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THE COMMON MAN God • Home • Country Melvin Valkner THE COMMON MAN ©2014 by Melvin Valkner All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Website links contained in the Bibliography and Footnotes are provided solely as a convenience to the reader. They were accurate when the book was written, but are subject to change. The publisher is not responsible for links that may eventually become inaccurate or inactive. ISBN-13: 978-1-4992203-0-8 Author photo by Tony Dugal Cover photo by Sean Locke Photography / Shutterstock Design & layout by Lighthouse24 Invite Mel Valkner to speak at [email protected] Sometimes it’s difficult to agree on what to eat for supper let alone answers to the important issues of life. Melvin Valkner Table of Contents Section I – God & Home 7 Simple Country Boy 9 Vietnam and Its Aftermath 25 Off to College 35 Romance 49 Death and Life 59 Rustic Living 73 Growing 91 Prophetic Words 105 Maturity 111 Into The Fire 137 Time Goes On 151 Hanging by a Thread 167 Leather Key Basket 185 More Testings 197 Section II – God & Country 205 Went to a Tea Party 207 What Happened in 1913? 219 Disappearing Heritage 235 Ten Fables of Madern Tyms 251 Running For U.S. Congress 269 A New Chapter 277 Appendix – My Views 291 Ten Fables of Madern Tyms – Terms & Meanings 303 Bibliography 305 Section I – God & Home Simple Country Boy n exceptionally vivid dream night where the waters were A rising was so real that upon waking I lay in bed intently listening for the sound of rushing water, thinking that the water pipes used for heating had burst, the basement surely filling with water. Laying very still, thankfully, not a sound could be heard. All was quiet. Realizing it had been a dream a wave of relief flood- ed over me. Unexpectedly a clear, non-audible voice distinctly asked, “Are you ready to go to Washington?” Somewhat stunned, so out of the blue, nonetheless I knew it was God speaking to me. I dutifully began researching what has happened to this country over the last several decades discovering that Democrats and Republicans have systemically been killing The American Dream. Then…seeing where…I...sorry, I’m way ahead of my- self. Make yourself comfortable and let me start over. Growing up in the 1950s, The American Dream, that a bet- ter life lay ahead, was very much alive. Trusting was easy; so was taking risk. Anything was possible. 9 M ELVIN VALKNER Our secluded 84-acre farm was located one mile west of Doster, Michigan, halfway between Detroit and Chicago. Somewhat shy and reserved I felt secure. We never locked the doors of our house, day or night, not even when we went on vacation. One summer just as our sweet corn was ripening we were leaving for vacation. We picked the ripened corn stacking it on a picnic table moved near the road, leaving a cigar box with a few coins for customers to make their own change, all on the honor system. Upon our return, the corn was gone but to the last penny all the money for the corn was there in the box. Like I said, trusting was easy. I was the middle of five boys: Jack and Don were older while Chuck and Rick were younger. My dad’s side of the family was German-Swedish while my mother’s side was British-Scottish. Dad had sandy-colored hair that was rapidly thinning. He had served in World War II, making the rank of staff sergeant serving as a tail gunner and bombardier on a B-17 in the Eighth Air Force Fortress Group, known to incur heavy losses. Mom said it always bothered him that during a bombing run over Germany he was pulled from a mission before take off and that plane never returned. I never heard him talk about it. In the summer he worked hard and long employed as a landscaper. With a variety of farm implements in his “spare time” he raised crops for our farm animals. We had two trac- tors. The green John Deere had a huge, heavy wheel on the left side of the motor, which, with great effort, was turned to start the engine. The red Farmall had a handle on the front that was cranked to start. Sometimes it kicked back and once almost broke Dad’s wrist. If we were lucky Dad gave us a ride around the yard high in the tractor bucket. 10 T HE COMMON MAN For additional weight we would sometimes ride atop the drag being pulled through the cornfield. Reaching the end of the field, we would loosen whatever plants were wedged against the curved metal points and off we would go again getting filthy dirty in the process. At various times we had milking cows, steers, chickens, rab- bits, pigs and two Welsh ponies named Jerry and Gus. Our weathered barn stored hay and grain on the main floor. The barn’s basement had a regular door for people and a larger sliding door where the cows went in and out from their milking stalls. Chickens wandered about during the day being fattened for the cooking pot. Dad brought home 50 piglets one year, which were a nuisance as they were always breaking through the electric fence. Sometimes the cows and ponies would get out too and we would have to track them down. With me on Jerry and Chuck on Gus we went riding throughout the countryside. A mile away Lake Doster, a man- made lake, was being created. When it was still only about six feet deep Chuck and I rode the ponies into it, swimming out to a telephone pole that had not yet been removed and swimming safely back. Like I said, taking risk was easy. Of course, there was the occasional bumblebee or wasp sting. Dad and Mom planted the largest family garden in the world, at least in my eyes, which my brothers and I were ex- pected to keep clean of weeds. Hacking the weeds with a hoe we learned to get down to their roots ensuring the garden its best chance of success. In the winter Dad delivered coal, coming home covered with soot looking like he had been working in a coal mine all day. When Dad came home with a load of coal to heat our house it was our job to shovel it down a chute through a small 11 M ELVIN VALKNER window into the basement. How I hated to be interrupted from watching evening cartoon shows on the television to go out in the cold, dark night and shovel coal. He also plowed snow for customers with his International Scout. One year there was a blizzard in Illinois and he chose me to go with him and plow. My Dad’s mother died when she was 48. Grandpa Valkner came and lived with us. He was grumpy and bitter at how life had treated him. My folks bought a shoe store in Otsego to give him something to do, thinking he could repair shoes in the back while Mom waited on customers out front. Except Grandpa Valkner was so gruff that, with the exception of a couple of buddies, he scared off customers. Most of the work then fell to Mom, a pretty brunette, who was always there for us kids. She kept busy canning vegetables, cooking and cleaning, plus attending to the shoe store. Her folks, Grandpa and Grandma Kirkland got divorced long be- fore I was born. Conversations often turned to politics during Grandpa Kirkland’s visits. More than once an adult would say, “Well…” In another room, I thought someone called “Mel.” I would come and listen to their conversation for a few minutes before asked what I needed. Grandpa Kirkland was fond of calling politicians “educated idiots” – self-serving elitists acting as if they have a heart for the average guy, The Common Man, but instead are leading a trusting and often ignorant, though not stupid, people to unnecessary hardship. Mom worked at the shoe store during the week. Dad would come home on Wednesdays and Fridays when the store was opened late, get cleaned up, slap on Old Spice aftershave, and go relieve Mom. Dad normally worked the store on Saturdays with us boys taking turns going with him to wait on customers 12 T HE COMMON MAN and helping as best we could. His shoe repair skills were im- pressive. I loved the smell of leather permeating the shoe store. Occasionally our family piled into our station wagon for a three-mile trip over to swim at a cousin’s cottage on Pine Lake. I still have fond memories of Dad putting down the tailgate allowing my brothers and me to sit on it with our feet dangling above the speeding road below. Seatbelts? Forget about it, cars didn’t have them anyway. Twice I almost drowned at Pine Lake. The first time, we went there on a summer day without our parents. Bob Harps, a neighbor, took me out on his shoulders until he knew it was over my head. I was scared as I couldn’t yet swim. Don was fishing off the raft. His fishing hook caught my foot just as Bob pitched me off his shoulders tossing me towards shore.