seemed Traffic at British Museum particularly threatened. Urban poverty didn’t look that outfitted by Lands’ End or Next. The women and Library, 1981. London, England different to me from the rural poverty I had witnessed invariably had curled or permed hair, and they wore a (By David J. Marcou). growing up in Wisconsin—it was just more condensed. lot more makeup than European women—although it Americans were relatively rare in our part of town, was scrupulously applied to their well-scrubbed faces. but I rode the subway into the City to work, and I saw The men often sported moustaches. lots of them there. My Tube stop was at St. Paul’s Americans also often have straight white teeth. The Cathedral, and there were always masses of Americans socioeconomic subgroup that take their vacations in there. Americans tourists look well-scrubbed. They are Europe, for the most part, have had their teeth pro- physically bigger than English people, too. Americans fessionally straightened and often whitened at some tend to be taller and much heavier. Even if they aren’t time in their lives. The result, when you weren’t used fat (though many of them are), they have more muscle to it on a day-to-day basis, could be somewhat discon- mass than the average British person. The English also certing. It seemed so artificial—almost like dentures.

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American tourists often wore what they called a “English people never say mutt here; they don’t “fanny” pack. Although I’ve been back in America for even know what that term means,” I informed him. several years now, I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable “They call mutts crossbreeds, or mixed breeds.” with the word “fanny,” because in England that word is “Sounds a bit more posh, doesn’t it?” relatively obscene—it means the front and not the “By the way, I’m from Wisconsin.” back. I discovered this soon after I arrived, when my “I didn’t realize you weren’t English,” he told me. best friend, who was also an American, remarked, “I’ve “Well, I’ve been here a long time, and I guess my gained weight, because all I do is sit on my big fat accent is what you might call mid-Atlantic,” I fanny all day.” Believe me, we laughed, and so did our replied. Americans may have thought I sounded workmates, but we didn’t make that mistake twice. I English, but the English definitely thought I wanted to reach out to my fellow Americans on the sounded American! Tube when they were loudly—by the way, Americans “What brings you to this neighborhood?” I asked speak much more loudly than Europeans do—talking him. “Tourists don’t usually come here—it’s too about getting money out of their fanny packs. Don’t use slummy.” that word, I would try to telepathically tell them from “We’re at the Caribbean Club listening to some across the seats and people. It’s obscene. I never did, music,” he said. The Caribbean Club was a dance hall though; let them take their knocks like the rest of us. that butted right up to the park. This nightclub was Footwear was the final giveaway as to a passenger’s generally frequented by middle-aged African- identity. Americans would mainly wear white—bright Caribbean clientele. They were immigrants from the white, glaringly bleached, glow-in-the-dark white— West Indies who had arrived en masse during the tennis shoes. The other option was deck shoes. 1950s in the United Kingdom. Americans wear sensible shoes in terms of comfort. In “You’re too young to be going there.” I kidded him. many ways, I regretted that the people traveling in “Have you ever been there?” he asked. Europe, the ambassadors of American culture abroad, No, despite its only being several blocks from my were usually the self-satisfied suburban middle class, house, I never had. I had heard it was a welcoming who zoomed through Europe as if it were a history place, where white people could go without being theme park—a historical Disneyland to be consumed utterly shunned, but it wasn’t a place many people in during their only two weeks off work during the year. my age bracket (mid-twenties) ever went to. “How did They didn’t want to blend in, and felt there was noth- you find out about it?” I asked. ing in particular to be learned from being abroad. He had read about it in some guidebook, he said. They seemed to look only inwardly, not outwardly, as As an African American, he had looked up hangouts if America were the only important country on earth, black people frequented. and appeared convinced that all to be got from “Well, you may need a younger book,” I told him. traveling was a lot of snapshots of cathedrals to show “What’s a girl from Wisconsin doing in a London to their friends back home. If they had been small park this late at night?” he asked. He looked around at town Midwesterners, they would have been better the decaying inner city neighborhood and must have received —we’re experts at being inoffensive and thought—What is wrong with this picture? blending in with the woodwork. “I’m just walking my dog; the dog needs to be I had been living in Hackney, as I said—the poorest walked,” I answered. “I live on the street over there— borough in London—for close to a decade, when I right through that railway bridge,” I pointed. encountered an American man in his mid-twenties as I “You shouldn’t be out in the city this late at night,” was walking my dog in the park late one evening. He he said. “This is not like Wisconsin.” was dressed in the standard American traveling abroad “Have you ever been to Wisconsin?” I asked. “business casual”—khaki pants and a polo shirt. My “Well, no, but I can imagine what it is like,” he said. suspicions were confirmed as soon as he opened his “Where are you from?” I asked. mouth. “What kind of dog have you got there?” he “I’m from Detroit,” he said. “You could never go asked. out like this in Detroit at night.” “He’s a crossbreed,” I replied. I had been in Is this guy really from Detroit itself? I wondered to England for so long that I used many English terms for myself. He’s certainly dressed like any middle-class things—and I was forgetting the American terms. suburban American. Maybe he is from suburban Detroit, I “What do you mean Cross Breed?” the guy asked. thought. I didn’t push the point. I didn’t want to hurt “You know, lots of different types of dogs his ego by suggesting maybe he didn’t have as much combined,” I said. street cred as he let on. “I get it,” he said. “You mean he’s a mutt!” “Well, London isn’t like America. People here don’t “Yeah, you got it,” I laughed. “You’re an American, have guns and violence is not as imbedded into the right?” culture.” I explained to him. “African American,” he corrected, thus differentiat- “Why are you over in this country anyway?” he ing himself from your average American tourist, and I asked. guess thus absolving himself of any unpopular crime “My husband is English,” I answered. His flirtatious or foreign policy the U.S.A. may have committed. attitude diminished once he realized I was married.

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“Well, he should take better care of you and not let conversation with a very strange-looking man who you run around in the parks after dark,” he persisted. wanted to give her some golden jewelry. Danger . . . I tried again to explain that the pub was only a danger. She had no idea that she was leading him on. stone’s throw away, it was only 11:30, and I had a dog She thought she was charming her way out of danger. with me. The only risk I was taking was in having this “Don’t look at him,” I told her as I escorted her long conversation with him. I was not worried, away. “Just say ‘no thank you’ and keep on walking.” though; he did not set off any bad vibes with me, and She didn’t get it. She had never learned the trick of we were standing underneath a streetlight with lots of blending into the woodwork. people still about. I had lived in Hackney long enough I thought about it later that evening. The average to know which areas of the park were safe and which bedtime on the street was about 2 A.M., so I had time to were not. The music started up and my new acquain- reflect on my encounter in the park. Was I being foolish tance headed back to the dance hall. walking the dog that time of night in the park? When I lived “Have a good trip,” I said. in Southern California, I would never have considered “Have a nice life,” he quipped back. walking in a park at night. But then, in California, no My English friends never questioned my street cred. one walks anywhere. In fact, I don’t think I took a walk As an American they assumed I had it. All Americans the whole two years I lived there. I remembered my first did—they saw Hill Street Blues, Cagney and Lacey, and week at college. I went to the University of Wisconsin in Starsky and Hutch; they had watched American cop Madison, a medium-sized city of about 200,000 people. shows all their lives. I don’t know, but I think, to a When freshmen such as myself, from “the sticks”—i.e. certain extent, we all learn to circumnavigate danger. rural small towns of the state—arrived during We learn it in high school. The walk down the hall in registration week, we were lectured relentlessly about the high school is like walking down the street in a tough potential for rape and violence now that we were in the town. Keep your eyes unfocused, don’t look the mean big town. I was so freaked out I hardly dared to come people in the eye, don’t smart off, walk straight, but out of my room for a week. Then I realized I had to have not too proud, and avoid the nastiest corners of the a life, and I went about at night like a normal person: I streetscape—or in my high school, the hall heater exercised caution—but I didn’t let fear rule my life. I was where the seniors hung out. applying these same rules to my life in London. I was a I had a flat mate in London who was from a small small town Norwegian. I knew how to blend into the town in Ireland. She had obviously not learned rules woodwork—that trick small town Midwesterners have such as these. Her method of street negotiation was far down to an art—an art that serves them well, wherever from invisibility—she tried to talk and charm her way they go in the world. W out of trouble. One night, I caught her under the rail- way bridge at 3 A.M., engaged in a giggling, animated * Street Cred is short for Street Credentials.

Scenic Memories of the South Anene Ristow

t was January of 1996. On my vacation from stuck in a book, absorbed in the story. IWisconsin, I had visited my daughter, Robin, in One year, Daddy built a large swing on one Knoxville, Tennessee, for a few days, and was down at of the huge oak trees for all the neighborhood my sister Glendean’s in Birmingham, Alabama. She kids to play on. He first cut down a young and her husband, Rhoy, had planned a trip out west in sapling about six inches wide at the larger end, their motor home, toward San Antonio, Texas, where stripped the small branches, and anchored the our brother, David, and his wife, Marilyn, lived. We smaller end of this long pole to the huge oak started out in that direction, and made stops along the limb. Then he built a platform base on the way at various campgrounds. We drove on some of the wide part of the pole, and several kids’ could less traveled roads, which brought back many swing on it at one time. He also built a sturdy memories of my long-ago childhood in Mississippi. I seesaw and a flying-jenny that attracted the kids was excited about seeing the big, sprawling, live oak in the neighborhood. (A flying-jenny is a trees again, with their thick, short trunks holding up a revolving beam that allows children to swing broad span of limbs. They make such wonderful shady around. It’s made of two wheels, a greased axle, places to play. and a large piece of lumber.) Glendean said, “Do you remember when I used to Live oaks are commonly found in parks and along Christmas wreath of fresh climb that big oak tree just below the hill from our boulevards and streets in the South. Many pastures magnolia leaves, 1987. house and sit on that huge, wide limb for hours with a also claim them, as they invite livestock to rest and Albany, GA (Courtesy of the Tim and LuAnn book?” I did remember, because when Mama couldn’t cool under their widespread limbs. We played with the Gerber family). find her, she sent one of us younger children down to acorns that fell, but if we were barefoot and stepped that tree. We usually found our sister with her nose on their sharp, pointed ends, we considered them a

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nuisance. The size of the trees really made an impres- area of berries I was reaching for and just missed my sion on us when they began to shed their leaves. It was face. When I looked closer, I saw a snake sitting in the an absolute must to have a clean yard. We raked and briars—right in the spot my hand was heading for! I raked and raked—and wondered how in the world was petrified! That was the last of my blackberry one tree could possibly have all those leaves! picking. But I still loved Mama’s blackberry cobblers. Along rivers and streams, these big oaks and other Driving along, we passed orchard after orchard of trees were loaded with Spanish moss hanging in bare pecan trees, all planted in rows. We had one bunches of long, thin, grayish stems. The encyclopedia pecan tree in our yard, and also once picked our says it is neither a true moss nor a parasite; it has no neighbor’s pecans for shares. If we picked up four roots and absorbs water directly from the air. In the buckets full, we got one. They were good just to crack “olden days,” the moss was dried and used to stuff with our hands and eat, or for parching in the upholstery; it is now used in floral arrangements. fireplace or making pies. There seem to be mixed feelings about the moss, As the motor home rolled along, we passed perhaps. Some think it gives trees—especially bare antebellum homes, farms with white fences, and horse trees in wintertime—an eerie appearance. I find it farms. There still remain many tenant-type buildings quiet, serene, and restful, complementing the nearby or shacks: typically two rooms with a tin roof, a front peaceful river. porch the length of the house, and a chimney on one As we drove along, we noticed that many trees had end. We often saw an old rocking chair on the porch, large bunches of mistletoe high up on the branches. chickens in the yard, and an outhouse out back. Mistletoe is a parasite, and often it’s the only green on We remembered the “shotgun” houses and the a tree, since all the other leaves have been shed. Its “dogtrot” houses. Shotgun houses were long, and the leaves are clusters of waxy green, and its berries are width of the house was that of one room. Each room shiny white. It’s a tradition at Christmastime to hang a led directly into the next, and the doorways were all sprig of mistletoe over the doorway, and whoever is on the same side of the rooms and house. It was said caught standing beneath it must forfeit a kiss. that one could aim a shotgun through all the “Ah, look at those big, beautiful magnolia trees, doorways and shoot clear through the house; thus the Glendean! They’re my favorites.” We discussed their name. These houses are mostly in large cities, and are characteristics. They’re almost as large as some of the built very close together because the lots are so narrow. oaks, with large, hard leaves, sometimes four by ten Dogtrot houses had rooms on both sides of an inches; snowy white, fragrant flowers; and cone-like open hallway. The hallway was left open so that dogs, fruit with red seeds. The stately trees are a traditional kept for protection, could have access to shelter, shade, part of the landscapes of old Southern mansions. and a cool breeze. The kitchen and dining room were Mississippi, my childhood home, is known as the in a separate building at the rear of the main house, Magnolia State. with a connecting, sheltered breezeway. This way the As we drove along, the scenery changed to brown heat of the cookstove wouldn’t heat up the whole fields and winter lawns. Glendean pointed out an area house; also, in case of a fire in the kitchen, the other that looked like a sage patch and asked, “Do you parts of the house would be protected. remember how Mama took little bundles of wispy- The motor home kept rolling on across Louisiana ended sage straw and tied them with string to make and the twenty-mile bridge across the Atchafalaya the brooms we swept the house with?” I had forgotten. River Basin and the Cypress Swamps. We passed some We couldn’t afford “boughten” brooms, but thought flooded rice fields, and further on, crawfish ponds, rec- these were better anyway for sweeping in the corners. ognizable by holes with vent pipes and a can on top. It And we talked about the low gallberry bushes with brought to mind the crawfish boils so popular there. black berries (not edible), and remembered how The oil refineries of Lake Charles, where Glen and I Daddy tied bunches of them together with twine to lived for six years after his retirement, came into view, make the “brush-brooms” we swept the yard with. as well as other refineries, as we drove farther into Other memories came to mind, like when Daddy Texas. I remember the night scene: the numerous took us berry-picking. Huckleberry bushes grew about huge, silvery pipes of all sizes and heights that were two feet tall and had small, dark blue berries; it took surrounded by smoke or steam that looked like silver lots of berries to fill up a half-gallon syrup bucket. clouds, along with myriad lights illuminating the Blackberries—we called them dewberries—grew on whole area. It looked like a city unto itself—like the the edge of the woods, and some bushes were so tall city of Oz. we had to pull the branches down to pick them, being Farther along, the scenery changed from careful not to fall into the mass of briars. One could swampland to wide-open spaces, then into the rolling hardly escape getting scratched. Often, our whole hills toward New Braunfals, Texas, just north of San family helped pick berries, and Mama made jams, Antonio, where David lived. It was warmer there, shirt- jellies, and cobbler pies and canned many quart jars sleeve weather, and we found that David had been for pies in the winter. Once, while blackberry picking, working out in his yard. In Alabama, there had been I reached up to pick a cluster of beautiful, luscious ice and even some flurries. Glen had been surprised a berries, when something suddenly spit out from the few years ago, when we toured that part of Texas, to

186 Innocents, at Home and Abroad find that Germans had settled there. When we visited icy spots, and through beautiful stretches where the this time, David took us to a museum depicting the trees on both sides of the road were covered with early settlement of the Germans and their fascinating glistening, lacy-looking frost and snow. Some were history. leaning from the weight, almost forming a canopy, as After visiting for a few days, we headed back though inviting us to enter a winter wonderland. straight across Texas, toward the middle of Louisiana After we crossed the Mississippi/Alabama state line and Jonesville, to see our other sister, Mary Lois. The past Meridian, the roads were so icy and hazardous, day we had planned on leaving, we woke up to a most we pulled into a campground and stayed two nights. beautiful scene—an ice storm! All the trees were frosty The scenes there were just as beautiful. Heading on white and glistening; the grass and ground vegetation, toward Birmingham, we listened to the truckers on CB covered with frozen dew, just sparkled. The talking about road conditions and vehicular pileups; temperature dropped; that night, the electricity was they complained that Alabama did not use salt on its interrupted, and we had to heat the house with the gas icy roads. We were anticipating problems in the stove. The hazardous storm covered several states, and mountains around Birmingham, but Glendean many people were stranded. After about three days, handled that thirty-two-foot Flair motor home, pulling the roads were passable and we started off toward a small car, safely and with expertise, and slowly Birmingham. Glendean drove cautiously over many brought us back to Swallow Lane, their home. W

Escape From Dublin Ty F. Webster

s an American, I have accepted the concept that, if nearby Wicklow Mountain range for a hike before Ayou live in a big city, there is no easy way to trade heading to the concert. His destination was the hurries and worries of city life for the calm and Glendaloug (glen-da-lock), about thirty miles south of quiet of pristine nature. In the confines of most Dublin, which is as picturesque as the English American cities I am familiar with, the closest you can translation of its Irish name—“the glen of two get to nature is feeding ducks in a pond at a park or lakes”— implies. He asked if I was interested in watching caged animals at a zoo. Any real “back-to- accompanying him. There was no need to ask twice. nature” reprieve from the rigors of the city is possible The two of us set off in Colm’s car late in the only with the investment of at least a weekend’s time morning. We maneuvered our way out of the city and and many hours of driving. onto the “Old Military Road”—a highway built by the Dublin, Ireland, is one of my favorite cities in the British Army in the early 1900s to try to gain access to world, largely because it avoids this American rule. An Irish rebels hiding in the heart of the Wicklow range. hour’s drive from the center of most U.S. metropolises Although I’m sure the rebels would not have agreed, I will take you to a strip-mall-plagued suburb. Within have to say that the road is very useful. Within fifteen an hour of leaving Dublin, though, you can be in the minutes, the city and all its mayhem and madness midst of some of the most beautiful scenery any- were far behind and below us. where—taking in the fresh sea breeze at an unpeopled Suddenly we were in the midst of a fascinating beach, hiking on a path with dramatic coastal views, scene—an impossibly barren, desolate, windswept, or strolling along a quiet trail in the midst of a serene, hilltop landscape. A brown, treeless expanse rolled on sylvan scene. You can escape the rushing crush of the in all directions, covered only with scrubby, sand- maddening masses for the day and be back to enjoy colored grass. It was hard to believe we were still on the positive aspects of the city by nightfall. the “Emerald Isle.” The “Dun-brown Isle” seemed I enjoyed such a day on a recent visit to the “Fair more apt. But, now and again, we would round a City.” The day happened to be a Bank Holiday corner and find a view far down into green valleys, Monday. In the United States, we tend to name our where herds of sheep—tiny white specks—grazed far holidays after famous people—George Washington, below, reassuring us that we were, in fact, still in Martin Luther King Jr., Columbus, etc. In the British- Ireland. centric world, however, it seems the bankers get to We rolled on through this wondrous, barren scene, decide when everyone needs a day off. At any rate, I enjoying the amazing views for twenty-odd miles was not about to complain, because my Irish friend before making a five-mile descent into the valley Colm—with whom I was staying—did not have to toward Glendalough. We passed a picturesque work and wanted to make the most of his holiday. waterfall cascading down the bare, granite face of the We planned to attend a gig by a talented Irish hillside, and were back to the Ireland I know better musician in the evening, but early in the day, Colm and love so much: the emerald Ireland of the post announced his desire to get out of the city and “clear cards and tourist brochures. And to think—we were his head a bit.” He had been planning to travel to the only thirty miles from the heart of the city!

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It was lunchtime by then, so we stopped off at a tea Now we had the trail almost entirely to ourselves. As room (café) in a small town called Laragh for a quick we wandered through the wondrously green, sylvan bite. I enjoyed a sandwich made with traditional Irish scene, the only sounds were the soft whistle of the brown bread—a thick, dark, hearty bread that puts wind in the trees, and the scurrying of tiny, unseen American Wonder Bread-style sandwich-ends to feet of “the wee people,” keeping always just out of shame. Then we drove the final two miles to sight (or was it just the overactive imagination of an Glendalough. We easily found the trail that leads to American who had read too many Irish fairy tales?). the lakes and followed it along the side of a clear, Before long, we came to the far end of the lake and rushing stream, past the remains of St. Kevin’s continued on to the valley’s terminus. Again, we found Monastery. ourselves in the midst of a powerfully dramatic scene. The monastic site consists of the remains of several The watery expanse was now to our backs, and steep, churches, an ancient graveyard and a ten-story round rocky inclines rose up to the left, right, and in front of tower where the monks could take refuge from hostile us, with a narrow waterfall trickling down the rock invaders. The structures that remain on the site today face, to the fore. The valley literally ended at this steep are said to date from the tenth century—over a rock face. It rose abruptly and dramatically to a great thousand years ago! That is still mind-boggling, at height and lent the impression that we were walking least to an American like myself, whose very nation is smack dab into the end of the world. only a couple of hundred years old, and who views The ground here is covered by massive piles of anything built before World War II as archaic. It was at truck-sized granite boulders that have tumbled down monasteries like St. Kevin’s that the Bible was the hill and piled up over the years. Undoubtedly, the transcribed during the Dark Ages, saving that most boulders’ descents were aided by miners, who tried to significant book for the Christians who followed. The haul the mountain away—and were partially picturesque site is quite impressive and well worth a successful—in the nineteenth and early twentieth visit, but since Colm and I had both previously seen it, centuries. Along with the remnants of the miners’ and it was, as ever, overrun by a tourist horde, we village—skeletal shells of the stone buildings of the continued on to quieter territory. Our objective, after mine operation and settlement—we easily imagined all, was to get away from the maddening crowd. the boulders to be post-apocalyptic rubble, creating Fortunately, we were able to do just that. We the surreal feeling that we were at the end of the followed the trail along the pleasant, wooded path, world, chronologically as well as geographically. past the first small lake, and on to the edge of the We were the only hikers who had ventured this far second, larger one. The astounding beauty of the scene except for some wild goats climbing around in the brought us to an abrupt halt. The lake—shimmering valley and high up on the hillsides—living remnants like a jewel on this fair day—is nestled in a valley of the mining village. We had the deserted valley between two high, steep, tree-covered hills that drop entirely to ourselves. As such, it was easy to feel that dramatically to the water’s surface. Here, again, was we were two of the few people left on earth. More the scenery of the tourist brochures. In fact, I’m pretty importantly, it was easy to put all thoughts of the sure this very scene is in a few of them. city—with the relentless worries and hurries of From that point, the trail returned to the woods civilization—far, far from mind. In other words: and continued along the edge of the lake. We had mission accomplished. shared the path with a number of fellow bank-holiday We climbed around on the gigantic boulder piles, fresh-air seekers up to this point, but the vast majority emulating (if poorly) the resident goats and crawling had turned around after reaching the second lake. into the small “caves”—narrow, craggy spaces between and underneath the stone behemoths. I don’t know about Colm, but I (with my overactive American imagination) was looking for leprechauns; this would have been an excellent hiding spot for a pot of gold. We enjoyed our bit of wonderful solitude—our experience of peace—until we grew tired and darkness began to encroach on our fun. Then we retraced our steps along the path through the woods, past the lakes and back to the car. Refreshed and ready for the rigors of city life once more, we headed back to Dublin. After all, we had a concert to attend. W “Islands in the Mist,” April 1999. Lough Corrib, Ireland (By Ty F.Webster).

188 SECTION 14 Holidays and Seasons

Dad’s Garden Carolyn Solverson

rowing up as the tenth child in a family of eleven Gchildren, I have enjoyed the pleasure of the memories of my father’s garden—past and present. Dad’s garden has always been meticulously planned and planted every spring. Each January, the seed catalogs come. When we were children, we used to pore over the brightly colored illustrations. Hungry for fresh ripe vegetables, saliva glands working overtime like Pavlov’s dogs’. It’s a funny thing: I don’t remember ever actually ordering anything out of those booklets. They were just there to entertain us for hours on long, dark, winter evenings. After a while, the snow melted and the ground dried out. The danger of frost was past and it was safe to begin our annual journey in the soil. Since we lived in the middle of town and we had no machinery, Dad would call the farm boss, Mr. Wakefield, better known as Buster, to come and plow for him. We children would wait impatiently. We might pass the time playing jump rope, hot potato, statues, or even frozen tag, eventually returning to the edge of the lawn to stretch our necks to see Buster coming. Soon, the sound of a deep chugging reached our ears, and we ran to the curb screaming, “He’s here! He’s here!” Our shrill voices were Dad’s cue to come out of the house. His sun-bronzed face smiled so even his clear Leif Myhre with blue eyes twinkled. He crossed the yard with a sure step. grandchildren by their sunflowers, 1990s As the smell of the diesel engine reached us, and at (Courtesy of Carolyn the sight of large chunks of mud falling from the Solverson). crevices in the tires, one or two of us ran into the Robins, blackbirds and grackles flocked to the house calling to Mother, “Come quick, Buster’s here.” freshly turned dirt, greedily running from spot to spot, We tugged at her, and she came away from her inside eating. The sound of our chatter was drowned out by chores, but only long enough to say a polite hello the squawking and songs of the feathered devils before returning to her own domain. stealing our investment out from under our noses. We Dad and Buster said their hellos with nods and a became more concerned the longer it took Buster. I firm farmer’s handshake. They then discussed the imagine he was amused by the whole idea that we perimeters of the plot; Buster returned to his tractor, feared there weren’t enough worms for both us and pulled around the end of the garden, and sank the the birds, or that there was such a thing as a bad hungry plowshares into the ground. What a sight we worm. Silly children, complaining about the birds were, all lined up—our towheads a blinding contrast getting all the good worms. in the sun to the black rich soil—impatiently waiting As soon as the tractor pulled away and the shares with a red coffee can for the worms. were lifted, we descended, causing a great disturbance,

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so that the birds lifted like a black cloud. Anyone before stores had signs posted, stating “No shirt, No going by could see us grabbing worms and shouting as shoes, No Service.”) Our large blue eyes longingly we held them up for our siblings to see, “Man, look at watched as our leader picked the small, colorful this one. Holy cow, did you see that one?” And “Oh packets of seed. We held our breath as his brown, my gosh, it’s as big as a snake!” weathered hands slowly passed over something exotic, Then the work began. Red cans of fishing worms but they never stopped to pick it up, because there was and dirt were set in the shade and a mad dash was no extra money or room in the garden for something made into the old shed for various rakes, a hoe or two, like a flower. Why, you couldn’t even eat them! and a shovel. We made our way into the moist, rich He placed the pile of small envelopes on the raw soil, smoothing and breaking clumps and leveling fur- wood counter, now smooth with age from packages rows as we went, feeling the cool dirt between our being slid across it. Mr. Bina punched in each item on bare, hot toes and the soft, satin feel of it sifting the old cash register, commenting “caaarrots . . ., through our fingers—intoxicated by the smell that beeeans . . ., beeeets . . ., “ the bell ringing between comes with freshly turned earth. Our plot was then items till the pile was gone. Then, money changed like an old, wise woman. She had an unspoken knowl- hands and the seeds and potatoes were wrapped in a edge—centuries of wisdom. She had lain dormant for piece of brown paper pulled from a large roll and tied the winter season, resting, gathering strength. Finally, with green string from a spool. she had been awakened and was ready for the seed. We returned home, walking, talking and taking We backed out of the garden, erasing our footprints turns carrying the package. Upon our arrival the as we went. The soil then had the appearance of a planting began. Seed packets were sorted according to newly paved road. Then and only then, we quickly ran variety and height. Seed potatoes were cut up and in to wash the dirt away and stand for inspection. Yes, stored for the following day. Baler twine for assuring a the fingernails were clean, the backs of our hands and straight row and the stakes that went at each end were between the fingers were white again. Wait—what dug out of the shed. does the bathroom look like? The sink is rinsed and With a steady hand and a great eye, Father the towel has no dirt on it. All is satisfactory; we’ve orchestrated the garden. Years of experience told him passed Mother’s sharp eyes. We are now ready to go where each variety worked best and who neighbored with Dad to the old Egg Market for the seed. best with whom. “Don’t put that there. It needs more I can still hear the bell ringing on the front door of sunlight. The corn will shade it.” And so on. the old brick building. We smelled potatoes and dust, The rains still come and go, sunshine plays its part and a haze was thick in the air, causing a dim light in the scheme of things, and the plants finally burst that evoked pleasant memories for me. Father would through the soil. They are always tiny, but sturdy. greet Mr. Bina, who wore a visor, full apron, and Father eventually comes in to announce, “The radishes glasses as thick as Coke bottles. An exchange of and lettuce are up.” Soon, there are tiny green rows weather information took place, and then came the from one end of the garden to the other. They grow more serious matter of the recommended potato seed. into lush, full plants, each type a different hue and Without fail, Dad chose a variety called Kenebec. It texture, beautiful to behold. yielded well, and the firm flesh wintered well. No When we kids were young, as the garden grew into fancy variety for Father, just the one that was most the summer, we raided it for bits and pieces of familiar. After all, it had served him just fine in the meals—potatoes for supper, a bowl of fresh green years gone by and we didn’t have extra money for all beans, maybe a mess of small beets with the greens that other foolishness. Stick with the tried and true. still on. There were times we’d sneak into the garden Not only were there potatoes, but there were stacks for a tomato we had our eye on, and, wiping the dirt of cartons of freshly sorted eggs and open case coolers on our shirts, duck behind the shed to gobble it like full of milk, butter and cheeses. In season you could an apple. Telltale signs that we had been there were purchase various fresh fruits, such as bananas, red and the seeds and juice on our chins and t-shirts. yellow Delicious apples, Greenings for pie or the Sometimes, when we ran a short cut through the sturdy old Macs for sauce, piled in wooden crates and garden, we popped the tops of tender green onions stacked against the wall. There might be gunny sacks into our mouths and breathed on each other, of salted peanuts in the shell, jars of sweet clover pretending to faint from the smell, giggling the whole honey, or an occasional honeycomb. The aisles were time. And I still think there is nothing more beautiful so tight that even with our small bodies we had to be than a large platter of dark red, vine-ripe tomatoes careful not to knock things down. thickly sliced on a plate on the table. No one dared stray from Dad, and our group When harvest time came to Dad’s garden, the older moved like a unit toward the seed racks. Small, sweaty girls were in charge of canning all that wasn’t eaten, bodies close together, heads near enough that we which meant we younger ones did a lot of the picking could whisper in each others’ ears without making under their watchful eye. I’ll never forget the year Dad much of a disturbance. We were careful not to drag planted five long rows of green beans, and we had to our bare feet on the wood flooring, knowing it would pick them all and snap them before we could go result in large, painful slivers if we did. (This was swimming. It was a trade-off; Dad bought a family

190 Holidays and Seasons pass at the City Pool, and in return we did our chores every spring, when the seed catalogs come, the fever before we went. begins again. He’s like a man with an illness—some As the end of each season came, a special event call it an addiction. He no longer raises his garden to took place in our home. Our most beloved feed his eleven children, even though we all partake of grandmother came to help Mom clean out the end of it sometime throughout the year. He now raises a the garden. Old-fashioned foods like chow chow and garden to feed his soul. sauerkraut were made. The small kitchen was filled There will come a day when Father’s garden will with activity—someone grinding vegetables through sleep, never again to feel the loving touch of his hands. the old hand crank grinder; someone else washing jars When that day comes, I know my father will be in and lids; laughter and visiting; and an odor of onions, heaven, and when I go there I will find him. All I have peppers, and green tomatoes so strong your eyes to say is: “St. Peter, show me the best potato patch you Haying at sunset, June watered and your breath became short. Now we make have here,” and that is where I will find my father— 2000. Mason,WI (By these things in our own kitchens, and sometimes we doing what he loves best—growing potatoes. W Denise Havlik-Jensen). girls spend time together as we do Dad’s canning. Last, but not least came the potatoes. They were dug and laid out to dry. It was our job to carry them to the dirt cellar in galvanized pails and an old, wooden bushel basket, so many trips being made that the steps are now worn from the years of feet treading upon them. Now my children delight in helping their grandpa. When the garden is empty, the cellar is full of potatoes, and jars of garden goodies line the shelves, our job is done. I think back on my childhood and hold dear the past and present memories of Father’s garden and how it was necessary to feed the family. Today, my father is eighty-eight and his garden is still a special place. When I look there, I see the marks of his cane in the fresh-tilled ground. It makes my heart smile to think of his determination. Each year he states, “This will be the last year for my garden.” But

Cookies in Coffee Cans Kent K. Hebel

hile stowing our camping gear in the garage the then was that we got away from home. My dad worked Wother day, I was reminded of how important forty hours a week for the State of Wisconsin, and camping was to me as a kid. Now when my wife and I worked twice that on the farm. Getting away was a big go camping, the reason we enjoy it is because we both deal. It had to be in the summer, between hay crops, have the next few days off work. Things sure have and our cousins had to take care of the animals and changed. do the chores. Going camping was the only time we When I think back to when I was a child, my ever, ever locked the house. brothers and I waited all year to go on a vacation with Adding to the event was the ceremonial lifting of Mom and Dad, as a family. This consisted of four days the camper onto the truck box. This was one of those of camping each summer. This camping trip always huge overhead truck campers. It slept six, but we made seemed a major event. Great preparation went into it. it sleep seven for a few years. The lifting was done by a Mom made brownies and chocolate chip cookies, and pair of crank jacks, one on each side, that lifted the then she put them in coffee cans and froze them. They camper high enough to slide the pickup under. I can had a distinctive taste that I remember to this day. She still hear Dad marking time for each crank: “One . . . made ice for the cooler, sometimes in plastic milk jugs Two ... Three . . . Four . . .” so we could also use it for drinking water. There was The truck went under the camper. The camper was always a trip into town—I mean the big town of fastened into the truck bed. Next, the lights were Portage—to get supplies, food and propane tanks for tested, which was a great ceremony, too. As I grew the stove and the lantern. That lantern always needed older, I got to test the lights by pushing the brake new mantles, too. It eventually got left behind over pedal or moving the turn signal level. I have always time due to its fragility. I still remember the hiss and had a great respect for camper and trailer lights and the incredible light it gave off. wires. It always seemed like alchemy; there were chants The biggest thing that made camping a great event and incantations (or were they curses?) over the plugs

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before the connection. I was always worried that we parents tell of the years before they got indoor wouldn’t be able to go camping if the lights didn’t plumbing. Multiply this by hundreds of strangers each work, so I’m sure my fingers were crossed during that day using those pits. By my way of thinking, there was part of the ceremony. Once the lights worked, Dad only one way to get through this ordeal—hold your bolted the folding steps onto the back bumper. These breath and kick the stool. You could holler, but that steps were made of steel, with nonskid serrations that might have frightened someone. Why would I kick the bit the heck out of knees, shins, and elbows. I think stool? Well, I have a one-word answer: Bats! I have slipping on concrete would have been easier on us never encountered a bat in a pit toilet, so the kicking kids. must work. Oh, yeah. one more thing—always check We kids rode in the camper. This was in the early for toilet paper first. 1970s, when what was considered safe was a lot Again, remember this was before the ’70s, and different from what we consider safe now. Four kids in people then were not concerned about being sued by back and one between Mom and Dad, getting his their children or that neighbors would call the cops if knees whacked by the gearshift lever. Ouch! We traded they heard a kid yell. Political correctness was unheard off. There was a pair of unmatched walkie-talkies of. I remember my little brother, Jeffy, (he is now two between the cab and camper in the early years. They inches taller than I and thirty pounds heavier, but I were eventually upgraded to an intercom system. still call him Jeffy) being leashed to a tree so he “Mom, Dad, when are we stopping?” “How much couldn’t wander off and fall off the campsite. The farther?” “Are we there yet?”—were common airwave campsite had a steep gully on one side of it. I am sure questions. I remember having to sleep head-to-toe my parents thought tying him to trees was for his own with my brother on a bunk that pulled out from over good. “That’ll do it. He’s not going anywhere now,” the cab. My sisters slept over the cab and my little my dad said, admiring his work. Dad was always good brother slept between my parents on a bed that was with knots. I am also sure my brother Chris and I created by folding down the table. never teased him while he was trussed to those trees. I realized we had outgrown the old system when my We challenged (“Hey, Jeffy, want to race?”) and dad brought home a new canvas five-man tent. It must tempted (“Aw, Jeffy, too bad you can’t reach that have been wintertime, because they set this monstrosity cookie”), but we never teased him. up in our living room. I don’t know why they called it There was also the green box. It was two feet high a five-man tent. When I was in high school, I borrowed by two feet wide by three feet long and was made of it for a canoe trip with two of my friends, and there was plywood. It held the camp cookware and the food that just enough room for us. Outdoorsman rule of thumb: didn’t need to be in the cooler. It came to be used on Take the number of people specified on the tent the trip after raccoons ate one-and-a-half pans of package and divide by two. This is the maximum homemade sweet rolls. What a terrible waste. number of people who could possibly be comfortable Remembering still brings a smile to my face. Those in that tent. Personally, with a two-man tent, I would days are long gone, and my brothers and sisters don’t not want the other party in the tent to be a man. remember them the way I do. My oldest sister, Sue, The five-man tent seemed like a great idea in theory. who didn’t go camping with us much that I recall, My sisters, both in high school, slept in the tent; my now goes camping several times a year with her brothers, my parents, and I slept in the truck camper. I husband. I still use the propane camp stove we used recall one night when there was a torrential downpour back then. I know the lantern is in the green box in my and a shrieking woke us up. The next morning, I woke parents’ basement. The overhead pickup camper was up next to a soggy sister. Yuck. Canvas tents are not replaced by a pop-up trailer camper that was very waterproof if anything inside touches the wall. eventually sold. The tent saw its last days ten years ago. One of my sisters also forgot to close the tent flap on I bought a nylon tent at Wal-Mart for my wife and me. the way to the camper. “It’s not my fault. You were the My brothers don’t camp much. They still live on the last one out,” my youngest sister, Wendy, told sister Pat. farm, and it’s hard for them to get away. There were inches of water in their tent the next day. After getting married, I put the gear away after one Soaking wet sleeping bags are fun. camping trip and headed for the kitchen. I made I remember stopping at scenic waysides along the chocolate chip cookies and brownies from scratch, road where we would have lunch or a snack. Down a then washed some coffee cans and filled them with dark path at all of these areas was the dreaded house those precious baked goods. “Why is there coffee in of terror: the pit toilet. Today, if you stay in the upper the freezer?” my wife asked the next day. I smiled, Midwest and are at least on a freeway or at a state saying, “It’s a surprise.” Then I asked, “Do you want to park, most facilities are of the modern flush variety. go camping this weekend?” W Back then, most were pits. It gives me shivers when my

“I am sure my parents thought tying him to trees was for his own good. ‘That’ll do it. He’s not going anywhere now,’ my dad said, admiring his work.”

192 Holidays and Seasons

Christmas 1941 La Vonne Mainz

Editor’s Note: Although the events of this story occurred in tained off two small “dressing rooms” at each side of December of 1941, the start of World War II had not yet the stage so that the children could change costumes. made its full impact on the tiny community of Newton in The older children always put on at least one play, western Wisconsin. Children there, and even some adults, such as Charles Dickens’ Scrooge or The Christmas Story. seem to have had other things on their minds at that I played the part of the angel who announced the otherwise positive time of year. birth of Jesus to the shepherds. Mother made a pretty white angel costume with wings for me. The wings hristmas is always an exciting time, but in 1941, were made of cardboard and covered with white Cwhen I was in eighth grade, our enthusiasm material. She sewed shiny silver garland on the hem of almost burned down the Harmony Town Hall before the long gown and on the full sleeves and outlined the we put on our school’s Christmas program. The town wings with it. It was a beautiful costume. hall stood next door to the Newton School, which I I also played the part of Tiny Tim’s mother in attended, and we always used the hall for our Scrooge, and I remember rattling the chains offstage Christmas programs. The one-room school averaged when Jacob Marley came on the scene. The younger about twenty students from grades one through eight. children, who didn’t have formal parts in the plays, Newton is in Vernon County, Wisconsin, between had short recitations, songs, or skits to perform. There Chaseburg and Viroqua. was a piano in the hall and Ruth Elaine Morrison, a A few days before the program, our teacher, Mrs. good pianist, played the accompaniment to the songs. Marshall, had the seventh and eighth graders go over They were magical evenings. Everyone came from to the town hall to clean it up. A large pot-bellied, miles around to see the programs. Every chair was wood-burning heater in the center of the building always filled and latecomers had to stand in the back warmed the hall. The heater stood on a sheet of tin to of the hall. We always had a big Christmas tree that protect the wooden floor from sparks or live embers was decorated with ornaments and silver tinfoil icicles, that might fall from the fire. Mrs. Marshall went over but it didn’t have colored lights on it. Nevertheless, we at noon to start the fire in the heater, and a while later thought it was beautiful and placed our exchange gifts we went over to sweep the floor, dust off the chairs, under it. At the end of the programs, the door of the and arrange them in rows. town hall burst open and a roly-poly Santa Claus It must have been a very cold day. One of the boys entered with a jolly “Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas, decided to put more wood in the heater to warm things everybody!” The older children knew it was really up even more. The round, tin stovepipe went straight Roland Marshall, our teacher’s husband, but the up from it and was hung by wires along the ceiling, younger kids thought it was really Santa Claus. No one going back until it went into the chimney, which was ever snitched to spoil their fun. They could hardly in back of the stage. When I was sweeping the floor contain the thrill and excitement of seeing Santa in next to the heater, I became aware of a rumbling person. sound. I looked up and noticed a large red-hot area on In those days Santa was not seen in every store or the stovepipe just above the heater, and then I saw that street corner. Even in La Crosse there was only one the pipe along the ceiling was all red-hot. We had a Santa Claus. His arrival was marked by a parade, and full-blown chimney fire! We ran outside and saw after that the children could see him in Doerflingers’ flames shooting several feet out of the chimney. God, department store basement and tell him what they we thought, the town hall is going to burn down! There wanted for Christmas. was no fire department to call, and if we wanted to call When Santa arrived at the town hall, he had a large anybody, the only phone in the valley was over half a bag slung over his back, and after he had distributed mile away. Any fire would have to be battled by bucket all the gifts from under the tree, he reached into his brigade with water pumped by hand from the well. bag and handed out bulging paper sacks tied with col- Mrs. Marshall must have heard our shouts and seen ored ribbons to all the children. They were filled with the fire from the school. She came over quickly, but nuts, candy, a popcorn ball and some fruit. There was there was nothing she could do. All the drafts on the also a small toy in each bag. (These were really pres- heater were closed and all we could do was wait for ents from our teacher.) In spite of all the excitement, the fire to burn out and hope that no sparks would we all had to remain in our seats, which was difficult ignite the wooden shingles on the roof. Fortunately, for the younger ones. When all the gifts were distrib- nothing happened, and the fire eventually burned uted, Santa left. He paused briefly at the door, waved itself out. good-bye, and with a booming voice shouted “Merry The town hall was a wonderful place to have our Christmas, everybody. I’ll be back on Christmas Eve.” Christmas program. There were steps going up to a As the door closed behind him, we could hear him say stage at one end of the hall. We strung up curtains that “Ho, Ho, Ho! On Dancer, on Prancer,” and then we could be drawn between performances and even cur- heard the faint jingle of sleigh bells.

193 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

“Did you hear that?” whispered little Evelyn. Her As I think back, it was probably a good thing that cheeks were flushed with excitement and matched the chimney burned itself clean when it did and not when color of her bouncy red curls. the hall was packed with people during our Christmas “Yeah!” answered Vernon, who was in second program. Those were wonderful times. Each genera- grade, “Let’s see if we can find his tracks.” Of course, tion has their happy memories of Christmas. Though when we left there were many tracks in the snow, but today they are different from years ago, they are the younger children always selected one set of tracks nonetheless magical and memorable in every age. W that they knew for sure must be Santa’s. Easter Memories La Vonne Mainz

y earliest memory of Easter is from when I was However, I still put out a basket for Easter for several Mfour or five years old. The evening before Easter, years after that, because I had a little sister who still Mother found a box for me and told me to go to the believed. barn and fill it with nice, clean hay. She told me to put I always had a new dress for Easter. My mother was the hay-filled box on the back porch so the Easter a fine seamstress, and I often had the pleasure of Bunny could easily find it. watching my Easter outfit materialize before my eyes. On Easter morning, I viewed with wonder six Even in the hardest years of the depression, Mother beautiful pink, blue, green and yellow eggs in the box. always managed to find some pretty material and I remember thinking that that bunny must be really make a new dress for me. Later on, when she was too different from the rabbits I saw running about in the busy in the store, I had fun ordering my dress from a woods. I figured that he must be the only rabbit in the catalog, along with white patent leather shoes. world who could lay eggs, and colored ones at that! Sometimes, if money allowed, a matching bonnet, They tasted so much better than regular hens’ eggs. gloves, and purse finished off my new ensemble. I will always remember the Easter of 1937. My Years later, when my own children were young, I family had moved from Clark County the fall before enjoyed dressing them up in their new Easter outfits. and we lived on the north side of La Crosse until the After buying new clothes for five children, there often next spring. I was nine years old and beginning to wasn’t enough money left to get myself a new dress, have some serious doubts about this Easter Bunny but I didn’t mind. By that time, Easter meant a lot thing, but just in case I was mistaken, I dutifully fixed more to me than getting a new spring outfit. up a box for him anyway. In the morning, I found that I also had the pleasure of being the Easter Bunny he had left the usual pretty colored eggs. and filling the children’s baskets with chocolate eggs After church, Mother told me to walk over to my and bunnies, colored marshmallow chicks, and jelly aunt’s house. She said they had a surprise for me. My beans. I arose before the children did and hid about mother’s twin sisters and my cousin Irene lived about three dozen colored eggs all around our large lawn. If four blocks from our apartment, so I hurried over, the weather was bad, they were hidden all around the wondering what the big surprise was all about. They house. The children had fun trying to see who could must have been watching for me, because the minute find the most eggs. Even our dog, Lassie, got into the my foot stepped on the back porch, the door flew act. She had a good nose for finding the eggs, but she open. also had a good appetite for hard-boiled eggs. She “Look what the Easter Bunny left for you!” they all usually managed to find and eat two or three eggs said. I could hardly believe what I saw. It was a huge before the children could rescue them from her. basket completely covered with pink cellophane and Easter is a very special holiday for me in other ways, topped with a big pink ribbon. It must have been two too. It always starts with attending church services and feet tall! I had never seen anything so gorgeous in all hearing the uplifting sermon on the Risen Christ. John my life. I could see through the cellophane that the and I sang the beautiful hymns in the church choir at basket was chock full of all kinds of candy, the likes of Immanuel Lutheran Church for many years. That meant which I had never seen before. After recovering from getting up very early for sunrise services. After church, my shock and being convinced it was really mine, I we all got together—including my sister and her took it home. family—and had a big ham dinner. To me, Easter still That was the year I definitely decided there was no marks a “new beginning” in life, even more so than the Easter Bunny. There was no way in the world that a traditional new beginning of New Year’s Day. W rabbit could put together that kind of basket.

194 Holidays and Seasons

An Early Christmas Morning from Long Ago Samuel McKay

t was the “Roaring Twenties,” and my parents were sounded like hoofbeats. I listened as hard as I could to Imarried at the height of the prosperity, in June of see if I could hear noises from downstairs. I didn’t 1926. My brother was born in September of 1927. My dare to open my door and investigate. If I interrupted mother’s mother, known to us as Nana, had done Santa, that would spoil everything. After a while the quite well in the stock market. As a result, my brother’s noise on the roof ceased, and I fell into a deep sleep. early life was blessed with many nice toys and clothes. My brother and I were always the first ones up on However, the stock market crash in October of 1929 Christmas morning, arising at 5 o’clock or earlier. put an end to all that. By the time I came along, in With all the excitement and noise, soon the rest of the October of 1931, the stock market had made a feeble household was up, and one by one they came attempt at a recovery, but then continued its downstairs. However, this particular morning I downward spiral. It was the beginning of the Great overslept. When I woke up, I could hear my father’s Depression. Nana lost everything in the crash and was laughter. I was beside myself. I threw on my bathrobe living with us. and slippers, dashed from my room, tripped on I recall that I really had nothing of my own. All my something, and fell flat on my face. I leapt up and clothes were hand-me-downs, except for shoes. My strode down the stairs. I could hear a whirring sound mother was concerned that I should not develop emanating from the living room. When I reached the deformed feet. All my shoes were bought at Tom bottom of the stairs, I could not see the end of the McAn’s Shoe Store in Boston, which today would be living room where the tree and the presents were. called a discount chain. I did have a little naked rubber Upon entering the room, I saw my father and doll named Peggy, which must have been cheap, brother draped over something on the floor that was because every time I demolished it, another one would making the appear. I also had a small teddy bear of my own. When whirring sound. we went shopping I’d spot some of the types of toys my They sat up and brother had. After expressing the desire to own them, I turned toward would always get the reply, “Some other time, Sammy!” me. Then I One Christmas I was given a one-dollar bill and could see the told to do all my shopping with it. We went to the object. It was an Woolworth Five and Dime store in Lynn, and even electric train— though it seems unbelievable today, I bought an American everybody a present: my mother, my father, my Flyer Hiawatha brother, my grandmother and my mother’s Aunt Edna, engine pulling a who visited us from Portland, Maine, every Christmas. coal car, a tank I was quite proud of myself. car, a freight car As the 1930s progressed, things started to get better, and a caboose. What a magnificent sight! Snowy trail near at least for my family. It seems there were more pres- Of course, because he had so many nice things, I greenhouse and woods during solar eclipse, ents every Christmas, and my father didn’t constantly assumed it was my brother’s present. “Oh, boy, how 2000-2001. New Troy, MI yell at us for leaving the lights on. One of the Christ- lucky you are, Bobby. You’ve got another train!” I (By Louise Randall- mases in the mid-thirties, when I was probably five or exclaimed. Winger). six years old, stands out in my mind. Christmas Eve My brother frowned and my father looked up was nothing special for us. We finished displaying our smiling, saying. “Oh no, this one is for you, Sammy!” presents then. The display was on the mantle over the I could not believe it. Santa had answered my prayers fireplace, on each side of the fireplace, and on a settee and left me a train set of my own. I looked over by the in front of the fireplace screen. The living room ran fireplace, and the plate of cookies and milk glass were from the front of the house to the rear, with the empty. I was so full of excitement that I was oblivious fireplace in the middle of the outside wall. Some years to everything around me for the next hour or so while we had the tree in the front window, but usually it was I played with the train. But I finally realized other in the rear, as it was that memorable year. The presents people were now in the room. that would not fit at the fireplace were placed under I returned to normal and eagerly opened the rest of the tree, leaving plenty of room for the presents from my under-the-tree presents. The presents in the fire- Santa Claus. After we hung up our stockings and put place area would not be opened until everybody was out a plate full of Toll House cookies with a glass of dressed and we had eaten breakfast. After all the pres- milk, my brother and I were sent off to bed. ents were opened and the adults were in the kitchen I don’t know why, but I slept very restlessly for most preparing the big feast, I played with my orange and of the night and woke in the middle of night. As I lay silver Hiawatha until dinner time and every chance I there, I heard a noise on the roof above me. Of course, had after that for the rest of the day. It was a great it must have been the wind, but I could have sworn it Christmas that year—one I’ll never forget. W

195 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

Dad’s Apple Tree LuAnn Gerber

t’s gone now, replaced several years ago by a white that branch had to go, planning to prune it “when the Ipine with a patched and prayed-for leader branch time was right.” I’m sure he must have trimmed it that was nearly lost in an early October snowfall. But more than once, but I remember seeing him perched at one time, an apple tree stood in that place. My dad’s up in the branches with a saw only one time. And apple tree. between the bouts of swearing, as he tried to remove Dad planted the tree a year after we moved into our branches that should have been trimmed long before, newly built home. I say “we” moved in, but I was born I’m sure I saw a tear or two. But I didn’t dare mention one week after the move, so I really didn’t contribute it, of course. anything but discomfort. It was the first home on that So the tree grew on, larger and larger. And as it side of the street, and behind it stretched what grew, so did our family. The tree shaded our lives. remained of the fields that would make way for many From little kids tracking sand footprints across the more houses in the years to come. The tree started out patio, to teens hanging out, to newlyweds at a post- no bigger than a few feet, and, knowing Dad, probably nuptial backyard party, the tree saw it all. It bore cost just a few dollars. Dad was particularly proud of witness as well as apples. his bargain trees. Especially when they lived. From the time we were little, our house and yard The yard was fenced all the way around with chain were popular places to play. Some days, there were so link, which I learned to scramble over within the first many kids in the sandbox, we’d run out of cottage week of its existence. Our yard was flat for about ten cheese containers, old plastic cups and coffee scoops yards off the back of the house, then sloped fairly to hold our culinary surprises. Sand trails headed away steeply upward. In the flat area, there was a cement from our sandbox to Tanya’s house or Tommy’s yard, patio and a square sandbox that, more often than not, then back again. contained several of the neighborhood children. The When we weren’t in the sandbox, we were on the swing set sat perpendicular to the house, a few steps swing set, usually more than two of us, and carrying from the patio and half-shaded by the house in the more weight than was prudent for the metal pole afternoon sun. structure. At those times, the groaning of the garden Dad planted the apple tree, along with a pear and swing kept time with the pumping sound of the swing peach tree, creating an upside-down triangular pattern set legs as they lifted out of the earth with each too- that spanned the sloped portion of the yard. The pear vigorous swing. The shade of the apple tree was a tree was the bottom point of the triangle, with the welcome relief on those hot summer afternoons. Mom peach at the far left corner of the upper slope and the would bring out Kool-Aid, and we’d sit in the shade to apple at the far right. Dad’s symmetrical pattern lasted cool off, looking up at the mottled sunshine through only as long as it took the pear and peach trees to the tree’s branches. peter out. After a few years, Dad gave up on them, Eventually, the apple tree’s trunk got large enough to replacing the peach with another apple tree. provide a skinny child with a good hiding place during However, it was the first apple tree that dominated hide-and-seek, especially if the game was played in the the yard. It grew large and graceful, eventually filling deepening shadows of evening. Back then, we played the upper right portion of the yard and shading a late into the summer evenings, our parents sure we section of my dad’s vegetable garden. It was amazingly were in the neighborhood and safe. Finally, we’d hear beautiful in the spring, clouded with snow-white the voice of a mom calling somebody home. Soon blossoms, promising a wonderful crop each year, but afterward, the whole choir would sound and we’d all not always delivering. trudge home, complaining, “Aw, Mom, we can still Each year, Dad claimed that this would be the year see!” But of course, it was dark enough that at least one the tree would give us a bumper crop of worm-free red of us had left a shoe or toy in a neighbor’s yard, to be Delicious apples. And each year, to that end, he would found and returned the next day. treat it with this or that, or not treat it at all, or try During the tree’s mid-size years, my brother and I some sure-fire organic method he picked up in a practiced football passes and kicks with Dad in the magazine. We never knew if the contraptions hanging backyard. The fall air was as crisp as the apples off the in the tree were to ward off insects or to comfort him tree, and smelled strongly of apples as well. As the when he looked out the window at his tree. His twilight deepened, we could see Mom in the warm methods never worked the same way twice. The light of the kitchen window, washing dishes and bumper crop one year would be followed by a dismal watching us until it grew too dark for her to see. I liked showing, which he would claim had to do with kicking the football over the fence so we could watch tweaking the method that had worked the previous our mid-fiftyish father hop over it to retrieve the ball. year. Dad preferred us to throw the ball, because we were Dad could rarely bring himself to prune that poor much more accurate that way and wouldn’t tree. He would talk about it a lot, saying this branch or accidentally knock apples off his tree. We practiced out

196 Holidays and Seasons there until we were stumbling over fallen apples in the casualties during play, although that was probably not dark. Then we headed into the house, our cheeks pink for lack of trying. from the cool air, pleasantly tired, slightly sweaty, and Part of my wedding reception took place under the content. apple tree. After all the official hoopla was over, As I got older, I learned the mixed blessing of that friends gathered at my parents’ house for an informal apple tree: Mom would give me a choice of kitchen party, which spilled out into the backyard. The apple cleanup or mowing the lawn, and I always opted for tree was the centerpiece of the yard, a full umbrella of mowing. Being a teenage girl, of course, I had to mow white flowers and deep green leaves, beautiful and in my swimming suit and hope that the neighbor boys stately, sprinkling delicate blossoms on anyone who would happen by. Besides, you can’t get a tan washing brushed past. dishes. My parents have an apple tree inside their home, The sloping yard was a challenge to mow, but I only too. My older brother fashioned a true family “tree” had to make it to the shade of the apple tree to cool for my parents out of wood, stained dark like apple off. Although mowing under the tree was cooler, it was bark, with wooden apples hanging from the branches. not easier. Since Dad hated pruning, there were many Each wooden apple holds a charm-sized picture. Two low-hanging branches. I spent most of my shaded larger apples flank the trunk of the tree, and contain mowing time contorted over the mower handle, trying pictures of my parents. Each of the five branches to avoid getting slapped in the face. When the job was represents one of us kids, and our spouses perch next done, Mom sent my brother out with glasses of cold to us. Small twigs shoot off from the branches, with lemonade, and we sat pictures of our children under the tree to drink it. dangling from the end of The tree also provided each. Our family has food for the many expanded over the years celebrations that took since my brother made place within its domain. the tree, and new apples Besides the fresh apples have been grafted on as we bit into on fall needed. Unlike most evenings, Mom canned apple trees, this one applesauce and froze bears fruit year-round, sliced apples for various and there isn’t a rotten deserts. The old standby, apple to be found. apple pie, was popular, Eventually, Dad but not as popular as realized that the Apple Crisp. I’ve heard backyard apple tree this dessert called apple wouldn’t last much brown Betty or apple Dad’s apple tree, Lincoln, NE (Courtesy of LuAnn Gerber). longer. It was quite old crunch, but to us it was for a fruit tree, and we always Apple Crisp, with capital letters. The smell of it rarely got apples from it any more. He kept putting off baking would bring us in to the table on the first yell. the time when his tree would leave him. But he never The apples weren’t the best part of it though— expected that he would be the one to leave, not the whenever I helped make it, the sugar-and-butter apple tree. My father died of cancer about the time his “crisp” was always thicker than the apples! beloved tree turned twenty-seven years old, so he The tree also figured in our neighborhood potluck never had to cut it down. parties. Besides providing the main ingredient for It was many more years before Mom could bring dessert, it also provided a welcome retreat for teens herself to cut down Dad’s apple tree. The tree reluctant to be seen spending the evening with their approached death the way my father had a few years families. We would slink off to the apple tree with our earlier: life breaking down day by day and the once plates and a transistor radio playing the Top 40 strong and productive trunk unable to support its Countdown with Casey Kasem. While we whined branches. Mom and my youngest brother were there about “wasting” the evening, our dads would man the when the tree was chopped down and its stump dug grills as if they were protecting their territory, and our out. With the loss of the tree, we said a final good-bye moms did everything else. to my dad. The yard would be foggy with Deep Woods Off, A few years ago, Mom planted a white pine in the and while the adults sat back in their webbed lawn backyard where the apple tree once stood. She has chairs, smoking and arguing good-naturedly about the taken on the husbandry of the yard and has done well most recent political race, we’d venture out from by it. She has made her own special additions to the under the tree and pull out the Jarts. This was a yard- landscape—some my father would never have thought dart game, since deemed dangerous, in which you to add. But she’s never forgotten his favorites, and his tossed a large metal-tipped dart at neon rings placed influence still lingers over the backyard—for he loved thirty or more feet apart. I don’t remember any real white pines as much as apple trees. W

197 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

The Big Flood Donna Harris

wirling, muddy waters swept through the tiny to warm a bottle. Just as she stepped through the door Svillage of Newton Valley, in southwest Wisconsin, of the kitchen to go upstairs to feed the baby, the on July 21, 1951. My family lived in the valley at the kitchen broke away from the house and was carried for time of the flood, but since I was an infant then, my some distance by the current of the rapidly moving story comes from what I have read or been told. water. Grandma, who had a great sense of humor, In the early morning hours of that July morning, my would later tease Grandpa that they must not be parents awoke to hard, pounding rain beating against married any longer, because their marriage license, the house. They rose and dressed hurriedly. Opening which had been in a box in the kitchen, was never the front door and looking to the northeast, toward the found. schoolhouse, they saw a blanket of water that looked to The church that was right across from Grandma’s be about three feet deep rolling toward our house. house was moved completely off its foundation and There was no time to get out of the valley! The horrible carried about half a mile down the valley, coming to storm would continue most of the morning, causing rest against a large tree. If the tree had not stopped it, unbelievable destruction to our little community. goodness knows where it might have ended up along Dad ran to get the heifer and tied her to the pump the flooded Bad Axe River. In the aftermath of the behind the house, because she would have a better storm, we learned that a whole family—father, mother chance of and four children, had drowned. Their last name was survival there, Suiter, and they had lived in another small community while Mom above Newton Valley called Springville. All six hurried us members of the family were swept along for miles in children out the rapidly moving water except for the father, Ernest of our cozy Suiter, whose body was found a few yards from the beds. Water wreckage of their home. was already The destruction was widespread throughout the coming into valley. The federal government declared not only the the first floor valley, but also much of the surrounding area, a of the house. disaster area. Crops and gardens were muddy fields As Mom went that would yield no harvest. Animals were lost and Donna’s house with to the door to check on Dad, a large rat tried to swim never found again. Machinery and buildings were debris around it after into the house. She kicked it away, closed the door, and destroyed. The overwhelming task of cleaning up, flood, July 1951. Newton Valley,WI (Courtesy of turned back to the task of getting everyone to safety. inside and out, had to begin, but where did one start? Donna Harris). The only thing to be done was to go to the second The water supply had been contaminated; water story of the house—and pray. Mother sent everyone had to be boiled before it could be drunk. The Red ahead of her, carrying whatever they could, to higher, Cross offered assistance with non-perishable food and hopefully safer, ground. She followed, carrying items and water. A large semi-truck brought furniture. me. How she must have feared, not only for our lives, Years later, I learned that the truck came from Chicago, but for the lives of others in the valley as well. and that the library table now in my home was one of Dad decided that he must stay downstairs and keep the pieces on that truck. the water flowing through the house so it wouldn’t rise Neighbors pulled together to help each other clean to the second floor. He rolled his pants legs up as far up and regain some semblance of order in their lives. above his knees as they would go, but they were soon People from surrounding communities not so greatly soaked. Meanwhile, upstairs, Mom tried to keep seven affected by the flood helped remove the brush and children calm and occupied so they would not realize debris; and some folks brought clothing to distribute the seriousness of the situation. Most of us were too to those who needed it most . . . and slowly, as the young to know what was going on, but my two oldest wreckage was removed and the mud dried out, houses sisters, then ages eleven and nine, remember looking were scrubbed clean, things that could be salvaged out the second-story windows and seeing debris, were, and families and neighbors gathered together, machinery, parts of buildings, and animals (some thankful that their lives had been spared. One family swimming, some floating) being carried along in the had not been so fortunate, and this alone gave people water. At one point, my oldest sister saw Grandma the determination to go on. Rood’s kitchen float by, smoke still coming from the In retrospect, I’m thankful that I have no memories of chimney. She watched until it was out of sight, that terrible day in 1951, but I’m also glad I know what wondering, I’m sure, if anyone was trapped inside. happened and how it impacted the small valley that was My grandmother, who lived just up the road from my home at that time. As I grow older, it becomes more us, was not home at the time of the flood, but my aunt important for me to know and to record events that have was staying in the house and had gone into the kitchen shaped my life and that of my family. W

198 Holidays and Seasons

Thanksgiving and the Dugout Family Nelda Johnson Liebig

he crops were harvested and preserved. Mama had Carefully I descended the clay steps, now sticky Tstored her jars of vegetables and fruit in neat rows with dampness, as rain oozed down the sides. I on the cellar shelves. We never had turkey and hugged myself and shivered in the semi-darkness. A cranberries for Thanksgiving; Mama’s homemade small window in the roof and a smoky kerosene lamp noodles and a plump hen usually provided the main were the only sources of light. attraction of our bountiful feast. A little girl with long, stringy hair stared at me from Even in tough times, there was an abundance of food a wooden bunk in the corner. Mrs. Miller, in a sweater at our house south of Oklahoma City. Daddy worked for much too big for her, sat next to her. I stood close to an oil company, and our family farmed a small acreage. Daddy as Mr. Miller added wood to the little iron In the fall of 1937, Daddy gave a family permission to stove and his wife put a scoop of coffee into a white, construct a makeshift shelter on the high bank of the enameled coffee pot. Something simmered in a dented creek across the pasture from our barn. True to his kettle on the back of the stove. nature, Daddy not only gave the Millers permission, but Mr. Miller offered Daddy the only chair and he helped Mr. Miller construct the shelter. warmed his hands over the stove. Daddy lit his pipe I was bursting with a seven-year-old’s curiosity to and tilted the chair back on two legs, ready to talk. see a family living in a hole in the ground with a tar- Mama always said Daddy could strike up a conversa- papered roof. Daddy called it a dugout. I imagined the tion with a fence post—he Millers carving wooden utensils and making their liked talking that much. clothes from animal pelts. I pretended I lived in that As I moved closer to the cozy dugout, fishing in the creek and picking wild stove for warmth, I tried not to cherries and blackberries. I didn’t consider the fact that stare at the damp spots on the neither fruit nor foliage flourished in November. The clay walls or the rough, more I thought about that dugout, the more I knew I wooden planks that covered had to see it. I begged Daddy to take me. the wettest places on the clay Thanksgiving Day dawned cold and gloomy. Dark floor. There was no tablecloth, skies threatened to make it a rainy one. The aroma of but a clean square of checked fresh bread and mincemeat pie drifted into my gingham was spread under a bedroom, next to the kitchen. I snuggled deeper into Bible. my warm bed and thought of the chicken and Daddy puffed on his pipe and said, “My wife and I Kids enjoying the fall dumplings Mama would make with the old hen I had sure would like for you folks to come and have some season, 1998. Holmen,WI (By Shelley Clark). helped pluck the day before. chicken and dumplings with us today.” Then I thought of the Millers. I threw back my I couldn’t believe it when Mr. Miller thanked Daddy, quilts, braved the chilly dampness, and dressed, pulling but refused the invitation, saying they always had on my long brown stockings and my warmest clothes. Thanksgiving at home. He added, “I snared a rabbit,” I stood close to the gas cookstove and watched nodding toward the pot on the stove. Mama make oatmeal for me and my brother and As we walked home, I couldn’t understand how Mr. sister. I asked if we could take the Millers some food Miller could call that dugout “home.” for Thanksgiving. My motives weren’t exactly The next day, Mama and I went to the dugout and charitable—I had to see that wonderful dugout. gave the Millers a basket of leftovers from our dinner “Let’s go ask them to dinner,” Daddy said. He and and some canned vegetables and fruit. Mrs. Miller Mama had already talked about it. I fastened my thanked Mama, saying she wished she could pay for raincoat, which had metal fasteners just like the ones them. Mama told her that she remembered some hard on my boots. I got my umbrella. Actually the umbrella times when she was a little girl in Arkansas. was a silk one, but I carried it everywhere, rain or The day after that, Mr. Miller came to the house and shine, much to the amusement of my family. asked Daddy if there was any work he could do. He It was raining as Daddy and I crossed the creek on and Daddy became friends as they mended a fence the wooden bridge that connected the two parts of our and put in a new window in our bathroom. ten-acre farm. We wound our way up the steep bank. Finally, the day came that Mr. Miller got a job. Daddy Suddenly I had doubts as I stared at the tar-papered hitched our little utility trailer to the 1934 Ford sedan, roof hugging the ground like some strange intruder and we took the Millers and their stove to Pauls Valley into my world. A stovepipe extended into the damp to the new job. As we all said our good-byes, Mr. Miller sky. I recognized the roof as the one Daddy had taken shook Daddy’s hand, saying, “You are a kind, thought- off a pig shelter and the door as the old one from our ful man. We will never forget you and your family.” cellar. He stooped and rapped on the door. It opened, And I will never forget my experience in a dugout and Mr. Miller’s head appeared. He smiled at me. I saw in the Good Old Days, when I learned the meaning of how very thin and pale he was. thankfulness and sharing. W

199 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

In Anticipation of Fun Day Ann Morrison

n fall, winter, and spring days, we went to school. would, as surely as the sun rose and set, suffer death OOn summer days, we went to the pool. The years by drowning. Everybody knew that undigested food in progressed in that order: school, pool, school, pool, a child’s stomach would suck up every morsel of school, pool. It had been the rhythm of life for every bodily oxygen, resulting in excruciating muscular kid in the small, Midwestern town of Viroqua, cramps followed by total paralysis. This would Wisconsin, since the WPA had built the town’s pool inevitably happen in the deep end of the pool, where during the Great Depression. By the time 1972 rolled that kid would sink like a stone and die, unnoticed by around, the pool had lived through forty years of the teenage lifeguards flirting with one another at the intensive use and was beginning to show a bit of wear edge of the pool. Luckily, this potential scenario did and tear. It was the summer not particularly concern my mother. She was older after fifth grade, and we ten- than most of my friends’ mothers and had lived A Happy Valentine year-olds dutifully followed the through the Depression. She took a more casual Yvonne Klinkenberg town tradition of school-pool approach toward danger. She knew that life in general attendance. We went to the was a risk. I was allowed to play roulette with life and Valentines are symbols, pool, day in, day out, rain or swam every day with a full stomach. In red-shaped hearts. shine, all summer long. We only Amy J. and Amy N. were waiting at the corner of They have a special meaning, went home when lightning Western and Decker, dinners nicely digested for over Of friendship ne’er to part. flashed and the lifeguards an hour, champing at the bit to get going as I raced up They may call forth a memory, chased us out of the water. on my bike. Today was the big day—Fun Day—and we Of family and friends, long ago, My father was a rural mail had been anxiously waiting for it all summer! “You’re Or people we’ve just met, carrier at the time and didn’t get late!” they said as I reached the stop sign. “I know, I So many that friendships grow… back into town for dinner until had to wait for Dad to get home for dinner,” I replied. Thus, take this special verse almost one o’clock in the It was now 1:25, and we were going to have to really That I am sending you, afternoon. Logistically, as the burn rubber if we wanted to make it to the pool before To let each of us remember youngest and only non-teenage it opened. If we didn’t get there on time, we could Friendships we all knew. kid in the house, I found this miss the coolest event of the year! Every year on Fun late dinner hour extremely Look back or look ahead, Day, at precisely 1:30, the lifeguards threw buckets of inconvenient. The pool opened money into the pool! Wherever you may be, at 1:30, and I felt personally In anticipation of our future riches, we leaped onto And accept this unperfected heart, that it was imperative to get our bikes and sped off at a breakneck pace. Kids at that Sent with love, to you, from me. there the very moment the time, didn’t wear helmets—or even shoes, for that doors were flung open each day. matter—when riding their bikes, because their parents On one particular day in late were more concerned about achieving a full hour’s July, I had been forced, as food digestion before swimming than the possibility always, to wait for Dad to get of a traffic accident on the way to the pool. All three of home before we could eat the us had on the standard girl pool uniform of the day: noontime meal. We ate as a bikinis with a large beach towel hanging around our family—my mom and dad, my necks. We were tanned, lean, and still little enough to brother, my two sisters, and be comfortable in our young animal bodies. I felt that me—all crowded around the my swimsuit was particularly cool. It was green and Formica table in our tiny had white plastic rings on each hip, and a white kitchen. I wolfed down my fried plastic ring connecting the two sides of the top. Due to hamburger, boiled potatoes, my daily swimming pool attendance, my scraggly canned peas, and white bread blond hair matched my suit—it was green—and I had with oleomargarine at top a very dark tan. No one was concerned about skin Michael Marcou, a great child actor and kid, speed. The bread was always cancer and we had never even heard of a thing called 2001. Holmen,WI (By David J. Marcou). from the Viroqua City Bakery— the ozone layer. Tan was very “in”—our blonde-haired, no Wonder Bread for us. “All brown-skinned Malibu Barbies proved that point. I you’re paying for is the advertising,” my parents said. I may have had the tan thing going, but with my green washed this substantial meal down with a Flintstones hair, pop bottle glasses, chipped front teeth and the glass full of grape Kool-Aid. My dinner was finished; I height and weight of a kid several years younger than I could finally go to the pool. I managed to break free actually was, I could make no claim to popularity with of the house by 1:20 and was off to meet my friends. the boys. Today, I didn’t give a hoot, though, because I In 1972, the vast majority of mothers were was on my way to the pool to claim my fortune. absolutely convinced that if a kid didn’t wait to go The three of us zoomed along on banana-seat bikes swimming for a full hour after they ate, that kid (with sissy bars), tightly gripping our butterfly

200 Holidays and Seasons handlebars, as the sun’s heat bounced back at us from fifth graders in the pool’s hierarchy. We slunk in at the the blacktop. We jumped the curb by the Court House end of the line, and along with the rest of the kids in and peeled down the sidewalk, past the sheriff’s office town, impatiently awaited the opening of the doors. and the Vernon County Jail. Strictly speaking, it was Several painfully long minutes later, the doors were against the law to ride bikes on the sidewalks, but this finally flung open—squashing only a couple of kids was the route to the pool, so the sheriff and police against the building. The frenzy began. The squashed department managed to look the other way. They had kids quickly scurried out and the line began to snake probably taken the same shortcut when they were kids. through the building and out to the pool. Most kids We came out on the other side of the sheriff’s office had season passes and all they had to say was and squealed around the corner by the Federal Savings “season!” as they scurried past the checkers. Some and Loan. Only one more block to go. Butterflies kids, though, actually had to fish out fifteen cents in flitted in our stomachs as Nuzum’s Lumberyard and order to get in, and they held up the line. Come on, we the Eagles’ parking lot whizzed by in a blur. We were thought. We’ve got to get in, and fast! The money- there! We had made it to the pool on time! throwing probably wouldn’t happen until everyone We parked our bikes on the north side of the pool’s had entered the pool area, but, God knows, we didn’t heavy stone block building that had been painstakingly erected by WPA workers. The kids who lived on the north side of town parked their bikes on the north side. The kids who lived on the south side of town parked on the south side. This was an unwritten law: you parked your bike on your own side. There were more than a hundred bikes there already, and long lines of kids had formed. (Apparently, these kids’ families ate dinner at twelve o’clock noon.) The boys and girls had separate dressing rooms, and, subsequently, separate lines. These two lines pressed up against the front doors of the stone structure, went down the concrete steps, and split off in opposite directions down the sidewalks of Rock Street. The sidewalk burned hot on our bare feet. Some of the kids were wearing flipflops, but we want to take any chances. When our part of the long Youngsters lining up for scoffed at footwear, considering it only for wimpy kids line finally progressed to the check-in area, we first swim of the season, Fun Day, circa 1970. who hadn’t toughened up their bare feet properly for dutifully screeched “season!” at the checkout girls and Viroqua,WI (Courtesy of summer. At first, we considered the possibility of raced through the required shower perfunctorily. The the Vernon County butting in line near some friends from school, but pool was too busy today for any of the lifeguards to Historical Museum in Viroqua). then thought better of it. There were lots of big kids bust us for not being wet enough to prove full there, and we were well aware of our proper place as compliance with the shower-before-you-swim rule.

Just for a Little While Yvonne Klinkenberg

Editor’s Note: Yvonne wrote this in memory of her “best guy,” Amos Klinkenberg, her husband for nearly fifty years, who helped make her feel like “a kid inside.” Amos died on February 29, 1996.

I’m trudging through the falling snow, Feeling excitement I cannot hide. Looking in windows, all aglow, The soft snow gently falling down, With Christmas trees brightly lit — At last, I’ve made it to downtown. ’Round fireplaces, families sit. I wonder now to which store I go, I’m going to town, a few things to buy, What to buy, I don’t know. For the kids and my best guy, Fighting the crowd, I feel so lame; Wondering what they bought, But come next year, I’ll do it again. Wrapped in that box under our tree, To trudge through the falling snow, Wondering if it’s just for me. Looking in windows all aglow, I still feel that wondrous way, It fills my mind with childish glee, Waiting for Christmas Day. Waiting for Christmas to come to me. I guess I’m still just a kid inside, MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!!!!

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From the shadows of the creaky old shower room, silver milk buckets full of coins, and proceeded to we burst into dazzling sunlight bouncing off the throw fistfuls of cash into the pool. We paid rapt turquoise surface of the pool. The intoxicating aroma attention as thousands of pennies, intermixed with of chlorine slammed into us like a wave. The noise was silver coins flew into the blue water. They covered deafening. There were kids already in the water! Had every bit of the pool bottom with coins. I wrapped my the money hunt begun without us? No, thank glasses back into my towel in anticipation. The waiting goodness, we realized that the lifeguards were was finally over. The head lifeguard blew his whistle, allowing everyone a quick dip to burn off some excess and we all flung ourselves wildly into the pool. energy before the day’s festivities officially began. Or I came home with only twenty-seven cents that day, perhaps they realized that trying to keep this many while my friends nabbed more than five bucks apiece. kids sedately up on the deck would be a losing battle. I never figured out until just a few years ago why I was Wrapping my glasses in my towel and throwing the so lousy at finding money on the bottom of the pool: towel onto the grass, I was just about to leap blindly I could barely see anything without my glasses, and to into the miasma of bodies when I heard several claim a coin I had to swim under the water, dragging lifeguards simultaneously blowing their whistles. my hands along the bottom until I felt it with my fin- “Everybody out of the water!” yelled the drill ser- gers. It never crossed my mind at the time that search- geants/lifeguards. The swimmers obeyed and struggled ing for coins by Braille might be a handicap. There over the scratchy raised edge of the pool. There was no were plenty of other events later on Fun Day, though, need for the lifeguards to round up stragglers on this like best dive, the American crawl race and the under- day. I slipped my glasses back on my head. water swim. I always participated in these compe- When the several hundred children were reasonably titions, and quite often won prizes. It more than made settled down and sitting properly on the decks, the up for my dismal failure at coin scrounging, and I lifeguards went into the check-in room, emerged with never left a Fun Day disappointed. W Christmas Eves Remembered James R. Millin

Editor’s Note: Jim Millin was badly wounded and taken My third memorable Christmas Eve was 1944, my prisoner during WWII. It was his sacrifice and the third year away from home, and the war still went on. sacrifices of others like him that won the freedom of future I was then in a prisoner of war camp in East Prussia, American generations. and had been there for eight months. This Christmas Eve I had the support of the two thousand other have three Christmas Eves that I shall always American airmen in the camp and gave mine in Iremember. The first took place at the Last Frontier return. The shutters were on the windows, the camp Hotel outside Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas, was pitch-black, and we could hear the guard dogs Nevada. Our class of fifty airmen had just graduated outside in the compound. Even so, this evening from gunnery school, and our Christmas party was seemed special. We all, in our own private thoughts held there. Harry James, one of the favorites from the and prayers, hoped that this special Christmas Eve, far “Big Band” era, was the bandleader, and Betty Grable, from home, might be our last before liberation. the popular blond movie But wars continue, even Weir in distance, actress and singer whose on Christmas Eve. It was winter 1999-2000. Lake Superior, near Duluth, MN beauty can be compared on this very Christmas Eve (By Gwen Sikkink). to that of Marilyn that we learned that Monroe’s, was the band’s Brigadier General Fred singer. The year was 1942. Castle, former Com- My next memorable mander of our 94th Bomb Christmas Eve was in Group, while leading a 1943. I was a prisoner of group of B-17s on a war, having been shot mission over Belgium, had down on October 4, and a been shot down and went patient in the hospital in down with the plane. Rhiems, France, with a From that Christmas Eve very serious leg wound. I had been there for almost in 1944 to this one, each year, I think of General Castle three months, flat on my back, my right leg in a cast leading those brave young men into battle. supported and elevated with a sling. On Christmas Eve, This is but one soldier’s wartime memories. As any the German nurses stood outside the barred door of veteran will tell you, each has a dear memory in his or my hospital room and sang Christmas carols. I had her heart during that Holy Season—of home, family, tears in my eyes. My thoughts dwelled on home, and loved ones, and that long-hoped-for gift: Peace on family, and my other crew members. Earth and Goodwill Toward All. W

202 SECTION 15 Family and Friends

Anthony “Tony”David Skifton with his maternal grandparents, David A. and Rose C. Marcou, at his graduation from Aquinas High School, 1996. La Crosse,WI (By David J. Marcou, Tony’s uncle).

“We Too Form a Multitude”— Jim Ferris and his wife, Molly, 1997. La Crosse,WI (By Jean Ferris, Jim’s mom). Diane and Danny Skifton, 2000. La Crosse,WI (By Vicki Marcou, their sister-in-law and aunt).

Tribute to Mom Doris Kirkeeng Editor’s Note: This story serves as a universal tribute to wasn’t abundant. I remember Mom counting the maternal devotion. The author’s parents, although not change she used to cover the cost of the few groceries mentioned by name in the article, were Mary Webb needed for her little family. Newcomb Schlicker and Arnold Carl Christian Schlicker. Dad worked as a watchman at the Stokely canning factory. On Sundays, Mom packed a picnic basket hen we grew up in the 1930s and ’40s, we didn’t and we joined him for lunch on the lawn of the fac- Whave a lot of expensive toys, but rather tory. It was simple, but we enjoyed the family outing, handmade ones or hand-me-downs. We happily and Dad was pleased. Later, he got a job working for played with what we had. In the early ’30s, money just the John Deere Company. My mother helped him by

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packing his lunches and keeping the home fires She did keep the house tidy, laboring in her apron burning. with the scrub brush and homemade soap. Her idle Mother was busy at home, not only passing on her minutes were spent embroidering tablecloths and love to us children, but also caring for us physically. pillowcases, crocheting bedspreads, and tatting She comforted us, with loving hands, through measles, edgings on linens made from bleached flour sacks. whooping cough, chicken pox and mumps. She also Her hand-carved wooden crochet hook, along with her nursed my dad through tooth extractions, contusions, delicate hands and remnants salvaged from sewing, cuts, and even a smashed toe received when created attractive rugs. These helped to keep our little something was dropped behind the steel tip of his bare feet from hitting the floors of the cooler areas of work shoe. When Grandpa Schlicker had gall bladder the house. The heat from the pot-bellied stove just surgery, she changed the dressings and gave other couldn’t reach to every corner of our small residence. help, too. Nursing was natural to her. On Mondays, she washed our clothes, with the Clothes were made with the old New Home treadle washboard, P & G bar soap, and galvanized steel tubs. sewing machine. The material used was, more often She washed in one, rinsed in the next, using just the than not, old, larger clothes. My mom seemed to have right amount of bluing, and in the next one, she rinsed the ability to make wonderful, warm, serviceable again. Between them she used the wringer clamped to snowsuits from men’s pants and jackets. She could the edges of the tubs. The Metropolitan Life Insurance look at a picture and create beautiful dresses for my man stopped on Mondays to collect his premium. sister and me out of any garment given to her. Caps, Being the gentleman he was, he offered to turn the mittens and scarves were crocheted out of any yarn handle on the wringer while Mom fed the laundry accessible. through. How thankful Mom was for the help! The food she prepared was delicious. Her kitchen Tuesday was the day for ironing. She heated the was the area where she made cookies, doughnuts, irons on the stove. The handle moved from one iron soups, cereals, bread, and cakes. Everything was made to another as the one being used became too cool to from scratch—puddings, pies, sauces, potatoes, meat do its job. Clothes were sprinkled by dipping one’s loaves and more. The autumn season kept her busy hand into water and shaking it onto the garment. using the hand-grown produce from her garden to cut Wash-and-wear was unheard of, so everything was costs and provide winter supplies by canning and ironed. Dresser scarves, tablecloths, and dresses were pickling. starched before being ironed. So you see, besides Not only did she care for the vegetables in the keeping children out of danger and mischief, Mom garden; she delighted in making the yard beautiful was very busy. with flowers. I remember the colorful asters, When I was six years old, I was aware that Mom’s marigolds, gladiolus, cannas, petunias, moss roses, changing body size indicated that another baby was hollyhocks, and bleeding hearts. These were some of on the way. the joys of her heart. Mom saw to it that we enrolled in Sunday and Living in a three-room, weatherworn, wood-frame public schools, even though we had to walk miles, house didn’t stop my mom from making it a home. sometimes in inclement weather, to get there. She didn’t decorate the little building outside that On Saturdays, all the members of the family got held a Sears Roebuck catalog and served the family their weekly baths, in the same tubs the clothes had when their need for a toilet called, but she kept it been washed in, earlier in the week. Our leather shoes clean. were polished, and Mom made sure our Sunday A favorite lamb, 2001. clothes were ready to be worn to Family farm, near Coon Sunday School. Valley,WI (By Caleb Van We felt her love as she taught Buskirk). us our prayers and moral convictions. She was always at my side and supported me in all of my undertakings. Although she had to leave us at the age of thirty-seven years (when I was twelve and my sisters were ten and six), she made an unforgettable impression on our lives. My mom will always be remembered for her unconditional love. All of these things contributed to the character of a mother who was special in every way. This tribute is to her. W

204 Family and Friends

Sisters Dinah Nord

y parents adopted my sister Kathy when I was six divorced him. Then I dated unsuitable men and drank Myears old and she was six days old. A baby sister unsuitably, but our parents didn’t know that. had been born a year before who died before ever Kathy produced two healthy children, a boy and a leaving the hospital. My mother told me that baby was girl, and moved to Rochester, Minnesota, near enough perfect. Years later, my father told me she had Down to make our mother happy. I never had children. syndrome. Kathy learned to weave and to quilt and to do crafts. I I remember peering at my sister Kathy, my chin at read and wrote. I met an alcoholic, drank with him, the level of the changing board covered with linoleum got sober with him, became a nurse, and my husband patterned in large black and cream squares. It attached and I became Catholic. I gardened. Kathy killed house to the bathroom sink and coordinated with the black plants. Kathy lived in a tidy Rochester house. I lived in and white floor and wall tiles. My father had made it an old house in the black section of St. Paul. Kathy for me when I was born. Now she lay there, red and and I still weren’t on the same wavelength. wrinkled and with her skin peeling off at the creases. I Our father developed Alzheimer’s when he was remember wondering why she was there. about eighty. I knew it, because I worked in a nursing When she was two, I am told, I cut her hair before home. Our mother and Kathy didn’t believe it for the annual Christmas card photography session with about five years after I knew it. our father. The card for that year shows her with The way that I came to know it was that Dad stubble and bald patches. She must have trusted me to became my friend for the first time. He and I spent let me do it without crying. I do not remember any of time together. We made dumb little jokes for each this. other and laughed at them together. One day, he took I do remember when we got pet mice. Our father’s me into his study. He had his fine collection of Nikon work involved food experiments using animals. When cameras laid out on his desk. He had been an excellent an experiment was finished, the animals could not be photographer. He sat down and gazed at me with a used again, and he frequently brought them home for puzzled look in his brown eyes, which were so like my us to have as pets. This particular pair of mice were own. Then he said humbly, “I can’t seem to male and female and were expecting. I had just understand how to work them anymore.” He asked finished reading Gone with the Wind and I named my me to take them. I didn’t know what to say. I mouse Scarlett. Kathy’s favorite book then was Walter remember holding his hand. The study door opened the Mouse, so she named her mouse Walter. We were and Mother came in, wondering what we were doing. I not on the same wavelength. explained and she told my father he would get it We took some family vacations. We all stayed in the figured out soon and made him put the cameras away. same motel room. I was upset a lot as Kathy breathed She sold them a year later to the National Camera loudly at night and kept me awake. I soon got my own Exchange in Minneapolis. room at home by complaining about her breathing. In the last year of my father’s life, he could not One day when I was fifteen or sixteen, I bought remember my name. Two times that year, he made matching lockets for Kathy and me. I gave Kathy hers statements with great force. Unexpectedly. Once, he and explained that we would always wear them. I wore told me that what the world needed was a new set of mine for about a week and then tired of it. I don’t Ten Commandments. Another time, he told me to remember how long Kathy wore hers, but I remember never let people take my faith away from me. Shortly how she smiled at me when I gave it to her. before his final illness, my mother said he told her he I upset my parents by my escapades as a teenager, was going home soon. and Kathy was always there to comfort our mother. His final illness came about with a stroke that left Our father worked long hours, and when he was home him unable to swallow. He was sent to the hospital. he often took refuge in his study to do “book work.” When I got there and spoke to him, he opened his Our mother talked to Kathy of her worries about me. eyes and smiled at me. That was his last response. I When Kathy became a teenager, she took out library know he knew who I was. books on how to date, how to find the right boy, how Our father lingered through the rest of that day and to dress, how to do well in school. She followed all the most of the next. As the next evening neared, I advice. She dated only nice boys and assessed them suggested to Kathy that she go home to her family; carefully as potential husbands. Mother and I would wait with Father. She agreed and I got through college in spite of wild living, but went to her home, an hour-and-a-half away. Our Kathy fell in love during her freshman year and father died about an hour after she left. So at the end, married at the end of her sophomore year, after her it was just my mother and father and I. Kathy never fiancé graduated. He was a good man. They went off said how she felt about that. so he could serve in the Air Force in Texas. Our mother moved to Rochester very soon after our In the meantime, I married an unsuitable man and father’s death. She bought a house just four houses

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from my sister. My sister soon became our mother’s opening her eyes: “Mama, Mama!” Her voice was that “husband.” Our mother put all her needs to be cared of a panicky little lost child. She continued to call out for, all the little girl needs our father had catered to as for a few minutes. Then as we watched, her face long as he could, on my sister. Kathy gave our mother changed—the calling stopped, and she drew in her six years of new life—time with grandchildren, plays, breath in a kind of gasp, raised her eyebrows, still not quilting, new friends. The isolated life our mother had opening her eyes. She seemed to be listening, with her led while caring for our father in his final years was breath held for a moment or two. Then she relaxed swept away into what became the best years of her life. and slipped into a deep and peaceful sleep from which I saw our mother turning to Kathy for advice, she never awoke. confirmation, all her needs, just as she had with our My sister and I had exactly the same impression of father. I felt jealous, but I had to admit that I wouldn’t what had happened—from her agnostic viewpoint have spent time every day with her as Kathy did. Every and my Catholic one. We both felt our grandmother afternoon, Kathy sat with her—sewing, visiting, taking came to our mother and explained that she was to die her on errands and to visit neighbors and friends. I soon. We felt that a question was asked and that our would not have done that. mother said yes in answer. Kathy and I shared the night of our mother’s death. Kathy and I, at last, were on the same wavelength. It came unexpectedly after heart surgery that was We both know that the timing of our mother’s supposed to correct a valve problem. Our mother death made it possible for each of us to go on with slipped into a coma about three weeks after the our lives. For Kathy, it enabled her and her husband to surgery. We decided that she had struggled enough begin building their dream home up north. I was able and had all medications and life support to retire and care for my very ill husband. Our mother, discontinued. When the tubes were pulled and needles Kathy and I believe, was asked if she would give us the taken out, we watched as she turned contentedly on gift of her life so we could go on with our lives. And her side on the emergency room table, tucked her like the good mother she always tried to be, she gave hand under her cheek and went in to a natural sleep, all she had for us. just as I had seen her sleep all my life. And we are now the true sisters our mother always An hour or so after that, as Kathy and I watched, wanted us to be. W she began calling out in a little girl voice, never

“Our mother, Kathy and I believe, was asked if she would give us the gift of her life so we could go on with our lives. And like the good mother she always tried to be, she gave all she had for us.”

The Story of My Shillelagh Aggie Tippery

ebster’s dictionary calls a shillelagh a cudgel or Another day, he came back and handed it to me. Wclub. But I call my shillelagh an act of love. It ties “How is that hand grip?” It was a little large. He took it my son, my mother and me together. My mother, home and carved off more wood and sculpted grips Eunice Murray, gave my son Tom a maple tree about on the handle. He returned again. “How is this handle fifteen years ago. Tom planted it in his yard. As it grew, now?” and “How is the length?” he asked. It was just he noticed that one branch might make a walking the right length for a cane for me. stick someday. To shape it, he tied a cloth to it and “Would you like a shamrock on it?” he asked. watched it grow into the form he had in mind. After I liked that idea. “O.K.,” I agreed. five years, he cut the branch. He sanded and Last Thursday, Tom and Nadine returned with the varnished, sanded and varnished, until it had the shillelagh, a safety tip on the bottom and a golden finish he was striving for. shamrock engraved near the top. “Happy St. Patrick’s Then he brought it to me. “Hold this,” he said. “It’s Day, Mom,” he said. “I made this just for you, planning too long, isn’t it?” he remarked, as I wondered what he it from the day I saw that branch on the maple tree had in mind. “Well, if it’s a walking stick for me, it’s from Grandma. Carry it with you wherever you go,” he too long.” He didn’t say anything, just took it with instructed. And so I shall, not because I need a cudgel, him. club, or cane, but because I carry love with it. W

206 Family and Friends

Family Reunion Donna Harris

hen we were children, my sisters and brothers couldn’t get off the hillside fast enough when we were Wand I would impatiently wait for our ride to the called to eat. family reunion at Uncle Wilbur’s place in Maple Dale. Tables—made of sawhorses for the legs and wide Neither my father nor my mother drove, so every boards for the tops—were set up on the lawn. After summer an uncle would pick us up. We all piled into covering them with oilcloths, all the ladies set out the car, usually about eight of us in the back seat and their best dishes and the big bell was rung, Mom, Dad, the driver and the smallest sibling in the summoning us from the hillside and our game- front. We didn’t mind being packed like sardines playing. Hands would be checked, to see if they were because the anticipation of soon seeing cousins, aunts clean. Most of the time, we were sent to the pump to and uncles we hadn’t seen, perhaps since last year’s wash up, and then we got in the long line to dish up reunion, was uppermost in our thoughts. our plates. I don’t remember much about the food Once we arrived and untangled our arms and legs other than that there was a lot of it. I was always pretty so that we could get out of the vehicle, we excitedly selective in what I took, because I knew that I had to greeted everyone and then ran off to play until it was eat whatever I put on my plate; I always looked for time to eat. One time, after we had all gotten out of what my mother had made, because I knew Mom’s the car, we realized that my younger sister Bonnie was food was “safe.” The big treat for all of us was the ice not with us, so my parents had to have whichever cream cone that we would get once we had cleaned uncle had picked us up (probably Freddy) take them our plates. The ice cream was purchased at the Viroqua back to get her. I say probably Freddy, because he was Dairy and was brought to Wilbur’s in a thick, army one of the nicest of the uncles. I know it wouldn’t have green canvas container packed in dry ice. We rarely got been Norman, because he, in Mom’s opinion, was a ice cream, so we savored every bite of it. “wild” driver. At one of our gatherings, he was racing When all had finished eating, the tables were his car and rolled it. cleaned off except for the cookies, cakes and pies, We climbed the paths that ran up the back of the which were left for people to partake of as the property, and from there looked down on the scene afternoon wore on. The women then clustered below. On those paths, we let our imaginations together and caught up on family events. The men convince us that we were explorers in an untamed might play horseshoes or just find a place in the shade wilderness. We scouted the area for animal tracks, sure to relax, and the children were off to play again. that one of us would spot a bear or wildcat, or perhaps The house was off-limits for the young children in we’d find a cave. Once we tired of our search, we our family unless we went inside with one of our played hide-and-seek and tag, and saw who could parents. I think they were afraid we might break scare each other the worst. At times we were almost something. Uncle was not only a bachelor, but an avid paralyzed with fear, and of course the older kids antiques collector as well. I remember going inside on would play on that fear by making noises or swearing occasion and being overwhelmed by the beautiful that they saw something “right over there.” We antique lamps and clocks that were displayed. I am

Family reunion at Wilbur Best’s home.This family gave birth to three of our book’s co-authors: Carolyn Solverson, Donna Harris, and Marjorie Walters, sisters, June 1949. Maple Dale,WI (Courtesy of Donna Harris).

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now the proud owner of one of those lamps, which I them with green, blue, red, gold, and brown glass treasure: a green Lincoln Drape oil lamp. pieces and fragments of plates decorated with gold My older sister Yvonne told me that she used to trim, a scalloped edge, or bouquets of flowers. Pieces sneak upstairs and lie on Wilbur’s bed and read his of mirror were set in just the right places, so the detective murder mystery magazines. The magazines reflection of the colors was incredible. often pictured a scantily dressed woman on the cover. On Wilbur’s rock hunts, he found several round She opened the bedroom window to let in the breeze, swirled rocks with holes through the center that he and she could hear people talking outside. Mom told us were petrified dinosaur droppings. We later would have killed her for sneaking up there and for found out that most people call them dishes because reading those “sinful” stories if she had known. of their round shape. He set them upright into a The pride of Wilbur’s place, though, was not his cement slab to the right of his driveway. Just the dishes house or his antiques, but his breathtaking lawn. The alone caused many a passerby to slow down to view size of the lawn was amazing—a lot farther than you them. Some came to a complete stop, and several even could run in one breath. Everywhere you looked, you got out of their cars to visit with him and exclaim over could see what an artist Wilbur Best was. An avid the work of art before their eyes. How lucky we were to gardener, he planted many beds with such flowers as have such a fairy tale setting for our family gatherings! pansies, daisies, snapdragons, iris, mums and Later in the afternoon, the tables were disassembled sunflowers. There were many varieties and colors of and stored for the next year. Parents gathered their peony bushes, from single white to double crimson. children for a few pictures before going home. He also had a vegetable garden at the back of his lawn, Farewells were said as families went their separate but it was obvious that flower gardening among his ways, a bit tired, but with a feeling of the renewal of rock creations was his real passion. family ties and anticipation for next year’s family Uncle searched the valley for rocks and used them reunion. to build lighthouses, birdbaths, a church, and even a It has been several years since there has been a fam- fishpond. He ran pipe from a spring on the hillside to ily reunion at Uncle Wilbur’s place. He died, at the age keep fresh water running into the pond. There were of ninety-two, in 1988. He never married or had chil- also cement toadstools that small people could sit on. dren, but he did leave a legacy. I believe that all of my Wilbur terraced the back of his lawn, which ran up the sisters and I inherited a love for flowers and rock gar- hillside, with rocks and flower gardens. He also used dens and making beautiful things. And I believe Wilbur colored glass, pieces of mirror, and old plates among played a big part in it, and because we knew and loved the rocks and flowers. The grounds had an almost him, I would like to think that, through us, in a small magical quality to them. As he built the terraces, Uncle way, the beauty that Wilbur created lives on. W set sparkling rocks into the cement and complemented

My Friend Dorothy Dinah Nord

met Dorothy for the first time on a late spring dabbed at them apologetically, embarrassed at her Ievening. She and I had just become neighbors. We emotion with a stranger. stood visiting in the driveway next to her home. The We were not strangers long. I came to her to learn pale green wood siding of her house clashed with the to garden. I planted a huge cucumber patch, as my dark living greens of the foliage in her lovely garden. husband and I planned to make dill pickles. I put in Dorothy was an enthusiastic gardener and worked for six hills of cucumbers, and they all flourished. I had our local florist part-time, in the spring. enough cucumbers for an army. I think we canned As we visited that evening, she, much taller than I, more than fifty quarts, for two people who rarely ate a stood with her back toward the western sky, which was pickle. And Dorothy, every chance she got, told people streaked with the vivid colors of a Minnesota sunset, what a good gardener I was. I was proud. She made unspoiled by smoke or pollution. Over her shoulder, me feel that I was a good gardener. against the crimson and gold and lavender of the sky, That fall, when Dorothy was cleaning out her own I could see the cross of St. Mary’s Church outlined garden, she took a wrong step and fell, breaking her against the sunset. fall with her elbow as she landed on a rock. She broke Dorothy and I talked on as the sunset faded. She the elbow, a bad break. She needed extensive physical told me of the death, two years before, of her therapy. I was an unemployed nurse, and I offered to husband. He had died from complications of his take her to therapy and work with her at home. We did diabetes. As she told her story, her gentle face that for the next three to four months. I saw Dorothy reddened, and tears filled her pale blue eyes. She again with tears, as I had the first time I met her. This

208 Family and Friends time the tears were from physical pain—as the went to a wake and noticed that her hand shook as therapist cheerfully said “no pain, no gain,” and she wrote out the sympathy card. extended her range of motion just a LITTLE bit more! The next morning, her son Ted came by her house Dorothy was a good patient and got full function for coffee, as he had done every morning since his back. By the time that full function returned, she and I divorce about ten years before. He was surprised at not had become real friends. finding Dorothy in the kitchen. He called to her and Our friendship bloomed some more when my finally had to search for her. He found her still in bed, husband and I decided we wanted to convert to feverish and unable to open her eyes. He made an Catholicism. Dorothy was a lifelong Catholic, with appointment for that morning at the local clinic and nine children. Two of her sisters were nuns. As my got her to it. She was immediately sent from there by husband and I learned more about the Church, I ambulance to a hospital in La Crosse. asked Dorothy questions about what it was like to For the next eight days, Dorothy hovered between grow up Catholic and what she thought about life and death, her systemic infection not giving in to changes since Vatican II. We shared magazines about IV antibiotics. I went to see her several times. She kept the Church and discussed Church-related news items. saying she couldn’t believe how sick she was. I We shared dismay at those who called themselves couldn’t believe it either, nor could her family. Catholics and yet embraced both abortion and birth Dorothy, who had always taken care of everyone control. When my husband and I finally were else—tall, strong Dorothy—could not even get out of received into the Church, her nun sisters gave us each bed to go to the bathroom. a rosary that had been blessed by the Pope. One was I considered canceling a short vacation I had burned up when we lost our home to fire years later, planned, as I was afraid she would die and I would but the other was in my pocket at the time of the fire, not be there. I called her daughter-in-law (who worked and I still have it—brown olivewood beads, well in the local clinic as a medical technician) the day worn. I did not ask Dorothy to be my sponsor when I before I was to leave, as Dorothy wasn’t getting better. was received into the Church. Someone else seemed The daughter-in-law and I shared our fear for Dorothy, to be the one to ask, but I wish I had asked Dorothy which made me feel better. instead. The next day, ready to cancel my trip, I called her A year or so passed and I went back to work. My hospital room. She answered and I could tell at once husband and I moved to a little farm about eight miles that she was better. Her fever had broken during the from town. I stopped at Dorothy’s every other week or night. I went happily off on my trip. so, with a bag of church periodicals and papers. We When I returned a week later, I went to see her. She exchanged these bags for years, having a quick visit at had been home about six days. She was different. the exchange to catch up on each other’s lives. These Somehow, her face seemed to be less formed than I visits were short, as I was usually hungry and on my way had remembered, and her eyes had a far-off look. Her home after a busy day at work, with supper yet to fix. voice was weak, and she complained of having no Sometimes Dorothy asked my husband and me to energy. Her daughter was setting up her pills in a little eat with her. It was hard to persuade my husband to box with compartments because there were so many. be sociable, but when we did join her, he was glad. Dorothy didn’t seem to have the energy to open all She was a fine cook—meat and potatoes done just those bottles at the right time and to take the right right, homegrown vegetables, homemade bread with number of pills from each bottle. her own jam or jelly, pie with a perfect crust—the best I looked at her sitting obediently with her leg of Midwest farm cooking. elevated. I wondered if my strong friend would come In those years, her mother—a tall, erect, intelligent back. It made me think of how I felt just before my lady who lived with Dorothy—sickened and died of husband’s funeral, when his children came. They cancer, at home with hospice care. I had been a brought some snapshots to make up a bulletin board hospice nurse before we moved to our little town, so for the visitation. I remember looking at a picture another bond was forged between Dorothy and me. taken about ten years before his death and staring at One day, Dorothy confided to me that she had had how muscular his arms were. I had forgotten. a physical problem for many years that she considered I visited Dorothy often, doing little errands for her shameful. I did not. I was glad she told me of this. and watching her slowly improve. One night, I talked After that, we were even closer. My own husband died with her about my plans to sell my little farm and when I was the same age as Dorothy had been when move away. As I rattled on, I saw her eyes start to fill hers died. She was the one I called in the first few days, with tears and her face redden. I stopped, realizing I as I was overwhelmed by loneliness. She made me eat. had hurt her. The summer after my husband died, Dorothy At our next visit, I told her I had changed my plans. scratched her ankle as she was picking raspberries. She Dorothy understood, as she is a widow, too. At that washed the wound carefully, knowing the varicose visit, she told me of having to bring the same things veins in her legs would make healing difficult. Two over and over to confession—she said she never seems days later, she felt chills when she was playing cards in to learn. And this is true of me, too. W the afternoon at the golf course. That evening, she

209 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

Miriam Robert A. Floyd

iriam had been a part of the Saturday morning weight—down to eighty-two pounds now—but MCovenant Group at our church for several years. seemed alert and genuinely glad to see us. Jim and After her husband, Ted, died, she was lonely and Gretchen were extremely happy that we had taken the started talking about moving to Winona, where her time to visit “Mom.” son, Jim, lived with his wife, Gretchen. When a new As we ate, we started telling stories of our memories senior citizens’ housing complex was built on West of Miriam when she lived in Caledonia. She listened Broadway, she was the first to sign up and among the closely and would sometimes include a thought or first to move in. two as she remembered the event as well. We talked We missed Miriam in our group. She was small in about her years as a teacher (fourth grade) and about stature, at most five feet tall, and very slender. Even events at our church. Her husband, Ted, had been in though she was in her late eighties, she walked faster construction, and had been in charge of building one than most people in their twenties and usually left section of the Alaskan Highway. This was good for others breathing hard after a walk. She was soft- several stories from some of our older members. I spoken, but was always up to date with what was remembered how Ted had told the story of being going on in the world and would share her thoughts caught in the Armistice Day blizzard of 1940. He and on most topics if you asked. his dad were in the Reno bottoms duck hunting and After she moved to Winona, our entire group went were trapped there overnight. His dad “seemed to be to her apartment on an occasional Saturday morning guided” to a large tree stump—the only one in the to have our meeting there with her. Afterward we area—where they got a fire started and kept it going all would go out to lunch—usually Chinese since Miriam night. Ted and his Dad were lucky, as more than fifty liked it so much. other hunters died during that storm. Ted always felt Last year, Miriam turned ninety, and her family put that God had led them to that stump, which saved on a large birthday party for her. There must have been them from freezing. 150 people who came to help her celebrate and wish Many other memories were shared, with Jim and her well in the future. She beamed with all the Gretchen adding several of their own. It was great to hear attention and was all around the room talking to all the fond memories that Jim shared of his mother. He people and thanking them for coming. was doing a great job of affirming her life, which most of A few months ago we heard that Miriam had fallen us don’t get to hear while we’re still living! and broken her hip. To help her with physical therapy, Miriam was alert and involved during the entire she moved into St. Anne’s Hospice, in the building event. Once, when someone asked her how old she next to her apartment complex. We tried to get was now, she responded, “How old do you think I together to visit her, but were not able to find a time am?” She knew she was ninety-one, and told us when we could all go. Besides, she was healing from proudly. She also filled in some details of her years as her hip fracture and didn’t need a lot of company right a teacher, which had always been very important to then. her. On Sunday, February 11, 2001, we were all able to A little after 3 P.M., we felt it was time to leave so as visit Miriam at last. Jim and Gretchen offered to fix a not to tire Miriam too much. We all said our good- light lunch for us and we drove three carloads of byes, and Miriam went upstairs with us to the lobby to people to Winona after our church services. Gretchen send us on our way. had told us that Miriam had suffered several light It was good to see Miriam again, and a good strokes recently, and might not remember each of us. experience of community. We were honoring an older We were to just volunteer our names as we greeted her friend as well as reminding each other of the good and not make a big deal out of it. memories we all had of her. We’ll go see her again, We arrived on time, 1 P.M., and Miriam was waiting and we’ll tell stories among ourselves to keep her for us in the lobby of St. Anne’s along with Gretchen memory alive. Several of us also pledged to write to and Jim. We went downstairs to a meeting room her regularly, since we all know how nice it is to get a where Gretchen had laid out a beautiful lunch. As we real letter in the mail! gathered around a big table to eat, we talked with Little things! Just small efforts we can offer to make Miriam about what we were doing in our lives as well someone else’s life a little brighter. Our visit to see as about how she was coming with her physical ther- Miriam reminded each of us of how important those apy. She was in a wheelchair, but she could walk with things are. W a walker, and did so every day. She had also lost some

210 Family and Friends

This Couple Exemplifies Real Family Values David J. Marcou

Author’s Note: This is a guest editorial I wrote for the La They go to Mass with us on weekends, and they tell us Crosse Tribune of February 14, 2000. It is the best tribute often that they love us. We do the same for them. In to my parents I’ve yet written. It talks about the sacrifices an era when family ties are disparaged in the media as they’ve made since they were married on St. Valentine’s Day, much as encouraged, it’s nice to know that my parents 1950. Since the publication of this editorial, my parents have have been there for us every time we’ve needed them. seen one more grandchild and one more great-grandchild That takes real sacrifices on their part. added to the family. Also, it should be noted that the hymn There have been at least two crucibles for our that has the strongest emotional meaning for my mother is extended family. First was the death of my sister not “On Eagle’s Wings,” but rather, “I Am the Bread of Diane’s son, Tony, in the Mississippi River in 1997, Life,” with this section in it: “And I will raise you up.” during the period in which four other local families lost sons in the same way. Tony’s death was the sort of his Valentine’s Day I want to honor a married blow you never think will happen to your family, but Tcouple whose middle name should be “sacrifice” it did. When city police turned out in great numbers at because they’ve given so much of themselves over the Tony’s funeral to support Diane, a police cadet, we years. were moved. (Mom still cries whenever she hears “On Dave Marcou Sr. and Rose Marcou exemplify family Eagle’s Wings.”) life. Writing this is the least I can do for them. The other crucible was my brother Dennis’s running for office (municipal judge) vs. a political pro, Mom doesn’t often like to see her name in public. and winning. Mom and Dad didn’t stop putting up I guess she just doesn’t like to be credited much for signs, talking politics, and getting out the vote. doing what she does so well. But today—St. What my parents have sacrificed over time Valentine’s Day—is different. It is their fiftieth includes their chances to live in other locales and to anniversary. have the comforts a smaller family and circle of They were married at La Crosse’s St. James Church friends might bring. That’s why this St. Valentine’s on February 14, 1950, during a blizzard that kept Day is so special around the Marcou household. The Mom’s parents from driving in from their Cataract family will attend Mass together and share a meal farm. The rest of Mom and Dad’s family was at church with Mom and Dad. (See family portrait on page 134.) and the hall was rented, so the wedding went ahead. I But, most important, we will all remember the followed nine months and eleven days later. sacrifices they’ve made for us, sacrifices like those St. My parents have worked hard all their lives. When Valentine himself made. His defiance of Roman law in Dad was a freshman at Aquinas High School, he made marrying young couples led to his execution on the varsity baseball team. But when his father asked February 14, 269-270. My parents have always had him to work instead at the family grocery, Dad quit willing hearts, like St. Valentine’s, and have made the baseball team that he loved being a part of. sacrifices when they’ve been needed. W Today, Dad is a meat-cutter, and despite having had heart bypass and cancer surgeries, he still works part- time at one of the Quillin’s stores. For her part, Mom is a retired nursing home clerk who was employed by the Bethany Lutheran system for thirty years. She is also a housewife, with seven children, fifteen grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. Mom has had many surgeries herself and never gives up on life despite its hardships. My parents are courageous. My parents’ marriage hasn’t always been easy on Mom. She worked longer hours than Dad, at home and Bethany, and has done a good job raising us kids. David A. and Rose C. She baby sits, helps Dad stay on his diet, helps him get Marcou at a fiftieth anniversary celebration a out the vote for family and friends, travels with him few months after their when she can and helps him in the Meals-on-Wheels anniversary date of program. February 14, 2000. La Crosse,WI Regarding my son, Matthew, and me, my parents do (By Vicki Marcou, their two things that mean more to us than anything else: daughter-in-law).

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Jewels from Georgia Roberta H. Stevens

y interest in my ancestral history was heightened capture are unknown. My direct ancestor and his Mafter seeing the television mini-series Roots, brother were both sold to the Kendrick plantation. My based on the book of that name by Alex Haley. I had great-great-grandfather told about picking up a sweet always known I had roots in Georgia, and that some of potato from the fields one day and beginning to eat it. my ancestors had been slaves and some were racially When he was beaten for that, his brother tried to help. mixed; but I had not known much about them as The brother received a beating that almost killed him. people or how they lived their lives; nor did I know My ancestor was then sold to the Kitchens plantation much about where owner, and he never saw his brother again. Given the in Georgia they name York by his owners, his was the only generation once lived. My of our family enslaved in America. He told and retold research began the events surrounding his capture to his offspring. with talking to my Every generation since has been told these words of grandmother Mary York: “I’m not from here. I was stolen away and Frances, who was brought to this place.” York had been brought to a widow in her Georgia, a slave state, of course, but also one of the seventies then, original thirteen colonies. Events dating back more and to her brother, than a hundred years prior to York’s arrival as a slave my great-uncle would affect the family of York’s future wife, my great- Arthur. I heard great-grandmother. story after story of James Oglethorpe headed a group of trustees who the struggle, petitioned the British Crown for a tract of land south perseverance, and of Carolina for settling “poor persons” of London. successes of many King George II approved a twenty-one-year-charter in of our family 1732. The new “Georgia” colony was named in his Mary Frances Harris, members, both living and dead. Every cultural group honor. In 1733, the Articles of Friendship and oldest living descendant has had some measure of struggle and deprivation, Commerce were drawn up between the Trustees and of York Kitchens and the only one of his forty-nine but people who have endured the horrors of slavery— the Indian Chief Men of the Nation of Lower Creeks. grandchildren still living, and still survived—have incredible strength. The By the end of the Revolutionary War, thousands of at age ninety with her stories have filled me with new pride— the old adage settlers from other states were pouring into Georgia granddaughter Roberta H. Stevens, 1996. is true: it is crucial to know your history. looking for cheap land. This led to pressure on the Rochester, NY (Courtesy Many cultural and ethnic groups who immigrated Creek and Cherokee Indians to give up more and of Roberta H. Stevens). to America maintained involvement with relatives left more of their land. It was through this eviction from behind in their homelands. But this is not true for their lands that many natives were killed, captured, African Americans. Capturing Africans who would enslaved, or came to be indentured servants. There become slaves not only destroyed whole families, were stories that Indian girls and young women who extended families, and tribes, but slavery also had been “dirtied” (raped) by the white man may have destroyed their connection to ancestral homelands. In been sold into slavery or exchanged for goods by their this country, children were sold and separated from own chiefs. mothers, wives from husbands, and sisters from My great-great-grandmother’s parents were Creek or brothers, never to see one another again. Add a Cherokee Indians. Information about their exact tribe lifetime of torturous cruelty, inhumane conditions, has been lost, but Eastern Georgia is where her nation and demeaning words of hatred, and memories of of people once lived, and this creates the possibility Africa soon faded, because it took nearly all the that she could have descended from either tribe. people’s strength to deal with the here and now. As a Frances, as my great-great-grandmother was called, was woman, I cannot fathom what too many African a slave with such last names as Wilcher and McAffee. women had to do for themselves emotionally to This practice of taking your owner’s surname was com- survive repeated rape by their masters and/or their mon. Frances’s parents had been slaves, too, but they masters’ guests, plus everything else. The unspoken were sold when Frances was little, so she had no mem- message from telling and retelling their stories and ory of them. We don’t know her date of birth or if she circumstances cries out to me: “I mattered, I existed. ever had an Indian name. We do know that Frances Never forget what happened to me.” This strength and stuttered, was tall and beautiful, and that she told sto- determination ensured the survival of their legacy and ries about seeing General Sherman’s soldiers marching the rich oral history that is now being uncovered. across Georgia, “burning houses and killin’ the white My great-great-grandfather and his brother were folk.” There was much joy. Slaves were liberated! African slaves brought to the American South, York, my great-great-grandfather, and Frances were probably before 1850. Their ages at the time of married in Sparta, Georgia. They had eight children:

212 Family and Friends

Hannah, Mandy, Minnie, Wesley, Bunyon, the twins might read aloud key parts of a newspaper. If you Martha and Alfred, and Mary. Their youngest, Mary, couldn’t read, someone would read a letter to you or would become my great-grandmother. They moved to write a letter for you if need be. And church land was a Jewels, in Hancock County, Georgia, where they and safe place to lay the dead. Landowners would the children lived as farming sharecroppers. Hancock sometimes plow right over the tops of graves of slaves County is located in mideastern Georgia and was and blacks buried elsewhere to make room for more created on December 17, 1793. It was named for John crops or buildings. Black ministers were held in high Hancock, a leader in the independence movement that esteem because they preached uplifting words of God, led to the American Revolution. This county has much leaving people with renewed hope for a better life; interesting history. they could almost always read and write. She’s not a relative, but Amanda Dickson was the My great-grandmother Mary Kitchens was born in first black woman to own land in Hancock County. 1869. Even as a child, she participated in all the work She was the only “issue” (child) of the white her parents did as sharecroppers, as did her seven plantation owner David Dickson and a slave woman. brothers and sisters. Mary inherited her mother’s good Upon his death, Dickson left land and money to looks and wore her hair pulled back from her face into Amanda in 1874. Dickson’s brother contested the will, a braid that hung down her back the way her mother’s but the Georgia Supreme Court upheld it, and the had. She occasionally twisted the braid into a bun land was decreed to Amanda in 1887. The life of when she went to church. Amanda Dickson has been chronicled in the book At age sixteen, Mary married Frank Thomas, a tall, Daughter of Privilege—Woman of Color, and then was “good looking” man with curly hair. Frank was a made into a movie, A House Divided. machinist and owned his own horse and buggy. Frances taught York to read and write, and then Frank’s mother had been a white woman, and he made sure all of their children knew how as well. This refused to ever discuss her or his father. We do know was a rare occurrence then, and set the tone for the that Frank had a white sister, Susie, who lived in importance of education in our family. Frances died Detroit. Frank and Mary moved from Jewels to Sparta, around 1898, of a “fever.” Her grave marker was lost— Georgia, where they had seven children—Willie, Anna destroyed, we believe, by new land owners, since she Bell, Voicy Lee, Lillie Mae, Lena, Arthur, and Mary was buried on land not belonging to a church. York Frances, the youngest and my grandmother. Again, the grieved over his loss the rest of his life, never remarried, importance of education was stressed, and all the and moved into the home of his youngest daughter, children attended a one-room school for a year apiece Mary, her husband, Frank, and their seven children. to learn reading and ciphering. York was called Ole Pa by the grandchildren. He recalled a lot of history and enjoyed telling this story: When Mary was a little girl, she asked him when he was going to have a birthday party as she had had. He replied, “Child, I don’t know when I was born.” Without missing a beat, Mary said, “That’s O.K., Ole Pa, we’ll just celebrate your birthday the same day as mine from now on.” After that, when a cake was baked for Mary’s birthday, one was also baked for Ole Pa. York lived a long life, died around 1920, and was laid to rest on the grounds of the Hickory Grove Baptist Church in Hancock County. Unfortunately, erosion has marred the dates on his gravestone. York died never knowing what happened to his brother— never knowing whether he was alive or dead. The Hickory Grove Baptist Church and the Second Mineral Springs Baptist Church served an important function for my ancestors and others in the black com- A deeply religious person, Mary became a Johnny Harris in the munity in Hancock County. In fact, the black church homemaker and a funeral technician. She was the middle of the ninetieth birthday party for his continues to be part of a very sacred tradition for African person called upon to prepare a body for burial, which mother, Mary Frances Americans. The church not only has provided for the included bathing it. In those days, sophisticated Harris, 1996. Rochester, spiritual needs of the people, but it has also long been a funeral methods and embalming were not available to NY (Courtesy of Roberta communications center. Historically, families busy work- poor blacks, so funerals were often held the day of, or H. Stevens, his daughter). ing their parcels of land as farmers and sharecroppers all the day after, a death, to bury the body as quickly as week usually did not have phones or means of possible. One of the most humorous stories I’ve heard transportation. They packed baskets of food early each was that there came a time when Mary was confined to Sunday in preparation for spending all day at church. her bed due to illness, and the preparation of a body After the worship service, there was time to eat fell to another member of the community. This person together and to catch up on the latest news. Someone prepared the man, who had apparently died of a

213 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

seizure, but during the services that afternoon, the children: Johnny, my father, and Willie Edward. Like man awakened from the deep sleep common to many blacks of the time, they didn’t trust white seizure victims. When he sat up in the open coffin, the bankers, with good reason. News of bank failures hurt; church cleared. Quickly! also “white only” banks that did business with blacks During the summer, Mary could be found putting took deposits from black customers through the back up vegetables that she had harvested from the family’s door, and then mysterious bank robberies sometimes garden. When tough times came, those canned occurred, with the money of only the black depositors vegetables were all there was, and sometimes Mary disappearing. Case and Mary Frances saved half- would not eat to make sure that the children did. dollars in quart mason jars for years and tucked away Neighbors were close and were treated just like family. paper money under the mattress for safekeeping. There was a saying in the area: “Nobody starves up These funds were used to send their youngest son, here. If we eat, you eat.” Willie Edward, to college. It would be the first time a Women found Frank attractive, and he had a roving male descendant of York Kitchens would do so. He eye. Some white men shot at him, for reasons we don’t would not be the last. exactly know. Frank often left home saying he was Johnny chose not to go to college and laid bricks going to the store, but once he never returned, leaving instead. He was accused by some Georgia whites of everything he owned behind. Mary later discovered he having a stiff back and of thinking too much of him- had gone to Detroit. Frank’s abrupt abandonment of self. My father hated to be called “boy,” and he “eye- their mother alienated the children from him, all balled” a white man rather than looking at the ground Lillie Ruth Hill, one of except his son when he was being spoken to at work as was the twenty-one children, Willie, who went custom. Once Johnny was hit with a brick. He bought with one of her daughter Roberta’s children, to Detroit to be a pistol and vowed to kill any man who hit him again. Anthony M. Stevens, at his father’s In 1947, Johnny married Lillie Ruth, age eighteen. 1995. Norfolk,VA side when he Lillie was one of the twenty-one children of Howard (Courtesy of Roberta H. Stevens). died in 1914. and Ruthie, including only one set of twins! Needless His youngest to say, I have countless cousins, nieces and nephews. It daughter, Mary is organized chaos when we are together, but I love it. Frances, who Johnny and Lillie had three children together: Roberta became my (me, the oldest), Mary, and Johnny Jr. Howard’s grandmother, parents were Raven and Phoebe Smith, and Ruthie’s was only seven parents were James and Amelia Johnson, a West years old when Indian. Nothing is known yet about their ancestors. he died. Frank’s In 1968, the whole family was devastated when my wife, Mary, lived uncle Willie Edward was killed. Case died at age sixty- a long life and nine, in 1975, of a stroke. Both of their bodies were died at age taken back to Hancock County for burial. Willie eighty-nine of a Edward was laid to rest at the Hickory Grove Baptist stroke. I was ten Church grounds. years old and There had been talk in our family that perhaps my attended the services when she was laid to rest on the father should leave the South for fear the Ku Klux Klan grounds of the Hickory Grove Baptist Church. might hurt him. It is sad to say there was a time in In 1907, the year Mary Frances was born, she was America when lynching a black man carried little or York’s forty-fifth grandchild. Mary Frances was, and no penalty. Given my father’s disdain for many whites continues to be, a deeply religious woman, who then, and his defiance, it was felt that he could be in married Case at age twenty. Case was one of seven real jeopardy. My father and mother eventually children himself, and owned his own car. Mary separated and divorced. Johnny moved north to Frances’s brother made it possible for the newlyweds Rochester, New York, and Lillie remained in Georgia, to settle in the city of Augusta, a thriving metropolis remarried, and had four more children: Loretta, Joyce, by then. Mary Frances and five of her siblings left Allyson, and DeeAngela. farming; her brother Arthur didn’t. Being more daring, I learned a lot as a youngster, listening to stories at Arthur helped make and sell “white lightnin’ my grandmother’s knee while she combed hair, moonshine” in the woods for years. The opportunity crocheted doilies, or sat in the porch swing. Some may have been less than noble, but with that money lessons were the same ones her grandfather York he bought land for himself and his wife and children, taught her. A few of those lessons are: and then made it possible for all of his siblings to own • The family is always more important than its their own homes. This act of love put the family on individuals. solid financial footing during the stock market crash • God first, family second, and you third. Keep things of 1929 and the Great Depression that followed. in that order. Case became a bricklayer, and Mary Frances worked • Always share. You never know when you might be as a domestic maid in white homes. They had two in want.

214 Family and Friends

• Always be praising the Lord. I believe York would be so proud of us all. There are • Delight in anything good someone in the family families who certainly have a longer history than ours, does, and tell them how proud you are of them. and who may enjoy a more prestigious pedigree, but •Cleave to your family, even when they disappoint no one takes more pride in their family than I do. you. These are my roots, my gems, my jewels from Georgia. • Make time for your family when you are young so Only twelve of my mother’s twenty-one sisters and they will make time for you when you are old. brothers are now living, and Mary Frances is the last of The importance of the family has always been York’s forty-five grandchildren living. We feel so stressed, and despite our being spread across the coun- blessed to have her with us still at ninety-four. try, working in almost every profession and trade, we More than twenty-two years ago I married Mark come together every two years at a family reunion. As Stevens. A tall and handsome man, Mark was a we were taught, we still delight in one another’s lieutenant in the medical corps in the U.S. Navy. He accomplishments. I was the first female descendent of completed his training as a neurosurgeon and was York Kitchens to graduate from college. The biggest honorably discharged from the navy as a captain after party I’d ever had was held a month later to honor my eighteen years. I earned my degree as a registered nurse accomplishment. One of my cousins was a candidate and worked in a hospital emergency room and for the city council in Sparta, Georgia, and our entire intensive care unit. Mark and I have three children, extended family held its collective breath until we Anthony Michael, Mark Jr., and Marissa Paige. (See heard that he had won. Some years ago, thirty of us family portrait on page 135.) I now tell and retell my went to see a niece of mine perform a small part in an children the story of York, who was not from here, but off-Broadway show. Cards of congratulation came in who was stolen away and brought here. I am very from everywhere when my son graduated from med- proud of our children, and I can already sense that ical school, and when Grandma Mary Frances turned York’s memory will be safe with them and will be ninety years young, we had the biggest party ever. passed on just as it has been for generations already. W

“There are families who certainly have a longer history than ours, and who may enjoy a more prestigious pedigree, but no one takes more pride in their family than I do.”

Visiting Brooklyn Joyce Crothers

isiting Brooklyn, New York, from our house on first floor as well as a living room, dining room, and VLong Island in the 1940s and ’50s was always fun kitchen. On the second floor, there were two more for my sister, Pam, and me. Mom and Dad would take bedrooms and the bathroom. Grandma slept us to visit our grandmother, Grace, and her sister, my downstairs, and I remember the chamber pot that she great-aunt Emily. After my grandfather died in 1943, kept under her bed so she wouldn’t have to go upstairs Aunt Emily moved in with my grandmother, who lived to the bathroom in the middle of the night. They had in a brownstone in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn. antimacassars, or doilies, on the backs and arms of all As a little child, I always wondered how Grandma and their stuffed chairs. Aunt Emily could tell which house was theirs, as all Like the houses, all the small backyards of those the houses were connected and looked alike. brownstones were connected and butted up to the Those were the days of horse-drawn coal and ice yards of the houses on the next street. There was a lot wagons. I remember the sound of coal rushing down of ivy growing under a shade tree in the back of the long metal chute into the basement of their house. Grandma’s yard, and one day Pam and I found two The ice wagon came, too, with large blocks of ice for box turtles there. To us, it was like finding gold. We the icebox. The rag collectors also drove their horse- took them home and made a low fenced-in area for drawn wagons around town. them in our backyard. Those two turtles must have Pam and I always took our roller skates when we had a wanderlust, though, as they kept escaping from went to Grandma’s, as the kids in her neighborhood their fenced-in yard. We never did figure out how in played roller hockey in the streets—something we the world they got out, but we’d find them in neigh- couldn’t do at home. The streets were surfaced with a bors’ yards and even down at the end of the street. very smooth blacktop that was wonderful to skate on. For years, Grandma and Aunt Emily had saved the In Grandma’s house, there was a bedroom on the greeting cards they had received, and Pam and I loved

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to sit on the floor and look through these old cards. I week, and he was not about to go back there on the especially remember doing this at Easter. It was at weekend. So it was Grandma and Aunt Emily who Easter time one year also that we all signed the plaster took us to the city. They took us to the F.A.O. Schwartz body cast my father wore after breaking a vertebra in a toy store, where most of the stuffed animals were horse accident. much bigger than we were. They took us to Radio City My father worked in New York City, and when we Music Hall for shows and to Rockefeller Plaza to see kids would pester him to go see the Statue of Liberty, the huge Christmas tree and the ice skaters. Later, at the Empire State Building, or Radio City Music Hall, the age of eighteen, I skated there. We also ate at the he always told us that he worked in the city five days a Automats, where there were walls of windows with

The contributor’s food behind them. You had to put money in a slot grandmother and great next to what you wanted to eat, and the window aunt, 1952. Long Island, opened to let you get the food out. We had lots of NY (Courtesy of Joyce Gleason Crothers). wonderful times. Aunt Emily did very much fine sewing, and most of it was by hand. She had very long white hair, which she twisted up on top of her head. Emily was a very jolly person, and if we really got her laughing, she would get all red in the face. She was of a much better disposition than my grandmother. My grandmother and Aunt Emily passed away when I was in high school, but I have a lot of good memories of our visits to Brooklyn and the times we spent with them. W

Mother and Child Speak Yvonne Klinkenberg

Editor’s Note: Yvonne phoned the local office of the Special Olympics one day and read this poem to their staff person. She asked if Special Olympics could publish it in their newsletter, which they have since promised to do. Good work, Yvonne!

Mother Speaks Child Speaks Can I hold a child that is mine? Mister, have you struggled just to walk? Can I say, “I love you,” once again? Lady, ooh how easy for you to talk. Can I watch his stumbling walk? Little boy, how easy for you to play and run. Can I figure out his rambling talk? I guess I wasn’t born a lucky one. Can I smile without a tear? My voice sounds like a frog, Can I hold back my inner fear? My legs are stiff as a fallen log, I’m wondering if I’m doing wrong, When I do something right, In trying to teach him a simple song. You can tell—my eyes get shiny bright. Can I sit up, holding him at night, I have to struggle every day, If he wakes with his inner fright? Just to learn to walk and play. Or will the trust in his eyes that I see My heart cries, for I want to be Make up for that which is hard for me? Something useful for the world to see. I want two arms to hold me tight, When my world doesn’t feel right. I want someone to hold my hand, Someone to say: If you stumble, I’ll understand. All I need is someone to love, To let me know there is a God up above.

Megan and Jack Brewer kissing, 1998. Holmen,WI (By Susan Brewer, their mother).

216 SECTION 16 New American Writings for Children

Tudor-style exterior of North Branch Library, La Crosse,WI 1992-95 (By David J. Marcou).

Stella Story, the Storyteller LuAnn Gerber

hat story shall I tell you today, kids?” asks her purple overalls and begins her story: “WStella, as she pushes her big, wire glasses back “There once was a little girl named Stella, who was into place and tries to tuck her tumbly hair under her very lonely. She had no brothers or sisters to share a sideways baseball cap. room with, and no friends her own age. It is story time at the library, and Stella Story is the “You see, both of her parents were park rangers, so most popular storyteller of all. they lived in a house in the middle of a national Three hands shoot up around the circle, but little forest. She had the hugest woods a kid could want, Megan’s hand goes up slowly, shyly. with animals wandering everywhere and more trees to “What story would you like to hear, Megan?” asks climb than she could count. Stella and her parents Stella. worked and played together in the park. Her mom “Tell us how you got your name, please,” the little taught Stella her schoolwork at home. girl says. “But even though her parents took good care of her, “Oh, that’s a good one,” says Stella, as she adjusts Stella was lonely for other children to play with.

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“Without people-friends to play with, Stella talked “‘Stell a story, huh? O.K. Let’s see. Once upon a and played games with her stuffed pals. She had time . . .’ she began. stuffed bunnies and teddies, cloth puppets, and fuzzy “‘Wait—tell us about when you were little,’ said six- dogs. She had sock snakes and corduroy cats and even year-old Daniel from the top bunk. ‘And anyways, a slippery satin snowman. that’s tell a story, not stell a story, Paul.’ “One day, Stella had a great idea. She would hold “‘Yay, a Mommy-story. Stell a story!’ Paul said, “story time” everyday after lunch! And she would tell clapping happily. the stories. “Daniel sighed. Little brothers could be so “So each day, she gathered a different group of stubborn. stuffed pals in a circle in the middle of her bedroom “‘Well, it’s hard to remember, guys,’ said Mom while floor. Then she began her stories. Sometimes one of she tried to think. her pals fell asleep because it was naptime. And “‘Stell a story,’ demanded Paul, nudging Mom as sometimes she had to tell Snowman to hush so the she sat on his bunk. others could hear. But usually story time went well, “‘Hmmm. All right, I think I know one you’ll like.’ and at the end, her mother served them cookies with “So she told them about living in the national park, little sprinkles on them. And most important of all, and about story time with her stuffed pals. during story time, Stella didn’t feel lonely. “From then on, every night, Paul would beg, ‘Stell a “Stella got very good at telling stories to her stuffed story, Mommy.’ pals. But one day, her family moved and Stella started “And at bedtime, Stella would put on big glasses, a going to a regular school. She had lots of people- baseball cap, and purple overalls and turn into Stella friends and she gave up her story time. Story, the Storyteller. “Well, when Stella grew up, she had two little boys “And that, Megan, is how I got my name,” finished of her own. Every night they wanted story time before Stella Story, pushing up her glasses, adjusting her bed. One night, two-year-old Paul asked for a story, sideways baseball cap, and tucking her hands into the saying, ‘Stell a story, Mommy.’ pockets of her overalls. W Lessons I Learned from Aunt Ollie Father Robert Cook

e grew up in a duplex, my brothers and I. On the remember at a young age taking her my coloring book Wother side lived my aunt and my grandma. to critique. One page was filled with the face of a jolly “Olive” seemed a strange name for my aunt. We cowboy. I had chosen daring crayons to color him, associated the word with salads we didn’t much like. with blue eyes, reddish hair, green Stetson and a red She didn’t much like the name herself. So we called bandanna. She rendered approval but told me to her Aunt Ollie. We teased her mercilessly; and as an finish the job. “I am finished,” I protested. “You unmarried aunt who considered us her family, she haven’t colored his face.” “Well, it’s white.” “Go look loved it—most of the time. in the mirror,” she said, “and you’ll see some color in Aunt Ollie was good to us; and she was good for us. your face.” I did, found some flesh-colored crayons As a home economics teacher, she taught us how to and finished the job. It was a good lesson for me. sew, and we manufactured our own marble bags at Otherwise, all my life I might have missed the red early ages. Today I think back to sewing marble bags as bulbous nose of a drinker, the beauty spot of Elizabeth one of my first “mixed gender” experiences. Taylor, the graying face of a dying person, the nut- After supper on winter nights, we’d skip over to her brown face of a Hmong child, the bronze of a Native side of the house to sit before her fireplace to play a American, and the many other subtle colors of the card game called “Wahoo” or sometimes just to sit still human race. while she drew our profiles. Grandma, who was very It was more than a crayon lesson I received from deaf, sat next to us rattling her newspaper, not so Aunt Ollie that day—I learned about the acceptance of indifferent as she pretended to the interplay taking differences among people, and in an important way, I place on the carpet before her. learned about love. W Aunt Ollie was rather good as an amateur artist. I “...I might have missed the red bulbous nose of a drinker, the beauty spot of Elizabeth Taylor, the graying face of a dying person, the nut-brown face of a Hmong child, the bronze of a Native American, and the many subtle colors of the human race.”

218 New American Writings for Children

Superboy Steve Kiedrowski

Reprinted from the Winona Post of August 30, 2000, with no kryptonite. the author’s and paper’s permission. My first encounter with the true man of steel was in comic books and the old television show in the late et the secret be known that on this day I confess to 1950s and the early ’60s. He was played by George Lbeing Superboy. Reeves. However, that was acting; this was actual. The skeptics will sneer and say, “Superboy grew up When I walked into Art’s Bar, everyone knew my in Centerville? I don’t think so.” name. Cheers rang out. To all those who doubt my word, the proof is in the Even in 1960 Centerville, there was a telephone picture. This rare family photo shows me, in full booth across the street from Art’s Bar. It was there that Superboy uniform, with all my siblings. But the story I transformed from meek and mild Steve to Superboy. behind that snapshot—and my brush with being You nonbelievers, take note: Was there any major Superboy—is a mystic story. crime in Centerville during this time? Nope! Under Being raised in Centerville was an adventure, yet my the watchful eye of Superboy, all was calm. life took a dramatic change the day I got that Superboy I could hardly wait for the day I would turn from outfit, a Halloween gift from my mother. Little did we Superboy into Superman. Then I could really strut know the powers it would possess. Suddenly, at the my stuff, no holds barred. My brothers were in for a age of eight, I had super strength beyond that of mere beating! mortal men. But life can be cruel, and this superhero was about The photo shows my sister, Ruth (21), my brothers to crash and burn. —Dick (18), Tony (14), and Mike (2)—and me (8). It One day I awoke to a new world: puberty. As my was taken in 1960 and shows me in all my splendor, manhood entered the front door, my super powers with that big red “S” on my chest. went out the back. I had hit the wall. Those bands of My parents, Art and Margaret Kiedrowski, owned steel turned into bands of string. Fate robbed me of Art’s Bar at the four corners of Centerville, now called that regal virtue; I was vincible again. the Sandbar. The photo came down from the back of the bar; The legend of the boy of steel gained momentum Superboy was no more. the day my dad put this picture on the back of the bar. Sometimes when you take the past out into the

With that eight-by-ten glossy of the Kiedrowski kids light, it doesn’t seem to look the same. The Kiedrowski kids: bouncing back at them, our customers were a witness So even now, when my brothers and sister tease me Ruth (holding Mike), to the birth of Superboy in downtown Centerville. about my days of thunder as Superboy, I have to warn Dick,Tony, and Steve (“Superboy”), circa 1960. Soon our patrons recognized me despite my them. Someday, when they’re not looking, my super Centerville,WI (Courtesy disguise—T-shirt and shorts. When I came into the bar powers could return, and boy, will they be sorry then. W of Steve Kiedrowski). to fill the beer and pop coolers, they’d say, “Hey, there goes Superboy. Show us your muscles.” My true identity was now known. They realized they were in the company of a superhero. An evolution had taken place— not in Metropolis, but in Centerville. Yes, I know my older brothers would beat me up on a regular basis. But I didn’t want to upset the balance of the universe by using my powers to pound them. So I took the poundings, choosing to save my strength for far worse evildoers. Could I fly? You’d better believe it. But I didn’t want to display my skills and set myself up for intense scrutiny, so I preferred to promenade by foot. Luckily, in Centerville there was

219 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

Whose Birthday? Doris Kirkeeng

ood morning, children,” Miss Amans greeted “Where do you think George learned to read and “Gher young students on a sunny winter morning. write when he was a child?” “Can anyone tell me what day today is?” she asked. Johnny waved his hand in the air, very sure he “It’s Thursday,” said Sandra. knew the answer. With permission granted, he said, “A “That’s right,” said her teacher. “That’s the day, now one-room school with only one teacher.” what’s the date?” “That could be, but there were no public schools John studied the calendar and started to wave his way back then and teachers were scarce. So the type of hand in the air. school you are thinking of, Johnny, would have had to “Yes, Johnny, what do you think?” be a private school, if it existed. George picked up his “February twenty-second,” he answered. education privately. He loved to read. How many of “You’re right, too,” she said, nodding her head and you like to read?” smiling. After almost all the children raised their hands, “Today we are going to talk about a man who was their teacher praised them and assured them she was well-mannered and determined. That means when he glad to see that. decided to do something, he wouldn’t stop until he “George wrote many letters and stories about his had it done. He was over six feet tall, with large hands life, and many people read them after he died. That’s and feet. And his birthday is today. Can anyone guess why we know so much about him,” she said. “As he who this famous man was? Bobby?” grew up he became a surveyor. His job was to measure “Bill Cosby?” he answered with a question. boundaries and how high the land was. He also made “No, good guess,” the teacher said. “This man was a maps. His handwriting was beautiful. white man and he lived many years ago, before you “When scouting—that is, looking for Indians or the were born.” enemy—he often went many miles with a partner, “Mmm,” thought Janey. “Was he a president?” walking and riding. He rode his reliable brown horse “Yes,” Miss Amans replied. “As a matter of fact, he through the green forests of the back woods, across the was, Janey.” sparkling brooks flowing across stones and pebbles. Aaron said excitedly, “I know, I know. It’s George Sometimes, they saw Indians carrying the scalps of Washington. I know because his birthday is the same those they fought. as my grandpa George’s.” “How many of you have uncles, brothers or fathers “That’s right. Now that we know who we’re talking that go hunting?” Several hands went up. about,” Miss Amans questioned, “Can anyone tell me “George Washington went hunting, too. While anything else about him?” The room remained quiet. hunting, he enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the fra- She continued. “Do you know another name he had? grance of the fresh wildflowers of the summer and the It wasn’t his real name but was given to him because beautiful white snow on the pines and the frigid, stim- he was the very first president of our country.” ulating winter air. They hunted buffalo, bear, and deer.” Precocious little Daniel John replied, “Excuse me, “Teacher, teacher,” Buddy called out. “I know Miss Amans. George Washington was known as ‘The something about George Washington. He chopped Father of Our Country.’ He lived on a large plantation, down a cherry tree and he didn’t lie. He told his daddy which stretched for a mile along the Potomac River in he did it.” Virginia. He fought in many wars for our country.” “That’s a story that was told to show people that “Well, thank you, Daniel John. You must have Mr. Washington always told the truth, even when he watched some videos about George Washington.” was a little boy.” “Oh, no, Miss Amans. My nanny reads to me about “Yes, Betsy?” Miss Amans said. the presidents,” he replied. “Did George Washington have any children?” “I see,” said his teacher, as she turned from her “That’s a good question. Does anyone know if delightful challenge. George Washington ever was married?” asked Miss “This man was born more than two hundred years Amans. ago in a large brick house in Pope’s Creek, near Daniel John jumped to his feet and said, “Excuse Fredericksburg, Virginia. His great-grandfather came me, Miss Amans. George Washington was married to a from England and built a home in the New World. wealthy widow named Martha Custis. She already had Jackie, do you know the name of his home?” two children from her first marriage.” Then, Daniel “No, Miss Amans,” Jackie said. John sat down. “Thank you for being truthful,” she said as she “Well, Daniel John, you certainly are well- accepted his answer. informed. Do you know the names of the children?” She showed her class a picture of Washington’s “John and Martha,” Daniel John answered, rolling home and told them it was called Mount Vernon and his eyes with a bored expression on his face. that it was located in Virginia. “Back to your question, Betsy.” Miss Amans

220 New American Writings for Children explained, “George Washington had no children of his “Right,” Miss Amans enthusiastically replied. own, but he adopted Martha and John and was a “Do you have any more questions about President wonderful father to them.” Washington?” she asked. “Do you think the United States was always made Sally asked, “Did he ever get up of fifty states?” Miss Amans continued. “Sally, what sick?” do you think?” “Oh, yes. In some ways he was “No, at one time, I think, there were only forty- just like we are. Sometimes, he eight.” got sick in battle. When he was “That’s true,” said Miss Amans. “Actually, the nineteen years old, he went to an United States grew from just a few colonies. The island called Barbados with his colonies struggled through wars, trials with Indians, brother, who was sick with an and problems with their homeland, England. Some illness called tuberculosis. He people still wanted to be under the rule of the King of loved his brother and wanted to England. President Washington did not want to be find a way to make him well. called a king because the colonies had fought to be While there, he contracted free from the king’s rule. smallpox and almost died, but “Washington was a great president. He wouldn’t after a while, he got better. show favoritism, even though newspapers and public “Now we have medications speakers criticized him. He remained loyal—that is, and vaccinations to keep us safe friendly to the idea of the colonies being a new from those diseases, don’t we. country called the United States. “Another time, after he had “This new country was created with the hope of been out doing his duties, he got having freedom of speech and religion. The people sick with an illness called quinsy.” coming to this land were traveling on old ships. Some Jackie frowned, raised his became sick and even died. Many prayers were said hand, and asked, “What’s quinsy?” “Would you put a sign and God was worshipped on the way and after they Miss Amans explained, “It’s a name they gave to a on the Washington finally arrived. very sore throat with enlarged, infected tonsils. Monument?”asked “George Washington knelt and bowed his head “Boy, am I glad I had mine out,” Jackie responded. Frank Lloyd Wright. April 2000.Washington, D.C. often when he was in battle. At Valley Forge, a very “When George Washington died, it made the (By David J. Marcou). important winter camp for his troops, his men were people sad and they remembered him as a patriot and freezing, partially clothed and had little food. He hero who loved his new nation. We still remember his prayed for Almighty God’s protection and favor. His birthday on February twenty-second. men were watched over by their Heavenly Father. “Well, children, you were good listeners and “The Declaration of Independence was made on a answered my questions well. The bell is ringing. You very special day in 1776, before he was president. How are excused. Have a good day today, on a very dear many of you know when we still celebrate that president’s birthday.” important day?” ‘Yes, you have a good day, too, Miss Amans,” they Several hands went up and the children said in all said as they went out the door. W unison, “The Fourth of July.”

Snowman Matt Marcou

Editor’s Note: This poem was the first ever written by my then very young son. It is a step- poem, and it was first published by the Golden Apple Press in its book of children’s writing, Red Rose, Blue Crayon, when Matt was eight years old.

A small snowman. A small, sparkly snowman. A small, sparkly, cold snowman. A small, sparkly, cold, wet snowman. A small, sparkly, cold, wet, cool snowman. Matt Marcou on his A small, sparkly, cold, wet, cool, kind snowman. third birthday, September 23, 1990. A small, sparkly, cold, wet, cool, kind, icy snowman. Adams,WI (By David A small, sparkly, cold, wet, cool, kind, icy, happy snowman. J. Marcou, his dad).

221 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

A Story for Ellie Ursula Chiu

bet you’ll be surprised, dear Ellie, that somebody Making the long cross-country trip to visit you Iwants to write a story for you. This “somebody” is should prove that I am very fond and exceedingly your grandmother, who just came home from her proud of you, for, you see, you are my first grandchild, second visit with you in June of 2000. You were only and a baby born to my only daughter, Monica. I also six weeks old when I saw you the first time—sleeping, came because of her. She needed help to take care of drinking, crying, and doing other, less pleasant things. you, and she craved sleep after so many nights without By my second visit, you had developed much more it, when she fed you almost hourly. Even though your of your own personality, with alertness to the world mom left the baby stage long ago, she remains my around you. You could greet people with a broad child and daughter, and I care for her very much, smile. On a blanket, among your toys, you could reach because we were close at her birth and during many and hold your favorite one, and even roll over to years of our lives. You need to know that the bond you investigate the more distant objects. You cried in have with your mother will never break. She will frustration each time always be there for you, understanding and loving, as I the rollover did not am to her and my mother was to me—and as have succeed. You also generations of women been to their daughters, cried, and with special holding and loving each other and their world. effort, when Dad put On our strolls along Sheep Road and Stepping you to bed after he Stones Road, you practiced your talking skills and thought he had waited for a response from me. Did you listen when I “walked you to sleep” named some trees and flowers for you? Did I listen for the rest of the when you reminded me, “No, you cannot pick these night. —they are protected plants?” I bent down anyway, to You will not believe gather a silvery white stem with a bent head, growing it, but I caught on to in bunches around a tree and nowhere else. your secret system one I could not resist taking one home for investigation, evening, when I said not knowing that your dad would chastise me when I to your very tired dad, showed him the soft, silvery plant, “You are not “Let me take Ellie to allowed to pick these Indian pipes. They are rare in her crib. You have New Hampshire because they only grow on special walked her to sleep for tree fungus, like orchids. Legends say they are the last twenty reminders of the peace pipes that once were minutes. I know you exchanged by Abenaki Indians in this area.” are tired and she is in I think he was really angry with me. Didn’t he know a deep sleep on your that I have always been curious about plants, their shoulder. names and stories? I had to pick this one to satisfy my You continued curiosity. On each of our next outings, we stopped to sleeping on my observe their growth and discovered more of the shoulder, limp and straight, silvery stalks—vertical pipes that erupted in “Elisabeth by a Window” shut-eyed, when I walked you up the stairs. At the bunches through the wet leaves around a tree. I hope, 2000-2001. Onalaska,WI entrance to your bedroom, as I approached your crib, when you grow up, you will share my joy in and (By Stephanie Dabrowski, her mom). you woke up, suddenly alert, and lifted your head. At curiosity about living things—the plants and animals that moment, I could almost read your mind: Oh no, of the world around us. she will put me into my crib. I will be left alone. It’s time Naturally, on our strolls, we did not have eyes on to cry. And cry you did, erasing your father’s infinite the ground only. We admired the impressive modern effort to get you to sleep. I thought I should not fall houses, slightly recessed from the road into the forest for your distressed baby routine and put you down of the region. We chatted with the elderly lady who into your crib anyway. You soon stopped crying with lived alone among them in the only simple cottage, the help of your pacifier, but you were far from ready with profuse flowers around an otherwise neglected to sleep. You flailed your arms, pounded your legs, structure. and kicked the crib slats. You cried every time you lost She was so glad to see you smile at her. “I get your pacifier, and then looked at me, expecting to be awfully lonely around here,” she explained. “My picked up when I replaced it. I ended up rubbing your children all live in California, and I rarely see them. stomach for a while to soothe the thrashing, and then The lake, which starts right next to my house, is you slept peacefully—for fifteen minutes. It was then beautiful, but what does it mean without my family?” that I went to my own bedroom and let your mother Ellie, you brightened her day with your smile. I do the rest. hope, when you grow up, you will always have that

222 New American Writings for Children smile and a friendly word for people who seem lonely become mirror-like again—with the same result as and isolated. before. After several attempts, he finally held a large There was one spot along a stretch of road where fish between his teeth. the trees were closer and older, shading a wide ditch of “Do not eat any living animal!” He remembered reddish-black water with swampy edges. When passing the rule for dragons in this forest. But the fish looked this spot, I always felt uneasy because of the smell of so delicious, he chewed and swallowed it, thinking— wet earth and the mysteriousness of the dark waters. Now I know why we cannot eat other animals: There are When I peered into the shady recesses beyond the beings who want to reserve the delicious nourishment for wetland, I wondered who or what might be hiding themselves by limiting us to leaves and plants. I will be there. Were there more of the little snakes that we had smarter than the rest of the dragons and enjoy animal meat encountered on the gravel road, crushed by the for food from now on. occasional car? Were the submerged branches really After this decision, he spent his days searching out giant fingers reaching out of the water? Which violent forbidden food. He ate a mother rabbit, leaving her storm, rushing in from the ocean, had felled the sturdy young to die in the burrow. At the pond, he snapped pine lying across the water, a bridge with broken away a beaver that was busy building a nest of tree branches sticking out of the trunk? branches for his young. Neither did the dragon mind Would you, Ellie, in the future, be daring enough to swallowing a goose with all its feathers when he found cross the tree bridge while holding onto the sticks and her on the pond; and he did not feel any pity for a branches extending from its body? I think you will baby fox screaming for its mother as he bit into its become this daring spirit. Didn’t your mother jump flesh. out of airplanes, hoping the parachute would open in Nobody knew why more and more animals were time to guide her fall and provide the ecstasy of free- disappearing from the forest until one day his fellow dom from gravity in space? Ellie, I could not tell you dragons watched him kill one of their babies, which that the fallen tree over the muddy water looked to me he had pulled from a sandy nest. The giant, protector like a giant, prehistoric creature whose frozen body and lawmaker of the forest, was soon called and was now serving as “a bridge over troubled waters” in informed of the dragon’s evil deeds. With fury-fiery this hidden place. If you were old enough, I could tell eyes and a booming voice, he faced the disobedient you how my imagination worked to bring this tree to dragon and said, “You have been taught to be gentle life each time we strolled beside the spot. Even in my and protective, to respect the rules of the forest, and, dreams at night, the image continued to form itself above all, not to hurt other animals. You have not into a story for you. Do you want to listen to it? followed these orders. You think of nothing but your There was a time, long ago, when dragons and own desires and pleasures. The service and respect you other large, fearful-looking animals were living in failed to give other creatures during your life you will these forests. They had huge, colorful bodies, long now have to give after your death.” tails, and powerful, clawed legs, as well as many spikes With these words, the dragon fell over backwards, sticking out from their armored bodies. Even though stiff and motionless. The green color of his body they looked threatening, they were really gentle, did changed to a dirty brown, and his legs and scales stuck not harm any other animals, and ate nothing but grass out like branches and thorns. Like a dead tree, his and leaves from trees and bushes. During wintertime, body fell across the pond where he had caught and they slept in giant caves, and often protected treasures eaten his first fish and had started to hurt other that were hidden deep in the earth. A giant, the keeper animals. The giant forest keeper watched his changing of all animals and protector of all life in the forest, body and spoke his last words to the dying dragon: watched over the dragons so they would do no harm “During your life, you have been unkind toward other and not frighten other animals. creatures. You have failed to protect living things; now, Many dragons lived in groups and fed together. in death, you have to give the service you failed to give Among them was one who never followed the rules while you were alive. You will become a bridge for that were set for him. When told he could eat only a animals and people who need to cross this water. Your limited amount of leaves from one tree, he ate all of body will become a dragon-like tree, reminding them, being too lazy to look for other food. When creatures that they must be helpful and gentle toward asked to be gentle with baby dragons or other animals, each other and respect life around them and the rules he teased them and inflicted wounds, and even tasted by which they can be protected. (See dragon-bridge some of their meat in big bites. He was feared by forest picture on page 142.) animals who were not strong enough to punish him This is the story I wrote for you, Ellie, so that you, for his wickedness. too, will grow up remembering to be gentle and caring One day, when he ambled through the marshy toward others. I hope we can visit the dragon-shaped stretch of the forest, he stopped at a big pond with tree-bridge together when you are old enough to listen dark waters. He saw his own image reflected in the to this story, or even read it yourself. Your water, and got so excited that he snapped his snout grandmother’s spirit and love will be with you towards the clear image. Finding nothing but water in whenever you remember the rules the dragon did not his mouth, he repeated the attack after the water had want to follow. W

223 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

Humble, but Famous Doris Kirkeeng

he pot of water was being heated over the burning He went to school “by littles”—a little now and a little T logs. Cloths and tiny garments were taken from then. He spent some time in a “Blab” school, too. handmade shelves in the log cabin. The mother was Here, everyone read out loud to assure the teacher they writhing with unbearable pain. As Nancy prayed and weren’t idle. He taught himself math and grammar. cried, Tom paced with his hands clenched. Why does When he was in his teens, he shot up to six feet, childbirth have to be so cruel to the one you love? four inches, and was lanky and a bit awkward. He At last, a lusty, high-pitched cry filled the air as the possessed a backwoods twang and walked with long dark-haired baby cuddled up close to his mother, and strides that resembled a plowman’s. He wasn’t fond of she relaxed on her handmade bed. Tom joined his farming, but being good-natured and somewhat wife, happy that it was over moody, and excelling as a mimic and storyteller, he for her and that he had a attracted many friends. new son, filling the void left As he matured, he worked at many occupations. by a previous son who had Among these were storekeeper, postmaster, surveyor died in infancy. and blacksmith. Working as a rail-splitter, he once Tom was a carpenter and split four hundred rails to earn enough money to buy farmer; he had built the a pair of trousers for himself! backwoods Kentucky cabin At the age of twenty-one, this powerful, muscular where his family lived— man drove a team of oxen to Springfield, Illinois, protected from wild animals, assisting his father with another move of the family. bad weather and Indians. Meanwhile, he continued to do what he loved most This Kentucky cabin was “What should we name our precious little baby?” —reading law books—which led him to become a built by Captain Love, a War of 1812 veteran. It Tom asked Nancy. lawyer, practicing at the capitol and making the now belongs to S. Ray and “How about the name we decided on before he rounds of the circuit by horseback and buggy. He went Peggy Dew, who restored joined us, and call him Link for short?” They agreed. it in the 1980s, after this hundreds of miles, working on petty cases for small photo was taken Little Link was the apple of his daddy’s eye. He fees. But he was good. Eventually, he passed the bar (Courtesy of Sean soon passed through the stage of cooing to babbling. exam, started practicing law as a partner, and later had Niestrath). Then sitting by himself, rolling, crawling—next, his own law firm. He began handling cases for toddling. When he was two years old, they moved to a railroads, banks, and insurance companies. farm in the neighboring Valley of Knob. Men recognized his leadership qualities and placed Within a couple of years he was helping his daddy, him in the highest office of the land. He, however, as best he could, to plant corn and pumpkin seeds. continued to have a humble heart, and on his knees His heart broke and his eyes overflowed with tears placed his responsibilities in the hands of God. Under when a flash flood washed the newly planted seeds his direction, the “fiery trial,” as Abraham Lincoln away. called the Civil War, ceased, our country was united, Tubs, pails and baskets were again packed with the and the slaves were freed. family’s belongings. This time, they moved to Little Link had grown from a seed, to a seedling, to southwest Indiana because of a lawsuit challenging the a plant, and, finally, to a flourishing tree. The sixteenth title of their home. Tom built a crude structure—a president of the United States was he: Abraham “half-faced camp”—to protect his family from the Lincoln, who was elements. Then he built a permanent cabin. truly a great man, Link really enjoyed his new home and tried to help for he was humble, his dad clear land and care for crops as well as a but famous. W rugged nine-year-old could. He also experienced many unhappy days following the death of his loving mother. Winter set in and he missed her caring warmth because she wasn’t there to hold him. In time, Link’s father brought a new wife, Sarah, to his home to be a new mother for Link and his siblings. Sarah now had two girls and a boy and treated them all like they were her very own. Tom’s son grew to love her and called her his “Angel Mother.” Link liked to read, but there were few books Inside the Lincoln accessible to him. He’d walk miles to borrow a book Memorial, April 2000. Washington, D.C. and to return it again. Sarah encouraged him to read. (By Matthew A. Marcou).

224 New American Writings for Children

Rainbows and Beyond Nelda Johnson Liebig

Reprinted from Light and Life, March 20, 1979, with the ancestors had for centuries, steeped in cultural heritage author’s permission. but without Christ or an education. Many lived in a world of ignorance and despair. he door of my classroom opened and two older At noon I asked the two older boys to take George T Eskimo boys deposited a struggling, terrified child to the clinic to see the nurse. I shuddered as I thought at my feet. I had experienced some unusual situations of her trying to treat a screaming, biting child. I while teaching in the six-room log school, but George decided to go along to offer my help. But to my proved to be among the greatest challenges of my amazement, he sat quietly in the clinic chair, his fists Alaskan teacher years. clenched in his lap. “He no talk much English. We get parky off—he no “Poor kid,” the nurse said with a sigh as she run away,” explained the chubby one tugging at finished lancing and bandaging the boil. “I wonder George’s parka, a pullover of worn denim with a fur how long he has suffered with this. The relief must be ruff. great.” Free at last, George darted out the door and “Thank you, boys,” I replied. “Go to your class disappeared. now.” I tried to get George to remove his parka, but he “Well, that’s the last I’ll see of him,” I said, was obviously watching for an opportunity to bolt for surprised at my disappointment. the door. “Children, tell him to take his parka off,” I “What happened to you?” she asked indicating my said. swollen, throbbing finger. George’s teethprints were They spoke in Eskimo, and I knew by their tone still clearly visible. that they were trying to reassure him. But he buried I told her about my morning. his head in his arms and would not budge. “Human bites can cause serious infections,” she I grasped the hem of his parka and pulled; but just warned as she cleaned and bandaged my finger. “I as my hand brushed past his lips, he sank his teeth need to get some ointment and sterile pads to into my index finger and held on. I gasped with pain. George’s mother so she can dress his boil every day.” One of the girls yelled angrily, “Don’t bite Teacher,” She eyed me cautiously. “Could I get you to go to his and kicked him in the shin. house and show her what to do?” Startled, he released my finger. With a firm jerk of “Me? Why not you?” my hand, his parka came over his head. “I’ve tried to see them, but they elude me.” She Suddenly he grabbed his neck and moaned with sighed. “They don’t trust needle-bearing nurses, and pain. He tried to hide tears spilling down his cheeks. they are wary of us outsiders.” Then I saw it—a large, angry boil on his neck. “Won’t they avoid me, too?” I argued. Oh, no, I prayed. Dear Jesus, let him know I didn’t “They sent George to school. That takes a lot of mean to hurt him. I wanted to hug him, but I knew he trust for shy people like them.” She pressed the packet would not trust me. With an aching heart I steered of ointment and gauze into my hand. “Their sod igloo him gently by the shoulders to a seat near my desk. I is difficult to find because it blends into the tundra decided to wait until noon to take him to the public land. You will have to go with George to find it.” health nurse. “An authentic sod igloo?” I exclaimed, forgetting With wild, frightened eyes he looked at the door, my problems with George. I had been waiting to see then at his parka, which I had put on a high shelf. The one of the few primitive homes remaining in western boys were right—he did not try to run out of the Alaska. I hurried back to school, but I did not expect room. to see George again. I put a new box of crayons and some paper on his To my surprise, he was on the school steps. “I’m desk and began teaching my first reading group. glad you came back,” I said eagerly. But I wondered But laughter broke out as everyone stared at George. what the afternoon would bring. He followed me His teeth were blood red. “He eat colors,” giggled one inside and took off his parka, careful of his sore neck. of the girls. His afternoon consisted of watching the class read and “No, George,” I said more calmly than I felt. I work. He drew rainbows and was delighted with the began to draw on his paper. “This is a rainbow,” I said, many arrangements of colors he could produce. slowly using several colors. Before I dismissed the children for the day, I But he did not react. He stared out the window for explained to George that I wanted to go to his home. the remainder of the morning, except for a brief time My pantomimes were better with each attempt to during which he ate his black crayon before I could communicate with him, but his stoic face gave no stop him. indication that he understood. I gave him his parka I sighed as I wondered whether I should let him and he was out the door. return to his free life on the tundra. I was intrigued by I grabbed mine and, with boots in hand, dashed the few families who continued to live as their after him. He stopped at the edge of the schoolyard, so

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I sat on the steps and pulled on my boots. The flat “Better watch out, dog,” I warned, “George’s bite is grassland was a gigantic sponge and would remain so worse than his bark.” until freeze-up in October. I started after George, but A door opened in a mound of grass and a tiny, he scurried like a tiny brown ptarmigan leading black-haired woman peered out at me. intruders from its ground nest. I realized I could not George said something; I assumed he told her who keep up, and soon he was out of sight. I was. “Hello,” I said. “The nurse sent this medicine and bandages for George’s boil.” I pointed to his neck. She nodded shyly and smiled her thanks. Then she backed into the igloo and motioned me to come in. I was fascinated by the skin roof stretched tight to form a skylight. I could visualize a family snug and warm in this one-room home as winter howled over it. I opened the bag and took out the packages of sterile pads and the container of salve. I pantomimed my instructions. Relieved that she understood, I started to leave. It was then I saw the faded picture of Jesus next to the low doorway. I touched it and put my hand to my heart. “I love Jesus,” I said. Would they understand? Quickly George put his hand to his heart and nodded a hearty agreement. His mother smiled and nodded. Cold enough for fur, I started to turn back, convinced he would not let I stepped up out on the igloo and whispered a but barefoot? 1955. Bethel, AK (Courtesy of me follow him. Then I saw him peering from behind a quick prayer, “Thank you, Jesus, for this beautiful Nelda Johnson Liebig). clump of tundra grass. His comical expression saying, experience.” “Is she giving up already?” George walked with me beyond the chained dog. “You little fox!” I laughed. “You really do want me Suddenly he took my hand and looked at my to go with you. Okay, I’ll play your little game of hide- bandaged finger. His dark eyes expressed his regret as and-seek.” they searched mine for forgiveness. This time I was not And so we made our way out of the village and afraid to hug him. onto the tundra. He crossed a stream on an unsteady “Come to school tomorrow,” I said, pointing first piece of driftwood and waited. I hesitated a second; to him then to school silhouetted against the early then without looking down, I crossed, trying not to tundra twilight. think of the icy water flowing below me. He grinned He nodded and squeezed my hand gently. his approval and we continued. English would come later. I could wait. I almost collided with him as he stopped abruptly, My finger was slow to heal and carries a scar. But planting his sturdy little body firmly in the path when I look at it and remember how George between me and a snarling, chained husky. progressed that year—far beyond rainbows—it was George gave a sharp command, and the dog worth it. W returned to its well-worn place in the grass.

Memories of Another Christmas Yvonne Klinkenberg

The house is quiet, Now I send them So this Christmas It seems quite queer, So far away, Drink a cheer, No child running, Wishing I could go back And feel our love Here and there, To yesterday. That’s always near. Looking for signs But with this card God bless you, Of hidden toys I’m sending you, Merry Christmas, That Santa left Loving memories from us Happy New Year, TOO! For my girls and boys. Though not new.

226 New American Writings for Children

Little Thorn-in-the-Flesh Nelda Johnson Liebig

Reprinted from Light and Life, September 19, 1978, with personalities in my class—from confident Louise, with the author’s permission. her close-knit family to those who did not know whether they belonged in the Indian world or the “I can’t find the page, Teacha’!” white man’s world. “Mary Isabelle, please sit down,” I said It was necessary for the government to issue strict automatically. rules prohibiting teachers from foisting their religious Obediently, as always, the spindly nine-year-old views on the children, but I could be a Christian slipped into her seat and flipped the pages of her example, showing them that God guided my life. reader noisily. After school an old army ambulance, which was I found the page for her. She looked up, and I our inadequate bus, pulled up in front of the door. returned her smile, but was not sure of eye contact, Mary Isabelle was the last to climb in. because Mary Isabelle’s eyes were severely crossed. She “Bye Teacha’! Bye Teacha’!” must have her glasses repaired, I thought for the I knew she would continue until I returned her umpteenth time. departing wave. The bureaucracy of the Bureau of Indian Affairs In the quiet of my classroom, I slumped at my desk, could be so exasperating. Requests were almost thinking. I had to choose someone to go to the fair. forgotten before they were honored, but no one I had an idea. I would choose one of the children working with Mary Isabelle could forget how with perfect attendance. As my finger moved down the desperately she needed her glasses. row of figures in my record book, I had a sinking She began to read eagerly in a low mumble, her feeling: only one student had not been absent all year. nose only inches from the page as she twisted one of How many times, at the end of my patience, had I her long, thick braids. prayed, “Dear Lord, why can’t Mary Isabelle be absent My sociology professor’s admonition rang in my once in a while so I can have a peaceful day? Just a ears: “Learn to love the unlovable; only then are you a simple cold, of course.” teacher.” As I looked at my class, I marveled at the improvement in the physical appearances of these Chippewa and Cree children since I had started teaching on the Rocky Boy reservation. Weekly showers had worked wonders. Impetigo sores were almost nonexistent, and matted hair had changed to dark, flowing halos. Nutritious hot lunches, prepared in the basement kitchen, put color in cheeks. An eager hand shot up. I acknowledged the oval- faced beauty seated in front of me, “Yes, Louise?” “Miss Johnson, have you decided which one of us will go to the fair?” “No, but I promise I’ll decide today.” She smiled, as if she thought she had it in the bag. And why not? She was the most intelligent, outgoing, But I knew that Mary Isabelle—and others—came Nelda’s Indian students; wholesome child any teacher could want. She would to school even when they had more than the sniffles. Mary Isabelle LaMere is wearing glasses, 1953-54. be an excellent representative for our class. She could School was warm, bright, and friendly. Most of the Rocky Boy, MT (Courtesy show visitors how we constructed our puppet stage small, unpainted houses scattered around the of Nelda Johnson Liebig). and made our papier-mâché marionettes. reservation were overcrowded and inadequately heated I walked to the back of the room and picked up the for frigid Montana winters. reading worksheets. The attendance record confirmed my fears. But God, “Teacha’! Can I give them out?” I almost stepped you know I can’t choose her. She is obnoxious, pesky, on Mary Isabelle. “Please sit down and raise your homely . . . As quickly as the cruel words formed, guilt hand. What if everyone came—” welled up within me. But I couldn’t bring myself to “I know! I know!” She danced back to her seat, choose her. With a sigh, I closed my book and went waving her thin arm frantically. upstairs to my apartment. “And remember,” I said firmly, “I do have a name.” I didn’t sleep much with the conviction nagging at She nodded, impatient with my same old reprimand. me that Mary Isabelle was to be the one . I handed half the papers to her and half to Russell, The next morning, the children trooped in and sat who never volunteered or spoke unless he had to. I down expectantly. I took a deep breath, “I wish I could was still overwhelmed at times by the many take all of you to the fair, but . . .”

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Mary Isabelle got up and wandered down the aisle setting up our orange-crate puppet stage. I sat at one to get a book. side and watched my animated representative as she “Sit down, Mary Isabelle.” gave passersby copies of our class-written plays. She She opened her cluttered desk and rummaged in it. answered questions with the vigor of a political “I have decided to choose someone with perfect candidate seeking election. attendance,” I began hesitantly. “That would be fair, A white-haired man sat down by me while Mary wouldn’t it?” Isabelle explained puppetry to his grandchildren. Everyone nodded. “If this world had her enthusiasm and dedication,” “Mary Isabelle is the only one who has not been he said with a chuckle, “things would really move in absent all year.” the right direction.” “Her?” someone groaned. “Yes, she does keep everyone hopping,” I agreed Louise glared at the culprit. “It’s fair. She won it.” with a sigh. She didn’t sound convincing, but I admired her for Later, Mary Isabelle and I enjoyed all of the carnival trying. rides, with quick stops for hot dogs, snow cones, and For the first time, my little thorn-in-the-flesh was cotton candy. speechless. She dropped her hinged desktop with a It was almost dark, as I drove back to the bang and clapped her hands to her cheeks. At last she reservation. Mary Isabelle slumped beside me, murmured, “Me Teacha’? Me?” humming her favorite tune. For the rest of the day, she was subdued, but “You worked hard today,” I said proudly. frequently forgot and hummed noisily like the release “Wait till everyone sees what we won,” she said, valve on a simmering teakettle. Once I walked over to swinging the bright red second-place ribbon. quiet her but couldn’t when I recognized the tune. It Suddenly, she began to sing in a clear, sweet voice: was “Jesus Loves the Little Children.” “Jesus loves the little children /All the children of the On the morning of the fair, I stopped at Mary world.” I joined her: “Red and yellow, black and white Isabelle’s house. She bounded out calling, “Looka me, /They are precious in his sight /Jesus loves the little Teacha’!” children of the world.” There, on her beaming face, were round, thick- She peered up at me. “You’re pretty, Teacha’. Jesus lensed glasses. loves you.” “Oh!” I cried. “How wonderful!” “Because I’m pretty?” I asked suspiciously. “I got them yesterday,” she announced, trying to “Nope. He loves me, too.” look at the whole world at once. Her faded cotton “Yes, He certainly does.” I squeezed her hand. “And dress was freshly laundered, and her high cheekbones so do I!” glowed with exuberance and a recent scrubbing. I think of Mary Isabelle often, and wonder whether An hour later, we were in the youth building on the she knows she taught her teacher a precious lesson in fairgrounds in Havre. Mary Isabelle scurried about, loving the so-called unlovable child. W

Savannah Zemanovic Be a Friend and Jacob Cvikota, 1999. Wauwatosa,WI (By Kris Yvonne Klinkenberg Cvikota, Jacob’s mom).

Bring a friend along . . . Let them learn a story and a song, Let them enjoy some juice and snack, And other things that they may lack. The friendship that you show will also grow, For didn’t the Bible tell you so— That Jesus loves all, not just you and me?

And tell them about the puppets that Jami and Kati Hill and Kaija Sysimaki, October they will see. 1999. Onalaska,WI (By Heather Sysimaki, Kaija’s mom). May Jesus bless each of you, Pals Ari Sysimaki (L) and Michael Klos, 1999.West Salem,WI (By Heather As you learn something new. Sysimaki, Ari’s mom).

228 New American Writings for Children

To the Children’s Museum Doris Kirkeeng

randma finished serving Grandpa her freshly There were large, white blocks, with pictures and Gbaked blueberry muffins and filled his cup with phrases about Garfield on them, and David tried to coffee, saying, “Well, today is the day David is coming. rearrange them to tell a story. He lost interest and It will be nice to have him. It’s been so long since he’s moved on to a gravity lesson. Here he arranged hard, been here.” Seeing her son’s car arrive, she said, “Here plastic, rectangular pieces, inserting them into slits of a he comes now.” soft sponge background. Then he dropped a plastic David’s mom and dad drove up into the yard, and ball at the top and allowed it to drop down between after a few minutes and warm, welcome hugs, they the pieces. This joined Grandma and Grandpa for breakfast. David interested him, and was so excited about staying at his grandfolks for a he spent a long time whole week that he couldn’t eat a thing. rearranging the pieces “That’s all right,“ Grandma assured his mother. just the way he “Missing one breakfast won’t hurt him.” wanted to achieve his About mid-morning, David’s parents brought his goal. David really suitcase, basketball, softball, bat, fishing pole, and wanted to do wall Legos into the house. They said good-bye to David, climbing, too. He Grandma and Grandpa. went to the wall all “Be a good boy, now. We love you,” they called, as ready to climb the they waved another good-bye. stones and to be held David had already scanned the yard and reviewed safely by a cable, but the upcoming fun he hoped to have. Now, it was just as he approached noon, time to have some of Grandma’s delicious it, the man managing chicken soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Grandma the cable closed the area. David was disappointed but “Alien?”Marley Taylor, remembered that this was one of David’s favorites. there was plenty yet to do. age 5. (By Carina Taylor, her mom). And for dessert, there were those irresistible gumdrop The three went to another area, called “Me and My cookies David loved. Shadow.” Here, kids were enjoying themselves by After lunch, Grandma put the dishes in the dish- standing against a light-colored screen while a high- washer, and Grandpa backed the car out of the garage. powered light went off. Then they stepped aside and “David,” said Grandma, “we would like to take you their shadows remained on the wall for a few minutes. someplace special this afternoon. How would you like They made monsters, funny poses, and make-believe. to go to the Children’s Museum of La Crosse?” David Even adults joined them. was smiling so hard that he couldn’t talk. He just Mr. Bones, a human skeleton, was riding an exercise nodded his head. machine while wearing a bike helmet. David sat on After they climbed into the car and fastened their the machine beside him. So did Grandpa. Grandma seat belts, Grandpa looked at Grandma and said, and David laughed and laughed. “Now, where did you say this Children’s Museum was Then, they went to “Grandma’s Attic.” This place was located?” loaded with dress-up clothes in large chests of drawers “Downtown, at 207 Fifth Avenue South,” Grandma and trunks on the floor. David dressed like a pirate, a said, looking at some literature she’d picked up. groomsman, and in several other outfits, and stepped Grandma informed Grandpa that it was called the out onto the stage, where Grandma took his picture. “Gertrude Salzer Gordon Children’s Museum of La They passed a doll museum with dolls of different Crosse.” shapes and types. Barbie, Ken, and baby dolls were a They arrived, paid the $3.50 for admission, and few that were shown. were overwhelmed by all the things to keep children On the first floor, there was a fire engine from entertained and learning. 1963. It was painted bright red, and David could see At Stuffy’s place, David saw a large stuffed doll. The the gauges the firemen used to do their job. Little guys insides contained replicas of human organs. The doll ran around in childsized firefighter uniforms. had a zipper down the front so the parts could be Another opportunity for children was to build their removed and replaced. David guessed what each organ own house. David climbed on the roof and rearranged represented as he removed them, and then he stuffed movable roof tiles. them all back inside Stuffy and moved on. Stuffy had The Reuseum was interesting to art-oriented been donated by Jo Winger, who had a brain tumor children. In this room were tables supplied with and was unable to carry on a normal life. David unlimited used items. Grandma and Grandpa were stopped and put on a short show for Grandma and amazed at the children’s creations. Grandpa with hand puppets kept in a small house. There was also a large maze people could walk They applauded his performance. through with beanbags on their heads. If you can do

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this without losing your beanbag, you are a well- All three of them admitted they had had a big day balanced, straight-stature person. Grandma, Grandpa, and would like to come again and perhaps bring a and David, too, all did well. friend to the place “where children play to learn and Another challenge was the “Communication adults learn to play.”W Table,” which had a screen in the center with pieces of different sizes and colors on either side. David sat on one side and made a design. He tried to explain to Grandma, on the other side of the screen, how to duplicate it. That didn’t turn out too well. Then they walked through the chambers of a huge heart, acquainting themselves with its parts. David and Grandpa took turns listening to heartbeats on telephones stationed behind the heart. They heard the beating of hearts in a dog, bird, whale, and elephant. “Sure is something,” said Grandpa, and David thought it amusing. The normal heart rate of each animal was noted. A waterway was set up on tables, representing the Mississippi River between La Crosse and Genoa, in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. There were logs to control the flow of water if you wished, and small boats to float. Also, there were two dams to locate. They were easy to find. David really enjoyed this and worked at it a long time. He finally got the water blocked, and then two other little boys used the logs he had been working with for a project of their own. David had reached his goal, so he didn’t seem to mind. After all, the logs were there for everyone to use. Grandma and Grandpa were getting tired, so they went to the gift shop and bought some agates for David and sat and waited for him to complete his visit. Forrest at mirror, 2000. La Crosse,WI (By Emma Bader, his aunt).

Each Day Brings Challenges, Work David J. Marcou

Author’s Note: Three photos were Like most five-year-olds, Patrick goes to school, published with this story in the where he works hard and plays hard, too. But Patrick December 20, 1980, Columbia expends even more effort than most children his age, Missourian. The photo of Patrick because he has spina bifida, a paralyzing, congenital Clark printed in this book tells the best defect also known as “hole in the spine.” part of his story—about his tenacity, Patrick, son of Mrs. Suzanne Clark, Valley Trailer humor and love of music. I’ve tried to Park, attends Parkade Elementary School’s contact Patrick and his mother since occupationally handicapped class. He is undergoing 1980, but haven’t been able to. Patrick tests to determine the need for more in-school is about twenty-six years old now, if he therapy. is still alive. People with spina bifida, On Tuesdays and Fridays, his aunt, Gigi Morgan, on the average, do not have long lives; takes him for physical therapy at the University Health and yet, “little” Patrick had a big heart Sciences Center, where he learns to coordinate upper in 1980, and maybe it still beats in his and lower body strength by climbing stairs, brave chest today. There’s always hope, performing basic motion and balance exercises, and even if the odds seem daunting. attempting to stand and walk on his own. Patrick takes it all in stride. In fact, he seems to Five-year-old Patrick atrick Clark knows about self-expression. And he’s appreciate the challenge that each day brings, and he Clark, who has spina bifida, 1980. Columbia, Plearning more about its relationship to work all meets them gladly. W MO (By David J. Marcou). the time.

230 SECTION 17 Life Cycles and Renewal

Katherine Anne Temp, asleep on her aunt’s wedding day, April 14, 2001. Town of Onalaska,WI (By David J. Marcou).

Afraid of a Miracle Roberta H. Stevens

he telephone rang promptly at 1 P.M. that Saturday I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Tafternoon in August. “Hello,” I said nervously. “Hi “Good, I’ll see you two in an hour.” And with that there, Roberta. This is Janice. I reviewed all of your said, Janice hung up. tests, and I think we should definitely get you and Dr. Janice Hagerman was my obstetrician. For the your little one going today. So, with that in mind, if past week, she had cautioned my husband and me you and your husband could be at the emergency about my past-due pregnancy. The baby was not in room entrance in an hour, I’ll be there to meet you.” danger, but was distressed and had an increased heart I drew in my breath, sat down, still listening, silent. rate. Dr. Hagerman (Janice, as she preferred to be “Roberta, are you there?” Janice asked. All I could called) had recommended that my labor be chemically manage was, “Yes, I’m here.” “Are you ready?” Janice induced by week’s end. My husband and I had agreed countered. with the plan, and the appointment for the hospital- While letting out a deep breath, I said, “As ready as ization had been made. It was now Saturday, and

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Janice had called to confirm that all was ready. Honey”? Get him in here, so I can slap him, too! And A hospital volunteer wearing a pink smock escorted who is this wiry fellow with “Anesthesiologist” on his my husband and me from the emergency room to the chest, standing over my bed, asking me if I’m in pain? labor and delivery area. I was scared to death. Within No woman in her right mind would ask another five minutes, I was undressed, gowned, intravenous woman a question like that at a time like this! Where fluid was started in my left hand, and a drug called was a pistol when you needed one?!? Was it a sin to “Pitocin” was pumped into my veins. My husband ask to have this thing inside of me cut up and held my hand and looked at me with his mouth removed a piece at a time? I wanted it out! My body smiling, but there was apprehension in his eyes. was going to split open! I might die! I wanted to Less than an hour after I was given the drug, my scream! fear was realized: I began to have pain. After two Suddenly, a baby’s cry pierced the air. The pain hours, the pain was excruciating; after four, it was stopped. My sanity returned. A voice in the room said, unbearable. I was no longer able to concentrate on “It’s six o’clock on the nose!” Smiling and beaming what was being said to me, or even wonder whether with delight, Janice said, “You have a fine, healthy son. my baby was all right. Irrational and insane thoughts He’s perfect!” The baby was wrapped in a blanket and raced through my head. was gently laid in my arms. My husband was kissing My husband’s puckered lips were talking some me gently on my forehead, saying, “I love you.” And as garbage about breathing! Boy, I wanted to slap him! I looked into the precious little face of our son, I And where was the stupid idiot who was running wondered how I could ever have been afraid of this around teaching these husbands to say, “Breathe, miracle. W

Born on the Fourth of July Rose Marie Schaper

The morning was calm I tried to read Ed and I smiled The ring became piercing Ed walked back and forth. With our lips and our eyes. Who could be calling We relived the past Being there was worth more Before 7:30? When our children were born. Than money can buy.

I picked up the phone Then the door flew open The voice seemed quite nervous And my son rushed inside. I took a deep breath “It’s a BOY! IT’S A BOY!” And prayed while I listened. He said, wanting to cry.

“Kathy’s in labor,” If I close my eyes now My son said to me. I can still see his face. “Her water bag broke.” Filled with wonder and awe My heart skipped a beat! So mysteriously graced . . .

“Her labor’s progressing.” His face was ablaze I thought: It’s too soon. With emotions burned deep We aren’t quite ready. Joy mixed with helplessness, She’ll deliver by noon?! Pain and relief.

Joy mixed with fear His red eyes were tired. Danced down deep inside: They glistened with tears . . . “Our grandchild will be born My heart overflowed, On the Fourth of July!” As he held me so near

When we arrived at the hospital “I’m so glad it’s over, We waited and prayed. And Kathy is fine. 1 Minutes seemed like hours I’ve never seen suffering “Got Gear,”Michael Garcia at age 2 ⁄2, 1985. La Crosse,WI (By Kimberly And hours seemed like days. So much at one time.” Alexander, his mom).

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A Eulogy for Matt Merfeld, a Great Human Being By Jerry Severson, Husband of Lorraine, Matt Merfeld’s Daughter

Editor’s Note: In 1995, one of my students, Barbara created by God our Father. There would be less stress if Hubert, wrote a story called “Old Matt.” “Old Matt” was a we had more tolerance and respect for all people. very special man, with a very young, strong heart. He could Matt leaves us with the knowledge that we all have hardly walk then, yet still went to Mass every day, and led a purpose and should do our best to fulfill our the faithful each time afterward in the rosary. Matt prayed, callings. That is all that is expected of us, and we, too, worked, and loved so many people that it should go without can pass away with the honors deserved by the saying that people like him deserve to be called “great” far children of God. more than some of today’s so-called superstars. Keep that in On Matt’s last day, he smiled when he heard these mind as you read Jerry’s eulogy. words from Psalm 24: “Those with clean hands and a pure heart who have not given their soul to vanities atthew Edward Merfeld lived with us from 1907 and sworn deceitfully will receive blessings and Muntil October 7, 2000. His spirit lives on for all salvation from the Lord.” W time. He traveled the same road of life we are all traveling. Matt has reached his ending place before those of us now here, and after many in his life who found the end of their travels before him. Many changes took place during his ninety-three years; sorrows and joys were among them. He came from a good family; we can tell by the values he inherited. We can tell that Matt married a good woman, Clara Strasser, because of the good children they had and raised together. His wife found the end of her journey in the year 1943, at the early age of thirty-eight years. The loss of her love and attention brought a closer bonding between Matt and his children, who called him “Pa.” Together, they got the jobs of individual and family progress done. His family was large, with many more added to it over the years. He was proud of all who joined the bond. His life span would be considered long for a good and faithful servant of God, yet there is grief and sorrow with the breaking of the bond with him. Matt was, like each of us, a separate, created child of God. Matt was and is a different memory for those who knew him. He was Husband, Father, Grandfather, Great-Grandfather, Brother, Relative, Fellow-Worker and Friend. Early in his life, he developed a sense of detail and quality. This led him to become quality engineer at the Northern Engraving Company, where he worked for forty-eight years to support his family. His appreciation of quality also led him into lifelong Matt Merfeld, the father- hobbies of woodworking and raising flowers and in-law of author Jerry Severson,West Salem,WI plants. His preference for homegrown vegetables (By Jack Ray; courtesy of probably was a factor in his long, healthy life. Barbara Hubert). His adherence to religion and support of missions for the poor and needy were the basis of his spiritual “The road of life we travel would be well-being. He felt compassion for what others suffered. It was a mystery to him, as it is for us—Why better for all of us if we realized does it happen? Why is there more pain for some than for others? He knew something about the mystery. that we are all sisters and brothers Matt knew that somehow, some way, there was a meaning and reward for it. The mystery will now be created by God our Father.” revealed to him in heaven. The road of life we travel would be better for all of us if we realized that we are all sisters and brothers

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Craig Brommerich Remembered Steve Kiedrowski

Reprinted from the Winona Post of November 3, 1999, last few years. They lost four loved ones in just a four- with the author’s and paper’s permission. year span. In 1994, Glenn’s father died, in 1995 Glenn’s mother died, in 1996 Craig died, and in 1997 is smile was so bright, it was a beacon of Betsy’s mother died. Hfriendship to anyone who met him. Craig When no one in their family died this past year, Brommerich was one of the most popular students Betsy said, “This last New Year’s Eve we looked at each ever at Gale-Ettrick-Trempealeau High School. Now other and said, ‘We made it!’” that beacon is no more. The light hasn’t shone in three Glenn and Betsy are model citizens who volunteer years. hundreds of hours to the community of Trempealeau, November 9 is the anniversary of Craig’s death at their school, church, and booster clubs. Craig was very the age of 16. He died doing what he loved best— proud of his parents. playing basketball. Although Craig is gone, his name lives on through The G-E-T basketball team was playing in a tourn- a scholarship started by his family. Every spring at the ament in Holmen in 1996. They were in their second G-E-T High School graduation, two Craig Brommerich game on Saturday morning. I was in the gym that day memorial scholarships are awarded—$500 to a senior because my son, Andy, was on the team. I was stand- going on to a two-year school and $1,000 to a senior ing next to the Holmen athletic trainer when I looked attending a four-year school. over and saw Craig collapse as he was running down Through fund raisers, enough money has now been the basketball court. I knew it was bad because Craig generated that the scholarship has been expanded. The didn’t try to catch himself; he went straight down. Trempealeau Youth Sports Club and the Children’s Craig was a gifted athlete—an extremely outgoing Miracle Network will receive checks this year in Craig’s young man with a wild sense of humor. But most of name. all, he was my son Andy’s best friend. In addition, the Village of Trempealeau is Craig and Andy grew up together in Trempealeau. renovating its downtown region with the Main Street They went to church and were confirmed together, 2000 Project. New streetlights will be erected and paid attended school and played sports together. They were for by donations in honor of area people. Part of buddies. Craig’s memorial will go for one of the streetlights. His When Craig left us, we lost a family member. name, along with others, will be etched in a plaque to Many nights he slept over at our house or Andy be placed in downtown Trempealeau. went to the Brommeriches’ house and soaked in their In 1998 Andy was humbly honored by receiving hot tub with Craig after a tough game. one of Craig’s scholarships. Because it would have been With Craig and Andy both at six feet, four inches, Craig’s graduation class, the amount was increased to they were called the twin towers of the G-E-T $1,500. Craig’s older brother, Cary, called “Stick,” was basketball squad—the perfect one-two punch on a at the podium, and he and Andy embraced over Craig’s young and talented team. gift. Everyone knew that the love between Craig and Craig and Andy were more than players on a team; Andy was still strong, and it was an emotional they were true companions. moment. So far, almost $5,000 has been given out to Craig’s memory is always near, and the past is never seniors in Craig’s name over the last three years. far. Craig’s younger sister, Kylie, shouted, “Yeah, and Andy said, “Craig was not just a teammate or a Craig always beat you.” friend. He was everything rolled into one. He was like Kylie, sixteen, is having a hard time this year as my brother. I looked up to him in so many ways, on people remember Craig. She is still known as Craig’s and off the court. I just hope he knew that.” little sister. Craig was such a jokester, always moving, always As for me, I think this story should be written positive about life—right up to his death. fictionally—as a tale too terrible to be true. Alas, it is a He was in good health and showed no signs of the true story, based on that dark day on which Craig died tragedy that was to come. He died on that day of —with the basketball team in the hospital waiting room sudden cardiac death caused by cardiac arrhythmia— with their parents and the sad statement by the nurse an unusual heartbeat—said the La Crosse County that he was gone. There was a storm of mixed emotions Medical Examiner. raging inside all of us there that no one could see. The Craig’s father, Glenn Brommerich, said, “It’s still silence was shattered by cries of disbelief. Slowly, with unbelievable. The time helps.” agonizing anguish, we began to move, haunted and Betsy Brommerich, Craig’s mother, corresponds hollow-eyed. Many sleepless nights were to follow. Our with other parents in the Midwest who have lost lives would never be the same again. children under similar situations. Craig and his class had a lot of promise and a lot of The Brommerich family has been hit hard over the sorrow to overcome.

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In 1995, the little brother of one of the basketball players, Steve Komperud, drowned in a hotel swimming pool while the team was in Eau Claire for a basketball tournament. In 1996, the team made it to the regional champ- ionship game only to lose a close game to Blair-Taylor. The G-E-T starting five players consisted of one junior and four sophomores, including Craig and Andy. What a bright future they had. However, the light was starting to dim, as time was ticking swiftly for this team. The next year, two of the players moved away and Craig, with that effervescent smile, died. It was the longest season of our lives. I recall the night of the G-E-T junior prom, five months after Craig died. Andy said, “Dad, before I go to the dance, I’m going out to the cemetery to see Craig.” Their love never died; it still lives. Andy said, “We were always laughing and having a good time together. It seems like yesterday Craig and I were hanging out. I still miss him today.” Craig’s legacy was that lightning grin. He made everyone feel good. With him gone, the days are short, and the nights are long. But that fantastic smile will Gale-Ettrick-Trempealeau High School boys’ basketball team, 1996. Andy Kiedrowski is #40 and Craig Brommerich is #54. (Courtesy of Steve live forever in time. W Kiedrowski, Andy’s dad).

Struggling Through a Chemo Day Ursula Chiu

Editor’s Note: Ursula was diagnosed with Yet, glistening snow and sunlight Leave tasks half-done, breast cancer in 2000. Following surgery, Show the promise of the day. Your weary body says, ere half the day. she has undergone several chemotherapy Do not yield to the poison, Your hand shaking over the letter. treatments. She remains on the road to But cherish what you have. At the computer, only dreary words. recovery. Hyacinths at the window, The mouse in the kitchen And birds at the feeder, Will live another day. Slow and awaking, testing the day, Squirrels playing on fragile wires. I am too clumsy to set the trap. The body’s strength, There are letters to write With thoughts of gratitude. And taxes to do. Is it worth living, Reclining again, I am part of the world, If I just sit and stay? I am not ready yet to rise. Suffering with the rest. What do I give? Which woe do I heal? Reaching for the news, Forcing a resisting brain Do I create beauty? While the coffee steeps. To work through the fog, And what can I say? Both of them return to bed The rumbling guts From distant depth. with me. To quiet down. Bones feeling hollow, The lines of a poem emerge, Slippery roads—no end to winter. Limbs fatigued, Memorized in my youth, Baby found frozen in snow. Creating insecure gait, Now a guide to prayer. No funds for Health Science Center. Failing to lend enough support. John Milton once, Tax cuts mostly benefit the rich. You know it’s the poison In blindness’s despair, Excessive use of force in Israel meets That makes you well. Wept over the loss of his talent Violent attacks by Palestinians. It’s the negation of wellness In the service of God and man. Chemo/cancer woes not mentioned. That makes you resist. Until chemo woes I did not Back to sleep, understand To wipe the slate clean. His ending line:

“They also serve, who only stand and wait.” “They also serve, who only stand and wait.”

235 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

Spirit of La Crosse: Remembering Three Men in Blue Who Gave Their Lives for Us Daniel J. Marcou, LCPD

Reprinted from the author’s History of the La Crosse who were standing side by side, stopped. One then Police Department 1870-1990 (Taylor Publishing, 1990). yelled something like,“Throw up!” and all three drew handguns and began firing at Officer Gates. The shots a Crosse, Wisconsin, is not a big city in terms of scared the horses, and they bolted and ran, carrying Lsquare miles or population, but its people have as Officer Schubert away from the scene with the three much heart as any on this earth. (See aerial photo of La men firing at him. By the time Officer Schubert could Crosse on pages 140 and 141.) Three of the men who stop the horses and return to his partner, Officer Gates have helped prove the city’s courage and worth wore was lying dead in the street. He had fired his weapon, the blue uniforms of the La Crosse Police Department. but was struck by one bullet in the abdomen and one • • • in the right arm. The three men had fled. Officer Perry Gates was born in La Crosse on The next morning, a reporter interviewed Officer April 7, 1863. He grew to be a powerful man, Schubert, who was visibly shaken by the ordeal and standing six feet, one inch and weighing 180 his inability to help his partner. The reporter’s story pounds. On September 13, 1897, he proudly said that Officer Schubert’s life had apparently been donned the uniform of the La Crosse Police saved by the horses’ running. “But I would rather have Department for the first time. died in my tracks and in defense of Perry, on whom Police work came naturally to Officer Gates, and he the men pitched, than to have the horses run away and was described by Chief H. H. Byrnes as “one of the there be the least semblance of my being a coward,” best men on the department.” This well-respected said the brave man, with the shadow of a tear in his police officer was not immune to sadness, however, eye and a tremor in his voice. because, in 1898, his wife, the mother of his three Officer Perry Gates died at the age of thirty-seven, children, drowned in the Mississippi River on the in the service of the City of La Crosse. His death Minnesota side with a family friend, leaving Officer orphaned his three children. Officer Gates was loved Gates to work long, hard hours while raising his chil- by his family, respected by his fellow officers in life, dren as a single parent. Tragedy was, unfortunately, to and was sorely missed by all in death. strike the Gates family again. • • • On September 8, 1900, just before 1 A.M., In 1916, Officer Frank Groeschner was part of the information was received by the La Crosse Police cream of the crop of the La Crosse Police Department. Department from authorities in La Crescent, He was an elite member of the motorcycle police Minnesota, that a robbery had occurred and three squad, which had been in existence since 1910. He was armed suspects were possibly heading toward La married and a member of a social group of officers Crosse. The three men had reportedly entered a rail- called the Odd Fellows. From top: road boxcar and robbed some men in the boxcar at Officer Groeschner was on motorcycle patrol on Officer T.P.(Perry) Gates, gunpoint. One of the victims, Mr. Alfred Carlson, November 18, 1916, when he was struck by a Gund killed in the line of duty refused to give up his money and was brutally Brewery Truck and killed instantly in the intersection during a gunfight in 1900. (Courtesy of La whipped by one of the robbers, who took $9 from of Third and State Streets. The driver of the truck, Otto Crosse Police him. The robbers then fled on foot, and the incident Betz, was not charged, and the incident was regarded Department). was reported to Minnesota authorities. as a tragic traffic accident.

Officer Frank Groeschner, Upon receiving the bulletin about the crime and Officer Groeschner’s young widow was eligible for a killed in the line of duty the suspects, Officer Gates suggested to other police $3,000 death benefit. A police escort led the body when his motorcycle was officers on duty that the area around the Mississippi from the Groeschner home at 1318 Kane Street to Oak struck by a truck, 1916. (Courtesy of La Crosse River wagon bridge be checked out. Officers Gates Grove Cemetery, where he was laid to rest. Officers Police Department). and Schubert hitched up the police patrol horse and Emil Last, August Koschnitzke, William Wermuth, buggy, while Officers Jacques and Horschak headed Sergeant Michael Britton, Sergeant William Horschak Officer Joseph Donndelinger, killed in to the area on foot. When Gates and Schubert and Detective William Fitzsimmons were also the line of duty during a reached the wagon bridge, the tollmaster advised members of the Odd Fellows. The last thing they were gunfight in 1937. them that three men had left the bridge just ten able to do together with their good friend was to sadly (Courtesy of La Crosse Police Department). minutes earlier. serve as his pallbearers. Schubert and Gates then began to search the area Officer Frank Groeschner did not die in a hail of for the suspects and spotted three men matching the bullets. He did not die performing a gallant act of description at the intersection of Third and King heroism. Instead, he died doing what every cop does Streets. Gates stopped the buggy, jumped out, drew his day in and day out. He was on routine patrol, serving weapon, and ordered the three men to halt. At this La Crosse and its citizens, as a police officer—one of time, according to Officer Schubert, the three men, the earliest Odd Fellows.

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• • • Officer Donndelinger was able to pull alongside the Joseph Donndelinger was, to everyone who might Wagener vehicle and force it off the road. meet him on the street, an ordinary man. He was born Donndelinger left his patrol car, ran toward the on January 13, 1901 and died on December 10, 1937, Wagener car, and found Smith in the front seat. but the time he spent between those dates made him Wagener had also left his vehicle, and was now anything but ordinary. armed with both his own revolver and Granville In 1937, Joe was the father of four children—Betty Smith’s revolver. Officer Donndelinger found himself (10), James (9), Joan (3), and Paul (11 months). He face-to-face with a criminal who was intent on and his wife, Clara, were happily planning to move escaping at all costs. He ordered Wagener to throw into a new house Joe was building himself at 603 down his guns and throw up his hands, but instead, North 23rd Street in La Crosse. In Joe’s free time, when his command was met with gunfire. The two stood he was not working on the house or at work, he face-to-face in the light of the police car’s headlights, thoroughly enjoyed hunting and fishing, and he firing desperately. When the smoke cleared, both had especially loved to play Skat, a card game he had been hit three times, and both were lying wounded on become quite proficient at. When Joe was working, he the ground. Wagener had been struck by three of Joe’s was a patrolman for the La Crosse Police Department. bullets, all three times in the right arm, shattering the December 5, 1937, was a Sunday. The shift began elbow. routinely. Joe was assigned a beat car with a rookie Joe’s wounds were more serious. He had been officer, Granville (Granny) Smith. While on patrol in struck once in the right arm, once in the right leg, and their cruiser on Jackson Street, they both saw a vehicle once under the heart. He was rushed to the hospital by shoot through the intersection of Fifth and Jackson Officer Christie. Joe waged a five-day battle for Streets. It not only was speeding, but the driver had survival. Clara maintained a vigil and refused to leave also ignored a stop sign. him. Joe was conscious much of this time, and The officers stopped the vehicle, driven by a Floyd although the doctors only gave him a fifty-fifty chance Wagener, near the intersection of Fifth and Cameron of making it, he seemed certain he would do so. But Streets. Unknown to the officers, Wagener was driving on December 10, 1937, Officer Joseph Donndelinger, a stolen vehicle, and he had just dropped off two seven-year veteran of the La Crosse Police Department, compatriots at Sears, which was then located at Fifth who had struggled so valiantly to hold onto the life and King Streets. As the officers were stopping that his family so deeply cherished, died of Wagener, his associates were burglarizing Sears, with pneumonia. Clara was immediately hospitalized and the intent of cracking the safe inside. treated for exhaustion. Officer Smith told Wagener the reason he had been Christmas 1937 was a sad one for Clara stopped. Donndelinger directed Smith to tell Wagener Donndelinger. It was not as difficult for the children, that he was going to get a ticket. When Smith did so, as they were young and it was impossible for them to adding that Wagener would have to go to the police fathom the idea that Daddy was not coming home. department since he was from out of town, Wagener Because of their ages, it was hard for them to told Smith he didn’t know where the department was. remember, without the aid of yellowed photographs To Donndelinger’s surprise, Smith then got into the in the family album, what their handsome young Wagener vehicle to direct him to the police station. father looked like. Clara, however, never forgot. She Officer Donndelinger immediately began to follow never remarried. She remained Mrs. Joseph Donn- the other vehicle in his patrol car. At the intersection delinger, wife of one of La Crosse’s finest, for life. of Fifth and State Streets, Wagener stopped and began • • • to roll down the window, telling Smith his driver’s side These three brave men in blue gave their lives window was fogging up. When Wagener brought up so other decent citizens could themselves live better his left hand, it was holding a revolver. He transferred lives. All three men are gone, but they will never it quickly to his right hand, shoved it into Smith’s ribs, be forgotten. W and then demanded directions to the Minnesota border. Smith gave Wagener directions to Third Street, and then pointed him south on that street. Officer Donndelinger quickly recognized that there was a “La Crosse, Wisconsin, is not a big city problem and began to pursue the Wagener vehicle as it cut in and out of traffic on Third Street. Officer James in terms of square miles or population, Christie joined the pursuit in a second patrol car. While heading over the bridge toward Minnesota, but its people have as much heart as Wagener fired at the pursuing officers, and Christie returned fire. Officer Donndelinger concentrated his any on this earth.” efforts on staying with the kidnapper. During the pursuit, Officer Christie fired twelve times at the Wagener vehicle, trying to shoot out the tires. About two hundred feet to the east of the Minnesota border,

237 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

Gone but Not Forgotten: A Hero at Inchon, Seoul, Chosun Reservoir, and Back at Home David J. Marcou

o some people, the Korean War is still “The country. U.S. President Harry Truman did not think he TForgotten War”; but it should not be forgotten, would get a quick declaration of war passed in because more than 35,000 Americans died in that East Congress, so he dispatched U.S. troops to South Korea, Asian storm. Many others were wounded, and have to winning U.N. support for his move since Russia was live the rest of their lives knowing that they were the boycotting the U.N. Security Council then. Seventeen “lucky ones.” Gratefully, these veterans’ sacrifices have U.N. nations took part in the Allied effort. By not been forgotten by the people who count—their September 1950, all U.N. forces on the peninsula were bottled up in Pusan, the main Southern port. Meanwhile, the U.S. Marine Corps didn’t leave any doubts about Frank Devine’s duty. Frank was assigned to Able Company, First Battalion, U.S. First Marine Division, and he was going to be active. He fought, hard and heroically. Mary Devine recently said, “He thought Korean freedom was a worthy cause to fight for. I don’t think he had any doubts.” William Manchester has written glowingly about the First Marine Division’s landing at the western port of Inchon, putting that unit in the same class as the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae. After landing at Inchon on September 15, 1950—in U.N. Commander General Douglas MacArthur’s bold counterattack behind communist lines—Corporal Devine fought his way into Seoul with his unit. In the capital, that Leatherneck eliminated three Russian- made tanks with his bazooka and earned the Silver Star. His heroics have been written up in Robert Heinl St. James boys’ basketball families and friends, the U.S. government, and those Jr.’s Victory at High Tide. team, with Frank Devine South Koreans who are aware of why they are free Then Frank pushed north with his unit and became (front row, first from right) and David A. today. part of fierce fighting at the Chosun Reservoir in late Marcou (back row, second Eighteen-year-old Frank Devine, of La Crosse, November 1950. More than 100,000 communist from right), 1940s. Wisconsin, enlisted in the Marines on August 17, Chinese troops had swarmed into North Korea after La Crosse,WI (Courtesy of David J. Marcou, David A. 1948, and was sent to Camp Lejeune, North Carolina MacArthur had ordered U.N. troops to move into Marcou’s son). for basic training. His widow, Mary Voter Devine, has China. MacArthur’s troops had barely made it to the said that her husband was determined to be a good Yalu River, the border between North Korea and China, Marine. “He really loved the Marine Corps. Whatever before being driven back. And the First Marines, who they told him to do, he would have done. He was had been the heroes of Inchon and Seoul, were soon proud to be a Marine.” faced with two daunting enemies at the reservoir: On the other side of the world, the Cold War was Chinese communists and a severe winter. (Temper- heating up. When the Allies had liberated Korea from atures got down to thirty damp degrees below zero.) Japanese rule in August 1945, Russian troops moved After two weeks of intense, frigid combat, U.N. into the northern half of the peninsula as part of a forces broke out of the grip in which Chinese General Yalta-determined trusteeship. In southern Korea, U.S. Sung had tried to annihilate them. The U.N. side troops directed their part of the trusteeship. U.N. suffered 7,500 casualties while inflicting more than elections were slated to occur in both Koreas in 1948, 35,000 casualties on the Chinese, Robert Leckie claims but the communists would not allow them in the in The March to Glory. Virtually every U.S. Marine north; free elections were held in the south. Russian involved at the reservoir received at least one battle and American troops withdrew from Korea, and the commendation before leaving the service. Frank two Koreas debated ideologically. Border skirmishes Devine suffered two wounds—one on the back of his occurred, but South Korea was not initially prepared head, the other a shrapnel wound in his back— for war. earning him two Purple Hearts. He received modest Then, on June 25, 1950, well-trained North Korean veterans disability benefits for the rest of his life. troops, and tanks, rolled across the 38th Parallel After serving as a guard for Annapolis headed toward Seoul. They took South Korea’s capital, Commandant Vice Admiral Harry W. Hill in 1951 and and refugees flowed toward the southern tip of the as a drill instructor at Parris Island, South Carolina, in

238 Life Cycles and Renewal

1952, Staff Sergeant Devine retired from the Marines. Present Post Manager Dan Evenson said that there He had married Mary Voter while still in the service, were many reasons Frank was special. For instance, and they began their family of six children. Oldest son “Frank had a wonderful gift of knowing people’s Mark has said, “He wasn’t the sort of man who made a names. He wouldn’t see you for years, but would big deal out of himself. He was just one man doing recognize you as soon as he saw you again.” what he had to do. He came home a war hero, but to Frank is buried at the Gates of Heaven Cemetery, us [kids], he was a hero because he was a good dad.” and a hall at the Post is dedicated to him. Mark said Frank took a job in a factory for a year, then began the dedication of the hall was important because, “It bartending at Roy Vingers American Legion Post #52 was my Dad and thousands of men like him that in 1953, in La Crosse. He soon became club manager. make us grateful for what they did. They made the Thirty-nine years after signing on with the Post, having supreme sacrifice.” been slowed by a second heart attack (he’d had his Eight thousand miles away, some young people still first in 1974), Frank retired. The Legion held a big criticize U.S. involvement in South Korea; other party for him, and this writer wrote a tribute-pamphlet people of that nation know the American people still then, with many pictures in it. In the Post newsletter, believe in preserving democracy in that part of the Frank thanked everyone who had contributed to the world. South Korea may not seem key to some, but it celebration. meant a lot to Frank. He knew the Korean War made In his final years, Frank spoke with his son Mark him a man, and it helped make him a good husband about what combat had been like. Mark said, “He told and father as well. me some things, but he went quiet when talking about No ordinary man, Frank came through for lots of the war. I don’t want to say what he said. But they people. This journalist’s dad was a lifelong friend of U.S. First Marine Division were brave men. He saw many of his friends die. The his. I was a journalist in Seoul from 1984-87, and my landing at seawall during war was a heartbreaker in many respects.” son, Matthew, is half-Korean. We will forever be battle, September 15, Frank’s heart didn’t improve, even with grateful to Frank Devine and people like him who 1950, published in Picture Post’s picture-story, angioplasties. He had a great passion for cigars and have made a free South Korea and America possible— “Inchon.”Inchon, South social drinks. On March 13, 1994 Frank passed away. where people can legally protest U.S. involvement in Korea (Photo taken by About 400 people, including then-Mayor Patrick places like “The Land of Morning Calm,” even though Bert Hardy and provided here by HultonGetty Zielke, attended his funeral at St. James Church. Mark they may be wrong in doing so. That’s what Images, London, gave a eulogy, and said, “It’s buried away somewhere.” democracy is all about. W England).

239 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

Women Who Have Helped Define the Spirit of America Denice Moen

e, as Americans, have every right to feel a practicing physician. It was said that she had treated Wtremendous pride in our country. “Land of the every member of the Omaha Nation in Nebraska Free, Home of the Brave” conjures up pictures of so before her death. She also campaigned for Native many battles fought, frequent triumphs over insur- American rights and was the first Native American mountable odds, and the winning of our indepen- lecturer, published artist, and writer. Her lectures dence. However, one aspect of American history used helped bring about the passage of the Dawes Act in to be overlooked. And our country’s history is still 1887, which, at the time, was considered a very greatly affected by little-known heroes who have progressive law offering reservation land allotments to received very little recognition for the contributions individual Native Americans. they made. These contributions have played a key part A woman born to be a slave in Swartehill, New York, in creating this strong and revered country, and they Sojourner Truth was a great activist for women’s rights. were made by women. After becoming a free citizen, she spent most of her life Women from widely diverse cultural and social touring the country and preaching, and was even backgrounds have helped to mold and develop our received by Abraham Lincoln at the White House in country from its commencement. Only recently have 1864. Although illiterate, she was a very strong speaker we come to realize how much they have influenced it. and had a large influence in the abolition of slavery. They have acted as creators, crusaders, and leaders in Ruth Ella Moore became the first African American the pursuit of the American dream, and have not to earn a Ph.D. in Bacteriology and the first woman to yielded in what they believe. In a country that for a chair a medical school department. She served as the long time did not even give them the right to vote, head of the Department of Bacteriology at Howard own property, or be free, they stood their ground. We University Medical College from 1947 to 1958 and haven’t heard much until recently about this country’s was a part-time professor at Howard University from 1971 until her retirement. She is considered one of the major heroes in the area of microbiology and helped many students learn the value of hard work and perseverance. Katherine Blodgett was the first female scientist to be hired by the General Electric laboratory in Schenectady, New York, to assist Dr. Irving Langmuir. He won the Nobel Prize in chemistry in 1932 with her help. Katherine went on to Cambridge University and became the first woman to earn a Ph.D. in Physics from the school. She created the first undistorted or “invisible” glass, using a barium stearate film. This discovery revolutionized reading and prescription eyeglasses and played a huge part in World War II because the glass was used in aerial cameras, periscopes, and range finders. She also created the “color gauge,” a way to measure the molecules used to create the glass. Elizabeth Blackwell became the first female doctor Elizabeth Dole and female contributors, but for their persistence, tenacity, in the United States after graduating in 1849, with supporters at La Crosse and strength, these women have helped portray the honors, from New York’s Geneva College. American (WI) Red Cross, 1995-97. (By David J. Marcou). Spirit of America. hospitals refused to hire her, so she opened her own Take Nanye-Hi, a member of the Cherokee tribe. clinic in 1853—the New York Infirmary for Indigent She was instrumental in negotiating the first treaty— Women and Children. Its medical staff was made up the Treaty of Hopewell—between the white entirely of women. The clinic later became a medical government and the Cherokee Nation. She held the college for women in 1868. position of Beloved Woman and served as final In 1955, Rosa Lee Parks refused to give up her seat arbitrator in all decisions affecting the Cherokee. The to a white passenger on a bus in Montgomery, Treaty of Hopewell was to be the first of many treaties Alabama. This incident launched the Montgomery bus intended to provide a peaceful coexistence between boycott and helped bring about the civil rights the tribe and the white man, which Nanye-Hi believed movement in the United States. In fact, Rosa is often very strongly in. called the mother of the modern civil rights Or consider Susan La Flesche, the first Native movement. Her spirit lives on in the Rosa and American to earn a medical degree and work as a Raymond Parks Institute for Self-Development, which

240 Life Cycles and Renewal offers guidance and career preparation to young African Americans. Clara Barton founded the American Red Cross after she saw the need for supplies and medical assistance during the Civil War. Her courage took women to the front lines to assist wounded soldiers, even though she was told that the front was “no place for a woman.” Belva Lockwood was the first woman to practice law before the U.S. Supreme Court, after spending nearly five years lobbying a bill through Congress that would allow her to do so. Her knowledge of the law allowed her to help to secure women’s suffrage, start property law reforms, and demand equal pay for equal work. Her courage helped open the doors of the legal profession to women everywhere. Grace Hopper developed the first computer compiler for the UNIVAC computer in 1955, and, in 1959, she took her work one step further and invented COBOL, the first user-friendly business computer programming in the way they fought for themselves and their Women at Women’s language. In 1991, she was the first individual woman descendants to improve their social conditions. Not Military Memorial, April to receive the National Medal of Technology. Her only working to benefit women in society, they fought 2000. Arlington,VA (By David J. Marcou). dedication to finding an alternative to binary code has for everyones’ rights. They healed the sick, invented left a living legacy to computer users everywhere. innovative products and technology to make our lives These women, and so many others like them, have easier, fought for the equal rights of all people, and, done what they thought they needed to do to improve most of all, they made a difference in every man’s, the country we live in. They showed spirit and tenacity woman’s, and child’s life today. W

Dealing with Crisis Joyce Crothers

n June of 2000, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I the year was going, I was prepared for the worst. They Idecided to write about it to make women more took the second mammogram, which was read right aware of the importance of mammograms, and to away. They informed me that they had found open a line of communication with my friends and something and needed to get an ultrasound of the area others. and most likely a needle biopsy. The ultrasound was The year 2000 brought one crisis after another in done, and I could see the tumor on the screen. I was my family. In January, we put my sister-in-law in an assured that it was small and not palpable to the assisted living facility at the age of seventy-three due to fingers. My regular doctor did the biopsy and said that dementia. Her husband had died eighteen months someone would call within forty-eight hours with the earlier. This was a very hard decision to make and put results. I suspected that it wasn’t going to be good a great burden on my husband Bill, who has to take news. I was trying to think positively, but I was care of her paperwork, her house, and the farm. nervous. The next day, at 4:00 P.M., my regular doctor In February, I got bursitis in my shoulder, and since called. He said that he hated to tell me this over the I had turned 60 in January, I felt like I was starting to phone, but the tumor was malignant. I had breast fall apart. In March, I joined a fitness center so I could cancer. I sat down stunned. I had been thinking the work at getting in some sort of shape. After four days worst all along, but when it was finally a reality, it of working out, I started having pain in my hips, and took my breath away. I immediately thought of my then bad pains in my abdomen. In April, I was daughter, my granddaughter and my sister, Pam. This admitted to the hospital through the emergency room diagnosis would put them at a higher risk of getting with a bowel obstruction and diverticulitis. I had breast cancer. surgery and recovered well from this. The word cancer was not unfamiliar around our On Tuesday, June 6, I went for my annual physical house. My mother has lymphoma and multiple and mammogram. My husband Bill left for Canada myeloma, and my neighbor has breast cancer. Now it for a weeklong fishing trip on Friday, June 9. The had happened to me. Bill called me from Canada that following Monday, I got a call from the night and I didn’t tell him about the diagnosis. He was mammography department— they wanted me to on vacation—there was nothing he could do, and I come back for another mammogram. My heart sank. didn’t want to spoil his trip. I called my daughter and The appointment was made for the next day. The way my sister because I needed someone to talk to. I knew

241 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

that talking to them would make me feel better, and it radiation treatments. I asked lots of questions. did. My first reaction had not been, “Why me,” but I started exercises and gradually my arm returned to “What next”? normal. I still have some numbness under my arm, I could deal with this. This wasn’t the first crisis in and it will take time for the nerves to regenerate. my life. I had survived a horse accident in 1994 when I Thursday, August 15, was the first day of radiation. I could easily have been killed, but had come away with was to go every day, except weekends, for thirty-three a broken pelvis and broken ribs. I could survive this treatments. About the beginning of the fourth week, I crisis as well. noticed the sunburning that I was told would happen. My doctor contacted a surgeon and set up an I never had the fatigue that I was told could happen. I appointment. The surgeon was a woman, which made did all the things I usually did, but I paced myself and me feel good. Bill accompanied me to the rested between jobs. I think I tolerated radiation well. I appointment, and we were both impressed with how did get some swelling in my left wrist and hand, called thoroughly she explained everything. She said that lymphedema, and learned how to use massage to get because the tumor was found early and was very small, rid of it. I had a choice in treatment between a mastectomy and I have suddenly become a proponent of a lumpectomy, with radiation follow-up. She said I mammograms. I tell everyone I talk to how important had an equal chance with either option. Both of us they are. When I talked to my sister, Pam, the week agreed on the lumpectomy. I didn’t want to lose a after my doctor’s appointment, she didn’t want to talk breast if I didn’t have to. My surgery was scheduled for about it. I found out later that she hadn’t had a July 20. mammogram in fifteen years. She is fifty-seven. On June 20, my niece Kim arrived to visit. My oldest Because of me, she went and had one. She told me three children and I hadn’t seen her in twenty-nine that if she ever got cancer, she wouldn’t tell anyone, years, and she had never met my youngest son, Scott, or even her best friends. I don’t agree with this. Cancer my husband. We made arrangements for her to see all happens to a lot of people; it’s nothing to be ashamed four of the children individually. She then decided to of. Most of my friends have been very open in stay an extra week and went with us to our lake property discussing it, asking questions and giving me support. over the July 4 weekend. All four kids managed to come It amazes me how many friends have had breast down, too, and everyone had a great time. cancer that I didn’t know about. They have been We drove Kim to the airport on July 6 for her trip wonderful in relating their experiences to me after I back to Atlanta, and then I left with a friend for a five- tell them about my cancer. day knitting workshop in Marshfield. Both Kim’s visit Bill has been a real trooper. He’s been through and my workshop had been planned long before I some tough times with me and has been very learned that I had breast cancer. All this activity kept supportive. I couldn’t have asked for a more caring me from dwelling on my problem. It was after I and loving husband. My children also have been returned from Marshfield that I really started thinking wonderful through all of this. about my breast cancer surgery. After school started, I went to Logan High School, On July 20, I was operated on and returned to the where I had worked for twenty-eight years, and recovery room. Shortly thereafter, my upper left chest gathered all the secretaries together. They did not and underarm became swollen and hard. I had a know about my breast cancer, but I told them I wanted blood clot and the drain in my chest was not draining. to make sure they all were up-to-date on their The doctor had to take me back into surgery. After mammograms and would continue to get them that, things went well. I finally got to my room about annually. They were supportive and were right on time 6:30 P.M.I had been at the hospital since 5:30 A.M. I with their tests. It meant a lot to them that I cared went home the next day with two incisions and a chest enough to talk about my experience. tube, but minus the tumor and fourteen lymph nodes. I finished radiation a week ago and am now taking Friday, July 28, Bill went with me to see the surgeon a drug called Tamoxifen. My breast cancer is estrogen- to get the results of the lymph node tests. I was very related, and Tamoxifen prevents breast cancer cells nervous and hadn’t gotten much sleep the night from getting the estrogen they need to grow. It does before. The tests showed no cancer cells in the lymph not kill healthy cells. I will be taking this drug for the nodes. What a relief!!! The doctor also removed the next five years. chest tube, which made me more comfortable. Not I hope my story will do some good in the fight only did we see the surgeon and her fifth-year surgical against breast cancer and may help women realize that resident, but we saw a nurse, the geneticist, and the having breast cancer is not a death sentence and that it radiation oncologist who would be in charge of the is important to catch it early. W “I hope my story will do some good in the fight against breast cancer and may help women realize that having breast cancer is not a death sentence and that it is important to catch it early.”

242 Life Cycles and Renewal

Farewell to Dad Belinda Weinberg

What is a holiday without your smile? This was but another test of your endurance, Without the sound your laughter made To see what inner strength you had left, And that twinkle in your eye? Without being able to walk or speak, Are you happy where you’re laid? Till you were released by God in death.

The spring winds feel so fresh, No, longing for your smile won’t make it happen. Yet they moan your passing. No laugh remains; your voice is quiet still. How can birds keep singing your songs I know you wouldn’t want me to linger here; And bubbling brooks keep on laughing? I must carry on, the choice is clear; it is your will.

The big old farmhouse still sits atop the hill. I will laugh, I will dance, I will sing, So strangely silent now, it shouts you’re not there. I will play those silly instruments. Others look with amusement at things that once were I will give your advice to my kids, yours. As they grow in increments. I cry with all these memories too great to bear. I pray your wise advice and laughter I wish that I could hear your sweet husky voice again, Are ringing clear in heaven. And sing those great old songs. They will always be ringing in my heart, How you’d sing and play that accordion or harmonica, Beyond the year 2777… As we all joined in and sang along. Author’s Note: I hope to carry on my dad’s spirit, a spirit I long to feel those skillful hands and able arms people will remember: During hardships, tough times and That fixed tractors and lifted hay, difficult work, if people can find humor, it will help them Come to rest on my shoulders again carry on and keep their balance. That’s what Dad always And comfort me at the end of day. did for himself and others. If we can pass it on, he will live, and his spirit will continue. I recall the fun of the silly tricks you’d do, The stories you’d tell and the card games we all played. When friends and relatives came to visit, I think that’s why they all stayed and stayed.

I remember the days you’d swing on a rope From high up in the hay barn rafters, Then give those unknowing visitors that Thrill ride in the clover fields on your tractor.

But I also cherish your open kindness in the advice you’d give, Your astute awareness, and the knowledge you’d repair. For you always knew what I was up to and supported me, No matter what, always willing to listen and to care.

You led a simple, yet content farm life. As you struggled to keep the old machinery running. With too little money, a lot of work and a lot of laughter, The animals, crops and your family kept on growing.

Your spirit never faltered, You were not afraid. Just as you embraced life enthusiastically, When several strokes took their toll, You accepted death so very peacefully. Methodist Cemetery, 2000. Dakota, MN (By Mark Michaelson).

243 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

D-Day Samuel McKay

n the summer of 1943, we lived on a little four-acre tails out the other. I took a big bite, and Miss Delay Ifarm in Hampton Falls, New Hampshire, and rented turned pale, fainted, and fell out of her chair. When out our home in Swampscott, Massachusetts, for the she revived and regained her composure, the sandwich months of July and August. School did not let out was gone, and I was eating a banana. She didn’t scold until the middle of June me, but told me outright to tell my mother not to and did not start again make any more sardine sandwiches. until the middle of Going from grade school to junior high was September. I was eleven at exciting, because we did not sit all day in the same the time, and my brother room with the same teacher but had a different room was fifteen. It was the and teacher for each class. My math class was on the middle of World War II, third floor, overlooking the ocean. My math teacher and the magazines and was Mrs. Boyce. She was an older lady and very nice, newspapers were full of even though she was a no-nonsense type. She was a pictures of airplanes. I was big person, and I am sure she took no guff from crazy about airplanes. I anybody. I didn’t like math and liked the fact that Giant medals in the spent hours drawing them: P-38 Lightnings, B-17 when I got bored I could look out at the ocean. I Pentagon’s Hall of Heroes, April 2000.Washington, bombers, P-47 Thunderbolts, and many others. Both remember once there was a terrible nor’easter raging D.C. (By Matthew A. at home and at the farm, we were directly underneath outside. I watched a fishing boat that had broken Marcou) the radio guidance beam of air navigation from loose from its moorings and was approaching the Boston to Nova Scotia, which was the air route to seawall. Soon, it was shattered into a million pieces. Europe. Also, there were many small bases around us, Suddenly, I was jolted back to the class when Mrs. because we were adjacent to the ocean. For that Boyce announced that her son Tom, who had reason, we had an abundance of planes to watch. I graduated from college before going into the service, remember once, when I was walking home from was going to attend pilot’s school in the Army Air school, I heard a loud drone from overhead and Corps. This, of course, gave me a different attitude looked up. The sky was full of B-17s, surrounded by P- toward the class from then on. 38s, heading northeast in a seemingly never-ending All through the fall and early winter, Mrs. Boyce stream. kept us informed of Tom’s progress. Then one day, she At the prep school my brother went to in Milton, announced that he had graduated from flight school Massachusetts, he had volunteered to be an airplane and had earned his wings as a fighter pilot. He would spotter. He went into the chapel tower to look for be coming home on leave before he went to his airplanes. He kept a record of the planes, their identity, assignment, and she said he would visit the school and the altitude and direction they were flying. If an while he was home. It really made me excited to think airplane was unidentifiable, he was to call it in. I can’t that I was going to get to meet a real, live pilot! The remember whether they had radar at the time or not. day came, and Tom came in dressed in his uniform If they did, it was probably very primitive and they with his shiny new wings prominently displayed. He needed the spotter network to supplement it. He taped a large photo of a P-51 Mustang onto the showed me how to keep the records in a notebook, blackboard and said that this was what he would be and he, armed with my father’s World War I artillery flying. The whole classroom was full of students and binoculars, and I, armed with my mother’s smaller teachers standing in every available space to hear his binoculars, kept a record of every plane that went over short speech. Mrs. Boyce stood behind him with a big, the house while we were awake and at home all broad smile on her face. She looked so proud. I didn’t summer. Eventually I could identify a plane just by the get to meet him afterwards, as he was surrounded by sound of its engines. I didn’t even have to look up. the teachers he knew and didn’t get to talk to any kids. The following fall, I went back to school—seventh Shortly after he had gone back from leave, Mrs. grade at Hadley Junior High, Swampscott. It was at the Boyce told us that he was stationed in England. We all other end of town, and we had to take a bus to get knew that England was nothing but a huge floating there. My homeroom was on the first floor, and my airfield, the jumping-off place for many bombing homeroom teacher was Miss Delay. She was young raids on Germany. Also, our parents talked of the and very pretty. I did not intentionally try to annoy impending invasion of Europe. Soon it was spring, her, but one day my mother made me a sardine and the ocean looked more inviting out the window sandwich for lunch, which we ate in homeroom. Miss of math class. Then, one day Mrs. Boyce was not at Delay was at her desk eating her own lunch, and she school, and we had a substitute teacher. She looked at me apprehensively as I unpacked my announced that Mrs. Boyce had received a telegram sandwich. I didn’t even notice that the heads of the saying that Tom had been killed in a plane crash while sardines stuck out of one side of the sandwich and the on maneuvers. She was a hardy soul and soon was

244 Life Cycles and Renewal back teaching as if nothing had happened. I felt sorry Normandy Peninsula. An operation that big couldn’t for her and really tried to pay attention to class, even possibly be kept a secret. I thought to myself that Tom though the windows were open and warm June air was must have been killed in rehearsal for the invasion. D- drifting in with the smell of the ocean and fried clams Day had arrived. At school everybody was excited and from Doane’s restaurant. could only talk about the news. When I got to math The Tuesday of the last week of class, I was up early class, Mrs. Boyce was standing silently in front. After and all excited about the prospect of getting ready to everyone was seated and quiet, she took a pointer in move up to the farm for the summer. When I got her hand and pointed to the blackboard. She had down to the kitchen, I found that everybody else was written in large handwriting across the whole board, up, too, and the radio was blaring away. Reports were “June 6, 1944; don’t you EVER forget this date!” and just coming in about the huge invasion of the believe me, I never have. W

A Noted Military Man: Corporal Mitchell Red Cloud Jerry Severson

could spin a yarn about noted military leaders in be told to fire; they fired and fought, knowing their Iour history—men like Washington, Grant, Lee, lives depended upon stopping these bastards. Crazy Horse, Chief Joseph, Eisenhower, Patton, In battle engagements, only some of the troops fire MacArthur, Nimitz, Schwartzkopf; there have been their weapons effectively. The reasons for this relate to many. But those guys have had their stories told over personal fears. One is the fear of giving your position and over. I am going to tell you, instead, about a dirt- face soldier. I hope you are familiar with the Korean War, fought as a United Nations police action during the early 1950s. If you are, you can relate to this story about Corporal Mitchell Red Cloud—a Winnebago (Ho- Chunk) Indian from Jackson County, Wisconsin, who fought in World War II before heading for “The Land of Morning Calm.” The way this action came about was that late in 1950, the Chinese entered the war in support of their communist North Korean allies. U.N. troops support- ing the South Koreans had pushed the North Koreans up to the Chinese border on the Yalu River. The reaction from the Chinese was to pour in masses of troops to help push the U.N. troops south—back to the neutral 38th parallel, or off the peninsula entirely. Red Cloud’s unit was positioned on a ridge right in the way of the Chinese/North Korean southern advance, near the town of Chonghykon. It was November 5. Orders were, “Hold positions; keep the commies back until the U.N. troops re-form and regroup into stronger units.” Well, that order was a hell of a lot easier to give than to carry out. Most times, that’s how it is during fire-fight battles. away, which would draw enemy return fire. Another is “Walking Soldiers” Imagine what happened. Green Chinese lack of confidence about hitting the enemy. Some are statues at Korean War communist troops dressed in baggy, quilted, dull afraid of weapon failure or jamming. A few hold back Memorial, circa 2000. Washington, D.C. (By khaki uniforms, were given the order to advance on for a last-ditch, life-and-death, direct threat. In this fight, Louise Randall-Winger). any and all U.N. positions. They all looked alike, and it was the last-ditch, life-or-death battle—fight or die. swarmed toward the battle lines like a horde of army The commies didn’t seem to have much of a plan, ants. Every damned weapon had to be fired, thrown, but because of their numbers, they were succeeding. and pitched at them to get them to stop. Either They simply poured return fire at every puff of smoke damned brave or disciplined damned hard into on the ridge from the U.N. positions. (It should be obedience, they kept coming. Oblivious to their noted that flash suppressors, mounted on gun barrels numbers being knocked down by fire from Red to hide smoke and flashes, were not yet in use). Men Cloud’s unit, they relentlessly moved forward, from were being hit in the upper body as they raised up to rock to bush, crawling and clambering up the hill. fire down the slope. Rifle grenades, hand-thrown grenades, machine guns, Red Cloud’s unit was being torn apart. Dead men rifles and pistols were fired at will. GI’s didn’t have to lay slumped and crumpled all along the fire line. The

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number of wounded was growing at an alarming rate. Cloud, his unit could hear fire coming from new Ammo was running low. Add to this that the fighting directions—to the east and west. Chinese who had on both flanks was diminishing. The U.N. units to the overrun the flanks were closing in on the firing they left and right of them were soon quiet. Nobody could hear coming from the Red Cloud ridge battle. needed to be told what that meant. The Chinese had Twice the shooting stopped, but only for a short overrun their flank-position protection and would time before it started up again. Then it became less soon be swarming around behind them. Escape would and less frequent. There was not a dry eye, and not a be impossible. They had to retreat and rejoin rear cuss word was left in the gasping-for-air mouths of units that would have artillery support in place to help those who were using all their strength in the stop the enemy advance. Where the hell were the retreating dash—getting away to a regrouping position planes? The sky was overcast, but there were enough of that could be strengthened and reinforced. There were the enemy out there so that the U.N.-ers should be prayers, aloud and mumbled. able to hit ’em in the dark. It got deathly quiet back on the ridge. Then they Corporal Red Cloud was not the ranking heard what must have been the cheer of victory yelled noncommissioned officer, but he was a few years older by the commies. It was over—but it had been a than his buddies, and battle-experienced. He took successful retreat because of the rear-guard fight. command. In a quick decision, he said, “No way in Regrouped U.N. troops, under artillery and air hell can we make it back fast enough to outrun the cover, retook the ridgeline. What they found were Chinese. I’ll hold them off till the rest of you get back many enemy dead. More than twenty were lying or out of here. Tell ’em back in the rear that we’ve kicked slumped where they had collapsed. They were the butt up here, but we’re still getting ours kicked, big ones that had climbed up the ridge close to Mitch. time.” That’s what they called him. Soldiers would say, His unit took off in retreat. They left nearly “Mitch the Indian—God he was a fighter”; “That everything behind. About a third were dead and Indian was a tall dude—a real man”; things like that. another third were wounded and being helped back, Burial reports could only guess at the number he pulled and carried. It was a hell of a mess. Yelling; had wounded. There was blood everywhere on that screaming; there was no time and no medics to help hillside, ours and theirs. Mitch was found where he stop the pain. Every man was at his limit of had dragged his wounded body. Legs shot up, he endurance—every man except one. Red Cloud was in propped himself in a clump of saplings (he probably command of himself and seemingly deaf to the thanked the Great Spirit for them), while he fired his carnage taking place around him. As his buddies last rounds of cover fire. He died there with multiple retreated, he could be heard firing up and down the wounds. ridge. He was making the advancing enemy think the Did Corporal Red Cloud lay down his life for the unit was still in place. No doubt tormented thoughts liberty of his country, his homeland, and the world, in were going through the minds of the guys in retreat. this case? You’d better believe it. Was he loyal? Did he Almost surely, if they were not needed to help the pay the ultimate price for the liberty and freedom of wounded, some would have turned back to help the his comrades? You’d better believe it. Was he a good rear-guard fight. None did. buddy? The best! Getting farther from the action created by Red He was posthumously awarded the highest military decoration. As some would say, he “won” the Congressional Medal of Honor. I don’t think you can say he won anything, but he sure proved a hell of a lot. Steve’s Song Mitchell Red Cloud, Nellie’s son, was a great warrior; Deborah L. Ringdahl he makes us remember that freedom is not free. A park on Indian Hill in La Crosse, Wisconsin, is named in his honor, as are the Pow-wow ceremonial The languid dusk of summer sets in shade grounds east of Black River Falls, Wisconsin. Roads are and rocks a boat to soothe the sailor’s day named in his honor. Military facilities have been a cradle spent for lust of man’s true dream named in his honor, in Korea and the United States. His latest honor was the naming of a navy ship after to reach the sea and meet the beacon’s call. him, in July of 1999. Yet now the gale is strong in tempest rage Without a doubt, he earned much honor, and so set the halyard free and reef the sails his spirit brought it back to his people, to his homeland. W and trim the sheet for angle to the wind. Now hold the helm and steer her by the chart, beware the shoals and turn your ship abeam Message on the abutment at the Korean War Memorial, April 2000. to beat this weather leg and harbour safe. Washington, D.C. (By David J. Marcou).

246 Life Cycles and Renewal

Tears Shed by Men Father Robert Cook

have always had a fascination for tears shed by men. The tour started on the fourth floor and led II remember the first time I saw a man cry. It was at downward from floor to floor, downward from the the graveside of his five-year-old son, my cousin, who ascent of the Nazis, downward from the rise of Hitler, died of appendicitis. downward from the pogroms, the incarceration of the I remember the first time I saw a priest cry. He was Jews and other “undesirables,” downward to the death my pastor, Monsignor Peter Pape, and it happened on camps. the day of his retirement, which coincided with my We witnessed multimedia presentations: graduation day from grade school. photographs and videos, movies and displays I remember seeing tears on the face of my father depicting the degradation and the heroism of which when the UW-La Crosse band, then known as the the human spirit is capable. At the end, we came to a Marching Chiefs, led the Oktoberfest Parade down Main final video documentary on a large screen. Images and Street. I have seen the tears of a man at his first Packer the words of survivors were portrayed. A woman in a game at Lambeau Field, when the large Packer flag was thick Polish accent described the appearance of her carried by a runner leading the team onto the field. American liberator. “I said to him, ‘Are you sure you Although of different types, all of these seem to me want to help us? We are Jews.’ After what seemed a to be wholesome sets of tears. lengthy pause, he responded, ‘I too am a Jew!’ Now do Last month I toured the Holocaust Museum in you know what? Today he is my husband.” Washington, D.C., with a close friend who is also a I had been conscious of some movement to my left. priest. Some would call Jim hard, cynical, even Jim was wiping tears from his face. It’s the first time I objective, in his assessment of things. Analytical is an had seen him cry in the thirty-eight years I’ve known adjective that some might use to describe him. I know him. It, too, was a very wholesome set of tears! W him first as a friend.

Thistles, 2001. La Crosse,WI (By Steve Londre).

247 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

Seasons of My Mother’s Life: In Honor of Verna Voegele Belinda Weinberg

The sheer simplicity You had been flexible, And beauty of your life Quietly sacrificed all, Is like the quiet splendor For your husband and family, Of the weeping willow and its strife. But you still stood tall.

Your delicate beauty, flexibility and grace, Now I am a grown adult, Like the spreading weeping willow, And you are still like a tree so stout. Shaded, sheltered and comforted me, But I can’t avoid what I found out: As you helped me to live, love and even to glow. Events would still have come about.

In the spring, just as the willow sends nourishing fluid I begin to see your leaves fall out. Up from deep within its roots to a new bud, Your branches have no more clout. In April you gave birth and sent me nourishment My sisters didn’t have to point it out. From deep within your breast and blood. Your memory’s going, there is no doubt.

Nestled on the farm by the lake, Your eyes look at me, all full of doubt. When I was just a little tot I don’t think you know what I’m about. You sewed most of my clothes, “You’re forgetting me,” I shout! And your branches cradled me a lot. I’ll have to find my own route.

Late at night, after cooking and cleaning, Still, like the brilliant golden colors You rocked me gently in the breeze. Of autumn leaves before they fall, I’d fall asleep with your gentle touch, Your sudden golden laughter Knowing you’d take care of all my needs. Is precious and cheers us all.

When the winds blew harder, Like those few precious leaves Your leaves swayed like the seas, Still clinging to the branches, All wrapped around me, You have a few golden memories Giving me a gentle squeeze. Still clinging to your senses.

When animals threatened me, Like the solid tree trunk You protected me from the dogs and bees, Swaying in the gentle breeze, By a swishing of your leaves. Your limbs move freely, I never even had to say please. And still give me a welcome squeeze.

When summer came and the sun shone too brightly, But when the bright sun glows, You shaded me from all harm. Shade me? You don’t know how to bother When the rain pelted me like knives, When the rain cloud shows. You wrapped me in your arm. Now, I have to help you find that cover.

When the wind blew me off-course, When the cold wind blows, You brought me back to the farm. You lose one leaf and then another. Then, when I saw a bright bird, Tumbling down, each leaf flows You helped me to show my charm. Silently, one on top the other.

When I soared to lofty heights, With each leaf, I slide deeper to the lows. Your solid roots showed no distress. For I hardly recognize my mother. You simply hugged me, smiled, How steadily your memory goes. And wished me all the best. Your mind, like the ground, is all a clutter.

In the autumn, your delicate flexible branches In an unexpected gust of wind, Bent even lower to the ground, as it appeared You fall and break a branch. You would never get that house of your own, We all gather round, and with surgery, Nor see your brothers and sisters, as you had feared. Help you take a stance.

248 Life Cycles and Renewal

But now you go so very slow. What autumn does to the tree, You can’t seem to put one foot in front of the other. Alzheimer’s has done to thee. Since Alzheimer’s has no foes, Then winter set upon the tree All I can do is look at you and shudder. And God brought peace to thee.

Late autumn is upon us, You have waited so long for this reward. And you can no longer walk. Now God will nourish thee. Your branches lie so barren now, For in Heaven, it is always spring and summer, And you can barely talk. And God has all His Glory for you to see.

Yet I try to keep you company. Spring, summer, autumn, winter, Always hoping there will be For all these memories, I still love thee. Still a moment in your memory I will never forget you Mother, When you will know—It is me. Till we meet again in Heaven, when you will— remember me.

“In the spring, just as the willow sends nourishing fluid Up from deep within its roots to a new bud, In April you gave birth and sent me nourishment From deep within your breast and blood.”

One of the reasons the photographer’s mother loves this day:The John and Lynn Sattler wedding party, April 14, 2001.Town of Onalaska,WI (By David J. Marcou, Lynn’s brother).

249 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

The Best Valentine Ever Danice (Stanton) Taylor

t was Valentine’s Day. After I’d finished classes, I delivery. He assembled the linens and extracted the Idecided to buy some pink and red carnations at a medical equipment he needed for the delivery from local flower shop to give to Rosena to mark the his medical bag. When the baby was delivered, it was occasion. With the flowers behind my back, I knocked stillborn. It was taken away and buried. I never saw the on Great-Grandma’s door. I could hardly wait to baby, nor do I know where it was buried. This may surprise her with the flowers. After a few moments, she sound strange by today’s standards, but that was how answered the door and invited me in. things were done back then,” Great-Grandma “Happy Valentine’s Day!” I said cheerily, as I explained as a couple of tears welled up in the corners entered the house. A smile spread across her lips as I of her eyes. presented her with the flowers. As she searched for a After a pause, she continued. “I conceived our vase to put the carnations in, Great-Grandma said, second child a year later. The second pregnancy went “Valentine’s Day holds a very special memory for me.” much more smoothly—no illness to speak of,” Great- She placed the flowers in a crystal vase with some Grandma said, as her voice lightened. “On the night of water and set them on the kitchen table. Then we went February 13, I went into labor. The doctor delivered a into the living room and settled into a couple of baby boy in the early morning hours of February 14. comfortable chairs for a visit. Virgil and I named him Daniel Charles. We were both “I lost my first child,” Great-Grandma recalled. I overwhelmed with joy at the arrival of our son.” could detect a touch of sadness in her voice. “I was Relating the event even decades later, Great-Grandma’s sick throughout the pregnancy. When I cooked meals, face was alight with happiness. the smells would nearly make me sick to my stomach, “It was hard, but Virgil tore himself away from me especially when I cooked meat. Virgil and I lived on and the baby and tended to the morning chores. He the farm at the time. I continued to do my housework milked our twenty-four cows by himself that morning and helped out with the chores as much as I could.” and took the milk to the creamery. When he arrived “I carried the baby full term,” Great-Grandma there, Virg announced to the workers and other continued. “When the time came for it to be delivered, farmers who had gathered to drop off their milk, ‘My the doctor was sent for. A female neighbor helped me wife gave me the best Valentine’s Day present ever this along until the doctor came; then she assisted him. morning—a healthy baby boy!’” W The doctor went to the bottom drawer of the dresser, where it was customary to keep the linens for the

A significant part of the Aquinas High School Class of 2001, 2001. La Crosse,WI (By Rachel Linhart).

250 CONCLUSION American Unity

President George W. Bush:“We thank those in uniform, as well.”Iwo Jima statue, April 2000. Adjacent to Arlington (Virginia) National Cemetery (By David J. Marcou). The Melting Pot Is Working Again . . . David J. Marcou

his book went to press just after the tragic events of America at Christmastime 2000. Thus, we hope that all TSeptember 11, 2001, so the book proper does not our readers will learn more about the inner character deal with those events directly. But our book does of America and her people here. suggest how the true Spirit of America manifests itself Journalist Michael Barone recently authored a book most often, and how Americans have battled the odds called The New Americans: How the Melting Pot Can and won wars, World Wars included. Those Work Again, which states that our nation has always manifestations of vision and determination have been made up of diverse peoples. He also notes that in fascinated the classes I teach ever since we began this our history we have gone through periods of great book project in summer 2000, and especially since we unity (like World War II) and disunity (like the Civil changed our title from The Americans to Spirit of War). When disunity is the norm, more of a mosaic is

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at work in America; when unity is the norm, the There are, after all, enough uplifting people around melting pot is at work. To be sure, the words “E and among us, as subjects and/or readers, that we pluribus unum,” which can be seen on the back of the know our book will help save many souls. Readers will modern Lincoln cent, meaning “Out of many, one,” know after reviewing this book that all people can have more meaning today than at any time since express World/Heartland views through World/ World War II. America is a family again. Heartland Voices and Eyes. For instance, many readers What does the future hold for the Spirit of America? will empathize with the story of Patrick Clark, five Heroism, for one thing, just as in the past. As New years old in 1980, and born with spina bifida. If a York’s Cardinal Egan put it, we are not coming from person’s spirit has anything to do with success in life, Ground Zero, but from Ground Hero. Just ask the Patrick is still “keeping on”—enjoying his music. people of Pennsylvania, who learned of American And my students and the other generous, creative heroes who had been in the skies above them on contributors to this book and all of our previous September 11. Or ask the people of New York City and books (because they contribute for no monetary Washington, D.C., who saw many of their finest perish payment, just the satisfaction they get from seeing while they did their duty. In fact, just ask any their name and work published) exemplify why American about heroes these days, and most would Americans have endured as world leaders ever since sing a hymn to all our heroes. As ABC-TV reporter Jim our nation’s entry into World War I in 1917. There are McKay said, “We’ve seen common Americans become patience and ability in this land if one knows where to towering figures; they are our heroes.” look. Often those qualities can be found in New York John Keats, the English Romantic poet who lived City, Washington, D.C., Chicago, and Los Angeles. Just only twenty-six years, though magnificently, wrote in as often, though, they can be found in the smaller an 1819 letter to his brother George and George’s wife, towns and cities of the Heartland. Ambition and Georgiana, “There’s an electric fire in human nature, courage also abound in this land—enough to weather tending to purify, so that among these human a million storms. Native Americans (Indians) taught creatures there is continually some birth of new and still teach us about these things, but especially heroism.” Heroes do emerge today, everywhere in our about patience and courage. Although their land was nation, and this book suggests how some of them live. too often taken from them without permission and Heroes usually live lives that are by turns boisterous seldom with decent payment, they know poetry. They and quiet. Often, they are people we generally don’t believe in the Great Spirit, and they believe in this recognize as heroes, which is sad and great at once. land, the American land, and her people. America has a resilient spirit as well as a Personally, when someone asks why I live my life as compassionate, righteous heart and mind. Our I do, from this day forward, I hope I will always say, national attitude gives Natives and immigrants alike, “Because I believe in God and the Spirit of America.” and people around the world, too, the chances they That spirit has done and will yet do, with God’s help, a need to succeed. Whether people are rich or poor, lot of good for this planet and her people. Look at liberals or conservatives, Jews, Muslims, Christians, how many people, Americans especially, have Buddhists, Mormons, Amish, Jehovah’s Witnesses or sacrificed nearly everything so their families and members of a thousand other religious sects, their friends can live in a better world. Beyond words and spirit is often also strong. The American people will pictures, great as these may be, we must all show our move beyond tragedy, no matter how huge that gratitude in numerous ways to and for all those great tragedy is, to win the spiritual, moral, political, souls who have gone before us, including those who cultural, economic, intellectual, and physical battles left us on September 11 and those who are yet to be. that count—those waged for a lasting world peace. That is the true Spirit of America. In fact, this nation’s spirit is indomitable. Readers All the people who have directly and/or indirectly can appreciate that when they read about Eskimo contributed to this book should be personally thanked children in Alaska, or when they read about an African for what they have done and will yet do by the creative American family from Georgia that continues to prove personnel involved. Their physical, emotional, and the strength of faith, family, individual rights and spiritual presence is a blessing to all. Deceased family potentials, and hope in and love for this one nation, and friends who still inspire us include Tony Skifton, under God. Life does go on, in our churches and Mother Teresa, Tom Elsen, Bert Hardy, the British schools, in our stores, factories, and hospitals, in our James Cameron, Frank Devine, plus students of mine entertainment and among our other loves. Elsewhere, who have died but who left an enduring legacy—Josie other nations are sensing that the Spirit of America is Broadhead, Don La Fleur, Jim and Madge Gustafson, still strong—maybe stronger than ever. Much more Emma Raith, Ruth Simons, Bob Floyd, and Bjorge needs to be said and done about America’s connection Olson. I am also grateful to my parents, who are still with the rest of the world, but this book suggests key very much alive. My extended family of friends and ways for all of us to be inspired and connected. relatives also deserves my personal thanks. We have tried in this book to present, generally, as As for the people who were and/or are most crucial positive a view of the Spirit of America as possible. to our work, thanks to: my son, Matt Marcou, who That hasn’t been as tough a task as one might think. typed the manuscript for LuAnn Gerber to co-edit;

252 Conclusion: American Unity

LuAnn, for assisting me with the job of editing; LuAnn’s Hansen; Charles Gelatt; Ron Wanek; Arthur Hebberd; family, for supporting her efforts; Sue Knopf, for Loralee Clark; and David W. Johns (a creative superbly doing the copyediting and designing of this contributor as well), plus the Harry J. Olson Senior book and its cover; Ray Kline and RC Printing for Citizens Center, the Onalaska Public Library, and printing and seeing to our book’s binding; Sean and Onalaska High School. Also, to the photo and Rebecca Niestrath for publishing it; Steve Kiedrowski for computer businesses, bookstores and libraries that do publicizing it; and the entire staff that assists me with so much for our best interests, we may never be able to my classes at Western Wisconsin Technical College for thank you well enough, but we will continue to try. being there when we need you. In addition, we thank Last but not least, we need to thank the American the individuals and the people and our foreign extended families of others friends for their tremendous who gave a boost to our spirit, abilities, and stamina. morale, especially my students, It may not seem like much including Kay Arenz, Mary to some people for Gagermeier, Jim Rodgers, Americans to pull together Lucas and Lance Weber, Lynn again and again to create Trieloff, Martha Schams, works of substance and Patricia Kendhammer, style; but, in our group’s Dorothy and Warren Stark, case, it still is a great thing Linda Field, David Johnson, for us to see others help us, Deb Albers, and David Klinski, and see, hopefully, many among many, plus the credited others taking the time to and anonymous writers, pick up our books, glance at editors, and photographers them, buy them, and read whose work is in print here; and cherish them for the you all know a lot about faith, rest of their lives. From hope, and love. priests, farmers, We are also thankful to the businessmen, wage earners, families of John and Judy housewives, sons and Whale, Roger and Charlotte daughters of America and Grant, Charles and Christine other nations, to truly Freiberg, Yi Do-Sun and his distinguished individuals wife (Ms. Lee), Lola Steinhoff, who have left their impacts “Home, Sweet Home,”September 16, 2001. Brian and Teri Joe and Julie Besl, Brian Hall, Brenengen farm in Trempealeau,WI (By Steve Kiedrowski). on this book, everything and Sr. Monica Muskat for here essentially began with their pivotal support; Sheila Hardy and the Hulton- writers and photographers who believed in Getty Picture Library for keeping faith with us; Mary themselves and hoped to tell their stories. From small Ann Grossmann, Betty Hyde, and Geeta Sharma-Jensen beginnings have grown great ideas and deeds. for spurring us on to our best work so far; and Amanda Remember: If one righteous and compelling gospel in Lambert for being there when we’ve needed her. the Bible could have been written by a tax collector, Leading institutions we are in debt to are our places then there is hope for us all. It is no coincidence that of worship and schools. All of our churches, temples, that tax collector’s name means “Gift from God.” God mosques, etc., will be thanked by our contributors has given us all so much; what we do with His gifts when- and wherever possible, as will our schools, depends on His grace and our best efforts. which help us keep on learning about our world and Thank you one and all, then, our own micro- the people in it. melting-pot family—every inspiration, contributor, sub- We also thank our donors, for, in addition to this ject, and reader—and let us help achieve lasting peace in book’s creative contributors (who each prepaid for our world, with local, national, and international copies of this book), we also are grateful to: John leadership based on the Spirit of America, forever! W

“From priests, farmers, businessmen, wage earners, housewives, sons and daughters of America and other nations, to truly distinguished individuals who have left their impacts on this book, everything here essentially began with writers and photographers who believed in themselves and hoped to tell their stories. From small beginnings have grown great ideas and deeds.”

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Contributors

Editor’s Note: Many of the contributors to this book have strong ties to Alicia Burgmeier was born in Dubuque, Iowa, and graduated the La Crosse, Wisconsin, area. Thus, locations like La Crosse, the from Holmen (Wisconsin) High School in May of 2001. Before University of Wisconsin (UW), and Western Wisconsin Technical graduation, she worked as a lifeguard at the Holmen Aquatic College (WWTC) are abbreviated for easier reading. Center. She is now enrolled at Arizona State University, majoring in Business and Marketing. Alicia has two younger sisters, Nicole Kimberly Alexander was born in La Crosse in 1959. She and Maggie. In addition to writing, she enjoys swimming, music, graduated from Central High School in 1978, and from WWTC and art. in 1982, with a Printing and Publishing degree. She has one son, Michael. Kimberly works for the Trane Company in La Crosse. In Henri Cartier-Bresson was born in Chanteloup, France, in 1908. addition to photography, Kimberly’s interests include various He studied painting and literature until 1930, then took up and crafts and genealogical research. thoroughly mastered candid, 35mm photography. One of the founders of Magnum Photos, his work has appeared in hundreds Emma Bader was born in La Crosse and graduated from La Farge of publications; but since 1973, he has concentrated on drawing. High School in 1991. She also graduated from the UW-Eau Henri’s 1952 book, The Decisive Moment, is a crucial treatise on Claire with a B.A. degree in Psychology and Criminal Justice. the aesthetics of photojournalism. His work appeared in the Currently, she works for the State of Wisconsin Department of groundbreaking group photo exhibition, “The Family of Man,” Corrections as a probation and parole agent. In addition to directed by Edward Steichen for New York City’s Museum of photography, Emma’s interests include art, playing pool, and Modern Art in 1955. hiking. Mary Elizabeth Carey was born in Iowa and graduated cum laude Dale Barclay was born and raised on a La Crosse County dairy from the University of Northern Iowa with a degree in English farm. He attended Melrose-Mindoro (Wisconsin) High School, Language and Literature. She is a published poet and has lived in and graduated from the UW-Platteville, with a B.S. degree in the La Crosse area for ten years. Mary is a former librarian. Agricultural Mechanics. He works for the Cabinet Factory, Inc., in La Crosse. In addition to writing, Dale enjoys reading books and Annette Chadwick-Fechner was raised in Marshall, Wisconsin, playing tennis. where she graduated from high school. Next, she earned her bachelor’s degree in Political Science from the UW-La Crosse. Don Dean Bennett was born in Brookings, South Dakota, in Annette loves the La Crosse area and lives there with her 1971, and was raised in Wyoming. He attended South Dakota husband, Tom, their new daughter, Mikayla, and their cat, State University and now lives in Onalaska, Wisconsin, with his Bungee. wife, Amy, and their yellow Labrador retriever, Cooper. He works Ursula Chiu was born in Germany, where she taught high at Digi-Print in La Crosse. In addition to a wide variety of school French and English. After immigrating to America, she writing, Don’s interests include camping and golf. His story, “The taught in the Chicago and La Crosse school systems. She raised Last Run,” is his first major publication. three children with her husband, Alec Chiu, a professor from Duane Bennett was born in Canyon City, Colorado, in 1953 and China. In her retirement, Ursula enjoys reading, writing, graduated from Hylandale Academy in Rockland, Wisconsin. He gardening, and woodcarving. Also, she recently completed the now lives in Rockland and operates Bennett’s Building Company, manuscript for her book of memoirs, concentrating on her a construction business. He is married to Shelaine, a real estate childhood in pre-World War II Germany. agent, and they have two daughters—Kassandra, a WWTC student, Shelley R. Clark was born and raised in Perth, Western Australia, and Katina, a teacher in Maryland. Duane loves writing short-short and has traveled in England, Europe, and Asia. She is married to stories and anecdotes and has a down-to-earth sense of humor. John Clark, a Trane Company employee, and they have two Helen Bolterman, now retired, was employed as an daughters. Shelley took up photography as a hobby and truly administrative assistant for the Onalaska School District for enjoys it. twenty-one years. Born in Omaha, Nebraska, she has lived most Joyce Clason was born in Burlington, Wisconsin, where she of her life in the La Crosse area. She and her husband, Wesley, graduated from St. Mary’s High School (now called Catholic have three living children: Rodney, Janet, and Jean. In addition Central High School) in 1951. In 1954 she married Ralph to writing—she has been published often in Good Old Days and Clason, and they have six grown children, and eight grand- also has published her autobiography, Memories—Helen enjoys children. The Clasons own an auto dealership in La Crosse and traveling all around the United States and to Norway, her are very active in the community. They were Commodore and ancestral homeland. First Mate for that city’s 1991 Riverfest. In addition to socializing Gerald A. Bonsack, a professional engineer, was one of 3,500 and writing, Joyce enjoys canoeing, cross-country skiing, and photographers selected worldwide to shoot for the Dawn of the traveling the world. Millennium book project. Three of his photos were used. His Robert Cook, O.S.F., has been pastor of La Crosse’s St. Joseph photographs have also been published in other books, calendars, the Workman Cathedral since 1991. Previously, he was chief of newspapers, brochures, used on TV, and were even on a text panel staff for Diocese of La Crosse Bishop John Paul. Born in La at the Carnegie Science Center. He was the featured artist in the Crosse, he attended Cathedral Grade School and Aquinas High premier issue of Kaleidoscope Review. Jerry has traveled extensively School there. He graduated from Holy Cross Seminary in 1961 and lives in Onalaska, Wisconsin. He has two grown children, with a degree in Philosophy and from St. Francis Seminary for Jason and Dee. Theology in 1965. He was ordained soon after. He is chairman Susan Brewer was born and raised in Chicago. She graduated of the Franciscan Skemp Foundation and a member of the from Elmhurst (Illinois) College in 1987 with a B.S. degree in Aquinas Foundation Board, the United Way Board, and the Recreation Business Management and Physical Education. She Rotary Club. He has four brothers: Arthur, Richard, Gary and also did graduate work in the area of Health Education. She is a Kevin. In addition to pastoral care and writing, Father Cook homemaker who lives in Onalaska, Wisconsin, with her enjoys fly-fishing. husband, Tom, and their three children: Megan, Jack, and Joyce Crothers moved from Freeport, New York, where she was William. In addition to photography, Sue’s interests include born, to the La Crosse area thirty-five years ago. Married to Bill, outdoor activities, reading, and public health issues. she is the mother of four and grandmother of five. She has been

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published locally and is currently transcribing her great- works for La Crosse County as a social worker. He lives with his grandfather’s Civil War diary. In addition to writing, Joyce’s long-time companion, Mary Nelson, and has two children, interests include soap-making, quilting, knitting, spinning, Carrie, twenty-seven, of Madison, Wisconsin, and Adam, twenty- painting, camping, and gardening. three, of Onalaska, Wisconsin. In addition to photography, Jim enjoys canoeing, hiking, biking, traveling and spending time at a Kris Cvikota was born in Adams, Wisconsin, and received her cabin in Crawford County, Wisconsin. B.S. degree from the UW-La Crosse in Instrumental Music Education in 1990. She works for Webteam Development in La Judith Della Fox is now a single person, with four strong sons Crosse. She is married to Curtis, and they have two sons, Jacob and grandchildren. Her work is “on the road” sales, with all the and Samuel. Their family lives on a hundred-plus-year-old farm adventures that entails. She’s traveled the world to find near Barre Mills, Wisconsin. In addition to photography, Kris inspiration for her poems, songs, and children’s and adult books. enjoys the outdoors, music, and reading. Judy lives in Onalaska, Wisconsin, near beautiful Lake Onalaska. Stephanie Dabrowski was born and raised in Milwaukee. She Rebekah Garner was born and raised in La Crosse. She graduated from Elmhurst (Illinois) College in 1988 with a B.S. graduated from Coulee Region Christian High School in 1998, degree in Business and Art. She is a homemaker who lives in and from WWTC, with a Surgical Technician degree, in 2000. She Onalaska, Wisconsin, with her husband, John, and their three currently works as a surgical technician for Franciscan Skemp children, Samuel, Kathlyn and Elisabeth. In addition to Healthcare in La Crosse. In addition to photography, Bekah photography, Stephanie’s interests include exercise, outdoor enjoys gardening and other outdoor activities. activities, and quilting. She and Susan Brewer are sisters-in-law. LuAnn Gerber is a transplanted Nebraskan living in Onalaska, Marjorie (Marshall) Davison was born in Vernon County, Wisconsin, with her husband and two sons. She has a bachelor’s Wisconsin, and was raised on farms in that area. She graduated degree in Chemistry and a master’s in Microbiology, and was a from Hillsboro High School and studied keypunching at WWTC yeast physiologist for a Wisconsin brewer before choosing to following work at the Thorp Finance Corporation. After she and become a stay-at-home mom. Because of her lifelong interest in her husband, a minister, moved to La Crosse, she worked for the La mysteries and the science of detection, LuAnn is finally trying her Crosse Tribune, for twenty-two years in its accounting department. hand at writing what she loves to read, and has completed her Marjorie has three living children. In addition to writing, she enjoys first mystery novel. cross-stitching and visiting with people at the Harry J. Olson Senior Daniel Green, a full-blooded Ho-Chunk (Winnebago) Indian, Center. She is a member of Asbury United Methodist Church. was born in Chicago in 1956. He received his bachelor’s degree Mary Claire Fehring was born in Rockford, Iowa. With husband in Social Work and his master’s in Education from the UW-La Bob, she has had three sons, one daughter, and, at last count, has Crosse, and is now an adjunct faculty member there. He teaches six granddaughters. She is a retired dietician who does not like to classes in Understanding Human Differences and the History of cook. Mary claims to be afraid of heights, but doesn’t mind Indian Education and has designed Native American recruitment flying to warmer climates in winter. Also, she doesn’t like to rise and retention plans for UW-L. He is married to Laura Schwalbe, early, but still enjoys good clocks and writing. and they have two children, Beverly and Clayton. Dan’s interests include social activism, environmentalism, and logo/mascot Jean Ferris was born in Puritan, Michigan, and attended school issues, all relating to Indian affairs; he likes to work with Indian there and in Ironwood, Michigan, until high school. She earned beads as well. her L.P.N. degree from the Upper Michigan School for Practical Nursing Education and worked as a practical nurse in Barbara A. Hammes completed her nurse-midwifery master’s Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and Puritan, Michigan. She was married degree at the University of Illinois-Medical Center in Chicago in to Roger Ferris for thirty-eight years, until his death, and they 1975. Since that time, she has practiced full-scope nurse- have eleven children. For many years, the family operated Ferris midwifery in Indiana, Washington, and Wisconsin, attending Shoe Repair in La Crosse. Jean’s interests include her births in hospitals, birthing centers and homes. Her most recent grandchildren, photography and knitting. position was teaching obstetrics for the Women’s Health Nurse Practitioner Program at the UW-Madison. During the winter of Steven Fisher was born in 1966 in La Crosse. The son of a 1999-2000, she took a leave of absence to join Doctors of the physician, he attended State Road School, Lincoln Junior High, World-USA in Kosovo. Barb and her husband, Bud, have four and then Central High School. Graduating in 1985, he next children and live in Onalaska, Wisconsin. attended the UW-Madison. Growing up in Greenwald Coulee, Gordon H. Hampel was born and raised in Milwaukee and near the forest, influenced the entire family, with his older graduated from the UW-Madison. He is retired, but still writes, brother taking up many outdoor activities. Steve followed his oil paints, designs, makes miniatures, and rides trains with his brother’s lead and also began finding nature interesting. He says wife, Elizabeth. He has exhibited Victorian and Palladian the diverse physical character of the Coulee Region makes it a dollhouses, including one at the House on the Rock. Daughter nice place to live. He now works as a copyeditor for the La Roberta and granddaughters Kim and Kari live in the Phoenix Crosse Tribune. suburbs. Daughter Louise is married and teaches in the Melrose- Bridget Flood was born and raised in La Crosse, in a large Mindoro, Wisconsin, area. Catholic family. She graduated from Holy Trinity Grade School Bert Hardy was born in London, England, in 1913. After leaving and Aquinas High School. At present, she works for La Crosse school at age fourteen, he worked as a delivery boy and lab County, at the Juvenile Detention Facility. Bridget enjoys union assistant for a chemist who developed pictures. By the time he activities, reading, writing and fishing. She has two grown was twenty-five, his work was appearing in Britain’s premier daughters and one grandson. picture magazine, Picture Post, where he became chief photo- Robert A. (Bob) Floyd lived in the La Crosse area for twenty-five grapher in 1946 after serving heroically as an Army photographer years until he passed away in May 2001. He was born and raised in World War II. After the magazine closed in 1957, he took many in Kansas and lived in Springfield, Missouri, and Tulsa, memorable advertising photos, opened his own printing lab, and Oklahoma, before coming north. Bob retired from Allied Signal bought a farm. His work, like Cartier-Bresson’s, appeared in “The Laminates and resided with his wife, Sibyl, in Caledonia, Family of Man” exhibit. Bert died in 1995 and will long be Minnesota. They have two grown children. remembered as one of the foremost proponents of candid, 35mm James Francis Fox was born in 1950 and graduated from camerawork. Monroe (Wisconsin) Black Hawk High School in 1968 and the Donna Harris was born and raised in the rural Midwest, where UW-Platteville in 1972, with a Sociology degree. He currently she resides with her husband. She has two grown sons. Her

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interests, other than writing, include gardening with rocks and University, and was a Knight Fellow at Stanford University. flowers as well as vegetable gardening. She also enjoys music, Eugene has won many national and local awards for his work. In reading, mosaics, and cooking. Faith and family are at the center addition to writing, he enjoys listening to music, reading novels, of Donna’s life and well-being. and working on his computer. John G. Harris was born in rural Camp Douglas, Wisconsin, and Steve Kiedrowski is an artist and writer from Trempealeau, graduated from New Lisbon High School in 1973. He also Wisconsin, who has two sons, Ryan and Andy. He works for attended Madison Area Technical College. He currently works at Empire Screen Printing in Onalaska, Wisconsin, as an art Leer Manufacturing, which makes “all the slanted little iceboxes inspector, and has also done public relations work there. In you see in front of the Kwik Trip stores,” John says. He lives in addition, he is a feature writer for the Winona (Minnesota) Post. New Lisbon, Wisconsin. Steve also devotes time to political cartoons and has illustrated Denise Havlik-Jensen was born in La Crosse in 1961. She numerous books as a freelance artist. graduated from Aquinas High School in 1979, and from WWTC David “Tony” Kiedrowski is an avid photographer from with a Personnel Technician degree in 1981 and an R.N. degree Trempealeau, Wisconsin, who graduated from Trempealeau in 1992. She works as an R.N. for the Hillview Health Care High School. He also attended the Buffalo County Teachers Center in La Crosse. Denise is married, with one daughter. In College in Alma, Wisconsin, and WWTC. Tony comes from a addition to photography, she enjoys travel and other outdoor family of artists and has owned and operated Jet View Aerial activities, especially in northern Wisconsin. Photography for twenty-three years. Tony is Steve’s brother. Their Kent Hebel grew up on a traditional family farm near Poynette, maternal grandfather was David A. Marcou Sr. Wisconsin. He received a Police Science degree from Madison Doris Kirkeeng was born in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin, and Area Technical College in 1986. He currently works for a bank in graduated from Horicon (Wisconsin) High School and St. Mary’s the La Crosse area. In addition to writing, Kent enjoys the School of Nursing in Milwaukee; she also completed graduate outdoors, reading and spending time with his wife, Louise. courses at the UW-La Crosse. She has traveled to Guam, the Sue Hildahl, a Central High School graduate, has lived in La Philippines and Europe. Her interests include coin, plate, and Crosse, her whole life. She is married to Steve, and they have two periodical collecting; oil painting; and writing. Doris has four teenage sons and one teenage daughter. Sue is employed as a married children and eleven grandchildren. paraprofessional for Southern Bluffs School. She enjoys watching Biographical details for Ron Kittleson were unavailable at press- all of her children play basketball and spends her extra time in time. the darkroom developing old pictures from her past and also new ones of her family. Other interests include boating, making Yvonne Klinkenberg was born in Rochester, Minnesota, quit crafts, such as memory books, and stamping. school at age sixteen, and married Amos Klinkenberg in 1947. She has six sons and three daughters. At age sixty-four, she Elizabeth (Betty) Holey has always been a storyteller. She took a received her GED, and at seventy-two, she still loves to learn. year of creative writing at the University of North Carolina and Best known as a poet, Yvonne enjoys writing about any subject earned two university degrees. She planned to write that springs to mind, and she is capable of writing a poem to suit professionally, but instead got married and raised a family with any occasion with just a moment’s notice. In addition to writing her husband, Jim, and worked as a nutritionist. Betty is retired, and her family, she also enjoys travel and photography. but still likes writing and also very much enjoys spending time with her family, especially her Chinese granddaughter Anna Li. Thomas Kress was born in 1941 in Tomah, Wisconsin, and now lives in Sparta, Wisconsin. He is the great-grandson of John Robert J. Hurt, principal of Architectural Environments, is an George and Eva Kress of Bavaria, Germany. He served in the U.S. architect, land planner, and photographer. He has had a genuine Army working on the Atlas Missile system. With his wife, Karen, love for the land and, thus, landscape photography, for more he founded an advertising/publishing company, the Foxxy than thirty-five years. He has photographed natural and manmade environments in North America, Europe and Asia. Shopper, in 1975, which they sold to Lee Enterprises. He won an More recently, he has focused his efforts on creative aerial award for his management of Fort McCoy’s newspaper, the photography, using a gyrostabilizer and a medium-format Tiziard, and has served as president of the Wisconsin Advertisers camera system. Bob directed a large-scale grant project for the Group and the Association of the U.S. Army, MG Robert D. State of Minnesota and published the Blufflands Design Manual McCoy Chapter. Tom owns two businesses; his American Home as a result. He and his wife, Marilyn, live in Dakota, Minnesota. Center, a residential contracting company, is in La Crosse. David W. Johns was born in a suburb of St. Louis, Missouri, and David Larsen was born and raised on Staten Island, New York. graduated from Hickman High School in Columbia, Missouri, in He graduated from Onalaska High School in 1979 and served 1974. He also graduated from Wooster (Ohio) College with a for twenty-one years in the 32nd Engineers Company of the B.A. degree in History in 1978; the University of Missouri with an Wisconsin National Guard. He is a Desert Storm veteran who M.A. degree in Journalism in 1984; and Ottawa (Kansas) Uni- lives in La Crosse and currently works for Everbrite La Crosse, a versity with a B.A. degree in Computer Information Systems in maker of neon signs. In addition to photography, Dave enjoys 1999. He was a journalist in Seoul from 1984 to 1989, and has baseball, other sports, and travel. also lived in Germany, Spain, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Carl Liebig has taught in Alaska, Oklahoma, Wisconsin, Russia, Oregon. He has been a computer programmer in Kansas City and American Samoa. Since his retirement in 1989 as an since 1996. In addition to computers and writing, Dave enjoys elementary school teacher and administrator, he has been running, swimming, tennis, basketball, travel, and foreign directing tours in the United States, Canada, and Mexico for a languages. Milwaukee travel company. Also, Carl helps his wife, Nelda, with Nancy L. Kaminski lives in Eagle River, Wisconsin, with her research and photography in addition to doing some writing on three cats. Nancy graduated in May 2001 from WWTC with a his own. Graphic Arts degree. If her dreams come true, this writer will Nelda Johnson Liebig has taught elementary school in meld with the artist/photographer to create a promising new Wisconsin, Alaska, American Samoa, and Russia. She has seen career. Nancy’s already made a great beginning. many of her children’s stories published, and her novel Carrie Eugene Kane, a twenty-year journalism veteran, has written his and the Crazy Quilt received a Distinguished Service Award from Metro column for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel for the past six the State Historical Society of Wisconsin, in 1997. Her Carrie years. He is a native of Philadelphia, graduated from Temple trilogy is based on events surrounding the Peshtigo fire of 1871.

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In addition to writing and travel, Nelda also enjoys hiking and Thomas A. Marcou was born and raised in La Crosse, where he spending time with her family. graduated from Aquinas High School. An Air Force veteran, he Rachel Linhart was born and raised in La Crosse and graduated graduated from Columbia College in Columbia, Missouri, with a from Aquinas High School in 2001. She is currently attending bachelor’s degree in Accounting, while in the service. He and his the UW-Stout to be an industrial designer. In addition to wife, Joy, have lived in many parts of this country, including on photography and design, Rachel’s interests include volleyball, both coasts, and in England. He and Joy are employed as federal skating, art, reading, hanging out with her friends, going to accountants in Arlington, Virginia. He has one son, Stephen, movies, hiking, and having fun, generally. who recently bowled an 806 series. In addition to photography, Tom enjoys exercise, home repairs and travel. Mel Loftus was born and raised in San Francisco and graduated from the Universities of San Francisco and Utah. He earned an Victoria Marcou was born and raised in La Crosse, where she M.S. degree at Utah in Management. He’s written for comedians graduated from Central High School. She is married to Daniel J. Joan Rivers and Phyllis Diller, as well as the Wall Street Journal, Marcou, and they have two grown children, Nathan (married to Saturday Evening Post, and Reader’s Digest, and has published a Anne) and Christa. Vicki works for the J.C. Penney Company in book, You Know You’re a Workaholic, If… . Mel is married to La Crosse. In addition to photography, she enjoys decorating her Sheila, a Viterbo University graduate. They have two grown home and family gatherings. children, both living near Washington, D.C. Bernard McGarty, O.S.F, S.T.D, a priest of the Diocese of La Steven Londre was born in 1966 in Racine, Wisconsin. In 1984, Crosse, is Visiting Scholar for Ecumenical Studies at Viterbo he graduated from Racine Lutheran High School. He received his University. He earned a Doctor of Sacred Theology from B.A. degree in Business and Marketing from Concordia College Angelicum University in Rome, writing John Donne as a Persuasive in Mequon, Wisconsin, in 1988. Currently, he works as a route Preacher. Other publications are: Meditations for Lenten Weekdays sales representative for Frito-Lay. Steve has lived in three states and Biking and Canoeing in Western Wisconsin. Father McGarty and has moved nine times. In addition to photography, he has served as pastor and assistant pastor in many western enjoys sports, art, and spending time with his family (wife Karen Wisconsin parishes—including in La Crosse, Wausau, and Eau and sons Steven II and Andrew). Claire—in addition to being the former editor of the diocesan newspaper, Times Review. Orval Lund was born and raised on the prairie, in Lancaster, Minnesota. He graduated from North Dakota State University Samuel McKay has lived in the La Crosse area since 1973, and (B.S.-Business Education); Moorhead State University (B.A.- retired to Chaseburg, Wisconsin, in 1987. Born in Massachusetts, English); the University of Arizona (M.A.- English); and Vermont he came west to attend the UW-Madison, where he graduated in College (M.F.A.-Poetry). He has been a professor in the English 1954. Following his service in the U.S. Army, he became a retail Department of Winona (Minnesota) State University since 1968. bookseller. Sam has always wanted to write and be published, He and his wife, Michele, have two grown sons: John, who is and is working on his second book manuscript, a novel based on married to Niki Wagner, and Matthew. In addition to teaching his military service. The other manuscript is complete, in first and writing, Orval enjoys playing tennis and fly-fishing. draft form, and describes his family’s cross-country tour by car in 1948. La Vonne Mainz lives in Onalaska, Wisconsin. She and her late husband, John, raised five children—Karen, Lois, Richard, Robert John Medinger has been mayor of La Crosse since 1997, having and Randy. At age fifty, she studied art and became an award- been reelected in April of 2001. He was born and raised in that winning artist. She is also a published writer and poet. She has city, where his father, Donald, served on the Common Council written, illustrated, and published five Grandma Bon’s Coloring for many years. The mayor graduated from Aquinas High School, Storybooks, dedicated to her grandchildren, and has also written a and from the UW-La Crosse with a bachelor’s degree in Political children’s novel, The Pinkelton Girls. La Vonne has contributed Science and History and a master’s degree in Education. He writings to five other books, including Spirit of La Crosse. served for sixteen years in the State Assembly, and, after that, as an aide to U.S. Senator Russ Feingold. Mayor Medinger is Daniel J. Marcou was born and raised in La Crosse. He married to Dee, and they have two children: Emily, seventeen, graduated from Aquinas High School in 1971 and then from and Johnathan, sixteen. Madison Area Technical College with a Police Science degree. Currently in charge of training for the La Crosse Police Carol Michaelson lives in Onalaska, Wisconsin, with her Department, he is a highly decorated officer of twenty-seven husband, Mark. She graduated from Luther Hospital’s X-Ray years who wrote a history of the department for its 120th Technology program in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and from the anniversary. Dan lives with his wife, Vicki, in Holmen, Chippewa Valley (Wisconsin) Technical College’s Ultrasound Wisconsin. He is Matt Marcou’s godfather and uncle; he and Technology program. She works for Gundersen Lutheran Dave are brothers. Medical Center in La Crosse as an ultrasonographer. Carol and Mark have four sons and two grandchildren. David J. Marcou was born and raised in La Crosse, graduating from St. James Grade School and then Aquinas High School. He Mark Michaelson was born and raised in Ladysmith, Wisconsin, also graduated from the UW-Madison (B.A.-History); the and graduated from Mount Senario College there with a University of Iowa (M.A.-American Studies); and the University of bachelor’s degree in Education and Science. He served in the U.S. Missouri-Columbia (B.J.-Journalism). He has taught the WWTC Navy and is currently the postmaster for Dakota, Minnesota (Zip classes that produced this book and five others. And he has Code: 55925). In addition to their shared interests in photo- published eleven of his own books, including three photobooks, graphy and family, Mark and his wife, Carol, also enjoy travel two with his son, Matt. In addition, Dave has lived and worked as and cross-country skiing. a journalist in London, Seoul, Missouri, and Wisconsin. James R. Millin was born and raised in Patch Grove, Grant Matthew A. Marcou was born (in 1987) and raised in La Crosse, County, Wisconsin, where he graduated from high school. He is where he graduated from Cathedral Grade School. He now an Air Force veteran who served with a B-17 bomber crew in the attends Aquinas Middle School. He has been taking pictures 8th Air Force during World War II. Badly wounded and taken since he was three-and-a-half years old, has seen many of his prisoner by the Germans, he was imprisoned for nineteen photos published (in two photobooks with his dad, Dave— months, through two Christmases, first at Rheims, France. After Images and Vital Washington), and had his first poem the war, his brother and he went into business selling gas and (“Snowman”) published at age eight. Matt typed the entire fuel oil in Patch Grove. He is married to Jacquelyn, a Navy manuscript for Spirit of America in addition to his other veteran, and they have a son, Kurt, who is married to Sherry contributions. Eirschele, and two grandchildren. Jim and his wife retired to La

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Crosse in 1992. In addition to writing, he enjoys fishing, operates Peaslee Quarter Horses and Paints between La Crosse reading, and travel. and Coon Valley, Wisconsin. In addition to photography and Denice Moen is a 1997 graduate of the UW- La Crosse. She horses, Zane is interested in journalism, skydiving, and hiking in works as a second level Support Specialist for Sagebrush the mountains. He says, “I try to live a life that others don’t have Corporation. She lives in Onalaska, Wisconsin, with her the opportunity to live, and I’ve given up a lot to do that.” In his husband, Rob, and dog, Remy. Denice enjoys reading and spare time, Zane is an English major at the UW-La Crosse. writing adolescent literature and hopes to one day publish Ross A. Phelps, an attorney licensed to practice in three states, novels in that area. has been writing since his days as the editor of his high school’s Ann Morrison was born and raised in Viroqua, Wisconsin, a weekly newspaper. He was a member of the American Newspaper small Norwegian-settled town in the western part of the Guild as a copyboy with the San Jose Mercury-News during college. state. She received a B.S. degree in Chemistry from the UW- Currently, Ross lives in La Crescent, Minnesota, with his wife, Madison in 1985. She did medical research for several years in Barbara, and is working on a book of experiences from his legal Southern California and then in London, England. She lived in career, tentatively titled Not My Pants, and Other Alibis. the UK from the late 1980s through the mid-1990s. While living Dona Popovic, a La Crosse native and Logan High School there, she received a B.A./Dipl. in Landscape Architecture. Ann graduate, spent thirty years in Chicago, making her a Cub fan for currently runs a landscaping business in her hometown while life. She retired to a house by the river, and she and her husband, raising a daughter and writing gardening articles for the local Nick, enjoy fishing, gardening and family gatherings. Dona also newspaper. enjoys writing and painting. Anna Muktepavels-Motivans was born in Latvia. She attended Louise Randall-Winger was born on the Upper Peninsula of primary school in her homeland, high school in a German Michigan. She graduated from Blue Island County (Illinois) displaced persons camp, and graduated with a B.S. degree from High School, and, eventually, from WWTC, with a Personnel the Butler School of Pharmacy in Indiana. Her life’s work was Technician associate degree. She spent twenty years in the U.S. analytical chemistry and later, hospital pharmacy, until her Navy after high school and currently is employed by WWTC. In retirement from St. Francis Medical Center in La Crosse. Anna is addition to photography, Louise enjoys line-dancing, eagle- the mother of six children and eleven grandchildren. Her present watching, and wildflower identification. goal is to complete her memoir, Anna’s Story. Biographical details for Jack Ray were unavailable at press-time. Sean Niestrath was born in Paducah, Kentucky, and graduated Deborah L. Ringdahl was born and raised in Wilmington, from Oklahoma Christian College with a bachelor’s degree in Delaware, where she graduated from high school. She also Biology/Chemistry, and Abilene Christian University with a graduated from the University of Colorado with a B.A. degree in Master of Divinity degree as well as a master’s in Ancient Church Sociology, attended Arizona State University, and then graduated History. He works as a minister for the 28th Street Church of from Western Michigan University with an M.S.W. degree. She is Christ and also directs Speranza Publishing. In fact, he published married to Tom, and they have a nineteen-year-old son, Brett, this book and our last one, too. Sean lives in La Crosse with his who attends New York University. Debbie works as a psycho- wife, Rebecca, their twins, Stefan and Gabriella, and young son therapist for Associates in Counseling in La Crosse. In addition Hans. They moved here after living six years in England and Italy. to writing, she enjoys daily horseback riding and aerobics, book Dinah Nord was born in 1941, in St. Paul, Minnesota. She earned clubs, poetry groups (including the Wisconsin Federation of her B.A degree, cum laude, from the University of Minnesota in Poets), and travel. 1963. She then worked as a social worker and an R.N. until her Anene Ristow was born in State Line, Mississippi, and graduated retirement in l999. She has been married twice, one marriage from Clarke Memorial Junior College and the Baptist Memorial ending in divorce in 1965 and the second, to David Nord in l977, Hospital R.N. program in Memphis, Tennessee. A registered ending with his death in April of 2000. She had lived in St. Paul nurse for thirty-five years, she later supervised the eight hundred- until moving to Caledonia, Minnesota, to a small farm, in l982. bed facility from whose nursing school she had graduated. With She moved to Oceanside, California, in January of 2001. Dinah her husband, Glen, she has four children, seven grandchildren converted to Catholicism with David in l984. and five step-grandchildren. Anene recently published the story David Oelfke was born and raised in Holmen, Wisconsin, where of her husband’s battle with lymphoma, Cancer: A Different Trip. he graduated from high school. He is retired and married to a In addition to writing, her interests include church work, banker. Dave enjoys taking pictures of nature and people, and reading, and public speaking. doesn’t mind taking advantage of the travel opportunities that Mary Lou Ryan was born in Austin, Minnesota. She earned a B.S. come his way, either. degree in Education from the University of Minnesota and Virgene Nix Oldenburg grew up in a large family on a southern taught in the St. Paul public school system. She and her Eau Claire County (Wisconsin) farm. She is the product of a one- husband, Jim, a peripatetic professor, and six children lived in room schoolhouse. After graduating from Eau Claire Regis High Detroit, Reno, and St. Paul, before settling in La Crosse in 1968. School and attending St. Francis Hospital School of Nursing in La Writing has been an off-and-on pastime for Mary Lou since grade Crosse, she became a registered nurse and married Doug. “Nixie” school. She was co-editor of her high school paper and a feature enjoys her husband, their seven children and nineteen writer on her college paper. She has edited newsletters for the grandchildren, as well as letter writing, reading poetry and short League of Women Voters of La Crosse County and the Alliance stories, and golf—not necessarily in that order. for the Mentally Ill. Marieta Mae Hogue Orton was born and raised in Onalaska, Rose Schaper, storyteller and writer, lives in Black River Falls, Wisconsin, and graduated from Onalaska High School. In 1955, Wisconsin, where she and her husband own a campground. On she wrote her New Orleans Mardi Gras story after visiting there. Saturday nights during the summer, she delights campground Marieta has three grown children: Wanda, Susan, and Patrick. guests by spinning a variety of tales around the campfire. She has She works with home care for the elderly. In addition to writing, a special interest in writing poetry and presents storytelling she is also interested in genealogy, and she has done much programs and workshops upon request. research on the Schmaltz family. Jerry Severson was born and raised in La Crosse and graduated Zane Peaslee was born and raised in La Crosse and graduated from Logan High School there. He served in the National Guard, from Central High School there. He served in Charlie Battalion, 32nd Division, and worked for Trane Company for forty-three 27th Engineers, at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Currently, he years. After joining the WWTC Writing for Publication class, he

258 Contributors

published his novella, Crazy Horse Betrayed, about the demise of Carina Taylor was born in Tacoma, Washington, and was mainly that Native American leader. He is now at work on a collection raised in Pocatello, Idaho, where she graduated from high of stories covering America’s wars. Jerry lives with his wife, school. She also graduated from Duquesne University in Lorraine, near West Salem, and they have four grown sons. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with a B.S. degree in Elementary Education. Carina is married to Matthew, and they have two Pamela Shipstone was born in Punjab, India, and graduated children: Marley, six, and Maya, three. In addition to her family from the University of Alberta, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, with and photography, Carina enjoys gardening and sports. Bachelor of Science and Bachelor of Education degrees. She taught in Alberta for thirteen years and now lives in La Crosse Danice (Stanton) Taylor was born in Dodgeville, Wisconsin. She County with her husband, Asheesh, son, Emmanuel, and graduated from Iowa-Grant High School and received a Political daughter, Gabrielle. Pam likes to attend multicultural events and Science degree from the UW-Platteville. Currently, Danice is write children’s books. employed by Congressman Ron Kind and works in his La Crosse district office. She and her husband, Michael, live in La Crosse. Gwen Sikkink was born and raised in Harmony, Minnesota, where she graduated from high school. She also graduated from Steve Terry was born in St. Paul, Minnesota, and graduated from Winona State University with a bachelor’s degree in Nursing. North St. Paul High School in 1971. He resides with Ann, his Currently, she is employed by Franciscan Skemp Healthcare in La wife, in the town of West Salem, Wisconsin, and holds a security Crosse, Wisconsin. In addition to photography, Gwen enjoys position for Bethany-Riverside Nursing Home in La Crosse. The reading, outdoor activities, and travel. book that Steve is working on will, he hopes, be the foundation for his career in writing. Robert (Bob) Smith lives in La Crosse with his wife, Bonnie. He retired in 1993 from an exciting newspaper career, which Aggie Tippery was born and raised in Hokah, Minnesota, and included his time as general manager of the old Chicago Daily graduated from St. Peter’s High School there. She has been News. He currently enjoys writing, volunteering, and visiting married to Ivan for fifty-four years, and they have five sons and with his two children and five grandchildren. Bob was one of the six grandchildren. Aggie writes a weekly column for the Houston first American GI’s to climb Japan’s Mt. Fujiyama following County (Minnesota) News, works at the Sidewalk Café in Hokah, World War II. In May of 2000, he had successful heart valve and teaches a “Writing Your Life” class in La Crescent, Minnesota. replacement surgery, thanks to a now-deceased cow, and he In addition to all these activities, she also enjoys traveling. dreams of climbing mountains again with help from his new Caleb Van Buskirk was born in Lexington, Kentucky, is sixteen exercise regimen. Also, he is working on a book, a collection of years old, and is home-schooled. He lives near Coon Valley, stories based on his interviews with elderly people. Wisconsin, on his family’s farm, where he finds a lot of good Carolyn Solverson is the tenth child of eleven in her family. She subject matter for his pictures. In addition to photography, Caleb was born and raised in the Midwest and has lived in the same enjoys playing the cello, soccer, reading, computer games, and is small, rural town all her life. She is married and has three thinking of engineering for a career. He has a positive attitude, children. She currently works for the Vernon County (Wisconsin) and we know he will do well. Museum, doing research for patrons who request information Michael Vande Zande, a local pharmacist, writes when he’s not about people who have lived in that area. Carolyn has worked selling drugs. In his writing, he attempts to portray slices of life on her own family tree for fifteen years and hopes to write and interpersonal relationships with a different point of view. He historical novels related to her research. She has traveled to has written one book, which is as yet unpublished, and gets his Russia several times to do humanitarian work and has also been inspiration from his work, his life, and his two daughters. to Mexico, to retrieve her oldest son from a scrape with the law. Marjorie Walters is the oldest in a family of eleven children. She Watch for her future writings, including possibly her memoirs. was born in Newton Valley, Wisconsin, in the home of her Roberta H. Stevens is the eldest of seven children born in maternal grandmother, who delivered her. She started writing Augusta, Georgia, to working-class parents. After graduating from poetry at age twelve and is also an accomplished painter who Madison High School in Rochester, New York, she earned her started working with watercolors as a small child. At age seven- R.N. degree from the Arnot Ogden School of Nursing in Elmira, teen, she started painting with oils. Marjorie has been married New York. Six years later, while working full-time in an intensive for forty-four years, and has two sons and three grandchildren. care unit, she earned her Business Management degree from the Ty F. Webster was born in Larned, Kansas. He graduated from Rochester Institute of Technology. Married with three children, Melrose-Mindoro (Wisconsin) High School and Carroll College Roberta has held leadership roles in many organizations. Her in Waukesha, Wisconsin, with a bachelor’s degree in interests include travel, music, art, stamps, coins, reading, and Communications. Ty lives in Trempealeau,Wisconsin, likes to her current passion, writing. This versatile woman is working on write about sports and his travels, and takes pictures, too. He has her first novel, a mystery. visited Ireland, Germany, Spain, Greece, Australia, New Zealand, Joshua Swanson was born and raised in La Crosse and and Mexico, with the Emerald Isle being his favorite. graduated from Logan High School there. He also studied Belinda Weinberg is a wife and the mother of two grown accounting at La Crosse’s Viterbo University. He currently works children. She has lived and worked in the La Crosse area since for Swanson Heavy Moving Company in La Crosse, which is 1976. She has taught and practiced as a registered nurse at owned by his father, Deak. In addition to photography, Josh Lakeview Health Center, Franciscan Skemp Healthcare, enjoys biking, collecting old records, and traveling the world. Gundersen Lutheran Medical Center, and WWTC, in the Heather Sysimaki was born in Pine Bluff, Arkansas. She specialty areas of behavioral health, elder care, and obstetrics graduated from Niagara (Wisconsin) High School in 1983 and and gynecology. Belinda hopes to write a book about health care Bellin College of Nursing in Green Bay, Wisconsin, in 1986. She someday, and enjoys working on women’s healthcare issues, works at Gundersen Lutheran Medical Center in La Crosse. gardening, and writing poetry. Heather is married to James, and they have two children, Kaija, Evelyn (Phelps) Wilhelm was born and raised on La Crosse’s eleven, and Ari, five. north side. She graduated from St. James Grade School and Barbara Tatzel is a Coulee Region (Western Wisconsin) native, Aquinas High School (1952). She is the mother of ten children mother of three daughters, and grandmother of one grand- and has sixteen grandchildren. Her interests include spending daughter. She writes for therapeutic and communicative reasons. time with family and friends, golfing, reading, and taking classes Her passions include learning, long car rides, and observing like basic computer and writing. Evelyn has traveled to Italy, people and nature. In November of 2001, the International Israel, Jordan, Greece, Egypt, and many places in the western and Library of Poetry will publish one of Barbara’s poems. southern United States.

259 SPIRIT OF AMERICA

Rio Grande River Canyon, August 1993. Just west of Taos, NM (By Gerald A. Bonsack).

260 of of SPIRIT AMERICA oices, oices, V V & LUANN GERBER & LUANN orld Views orld Views Heartland Heartland W W EDITED BY DAVID J. MARCOU DAVID EDITED BY

of ‰ MARCOU & GERBER SPIRIT AMERICA SPERANZA , ” : Spirit of REVIEWER , BOOK CRITIC GOOD READ A : ...your UL PIONEER PRESS and written by PA LA CROSSE TRIBUNE . BETTY HYDE ... ST MARY ANN GROSSMANN is made up of short — NIE WEEK — “ IN Spirit of La Crosse Spirit of riting for Publication and riting for Publication estern Wisconsin Technical chapters written by the chapters written by W it From religion to bordellos, is a fascinating book for any- a concise look one who wants at this interesting town. Important, too, is the fact that it is edited friends and neighbors. On will like these History buffs into the past. glimpses La Crosse classes at Photography W College. . . . Its sixty-five the writers chapters offer what [of] grassroots history” call “a from the city’s everything to the romance with lumber nineteenth- court system, century farming to banking institutions. all local people W Spirit of books. . It is more often Spirit their environments, sug- their environments, Spirit of America et compassionate, et compassionate, AMERICA he WWTC Writing for Publication Writing he WWTC of and Photography classes taught by and Photography David J. Marcou comprise people of David , the most complete history of that city diverse backgrounds and ages. backgrounds and ages. diverse is their sixth book project, the last one being And all kinds of people— from Native American to And all kinds of people— from Native hoped that these people, and hoped that these people, gest the breadth and depth of the American spirit—a y spirit that is indomitable, Spirit of La Crosse In addition to brick-and-mortar produced since 1881. there have residents and students of the Coulee Region, other contributors to both been several from But while the names of famous people appear, there is also much attention in key places, time to time, cloth” the “common paid here to “ordinary” people, that makes up the American fabric. immigrant, from Christian to agnostic, and from Black of both genders and all and Yellow, and White to Red ages—are proper subjects for than not—one that springs from the Heartland. America . . , - - ) : D . SHUT PH IMES - , T WHALE . SPIRIT EDITOR OF LA CROSSE , HEAD OF BBC Spirit of , PHOTOGRAPHY HURCH THE HALF FORMER CORRE JOHN H C ( PUT IT IN WRITING AND PROFESSOR OF OGER GRANT — R communicate on THE FORMER TEACHER AND — AND RELIGIOUS TV Spirit of America Spirit of UTHOR OF UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN EYE A a parent or child, ART DEPARTMENT CHAIRMAN SPONDENT OF THE LONDON SUNDAY TIMES JOURNALIST On America that This is the voices: many speaks in colloquial and profes- secu- sional, religious and fictional and reminis- lar, all and prose, cent, verse direct. It of them heartfelt, counts is the America that its blessings and shoulders struggling and its burdens, stretch- dying in far places, ing out a hand at home to needy neighbours or It is the eccentric visitors. America that its countless friends abroad remember and love. The images in America As significant levels. two they individual images, emerge from wonderfully circumstances. diverse made Some are lovingly by documenting a family are cap- milestone; many student photog- tured by raphers equipped to with their world observe new techniques and enthusiasm. Other images a profound provide glimpse of American his- tory and America’s in the world involvement As a collection, in order. the context of the accom- they paint essays, panying an image of America that and reveal- is introspective ing of its character. Cover 1/19/11 12:59 PM Page 1 Page PM 12:59 1/19/11 Cover