Across the Fence #370
The ground is bare and there’s no snow in sight around Sherpeland. The past few years we’ve been buried in snow by this time. Unless things change in the next week, I fear Santa will have a hard time with his deliveries in this area. But then, he never seems to have any problems in the southern parts of the country, so I don’t think I have anything to worry about.
I know this is just the calm before the storm, but to tell the truth, I could get used to winters like this. It’s nice not having to put on five layers of clothes, boots, heavy gloves, and a double-layer stocking cap, just to walk to the end of the driveway and get the mail. Last year I even had to resort to using my snowshoes to get to the bird feeders. I got tired of opening a path every day, only to have the wind drift it shut as fast as I could blow it out.
Put it this way, I’m not dreaming of a white Christmas. I’ll let Bing dream about that. When I was young, I’d have been entering panic mode if there was no snow this close to Christmas. I still have vivid memories of listening to the radio on Christmas Eve as they gave reports on the sightings and progress of Santa and his reindeer. As they got closer, it was time to set out a plate of Norwegian baked goods for Santa. Everyone who stopped at our house was fed and given coffee, even Santa. Although Ma left a glass of milk instead of coffee, because she said the coffee would be cold by the time Santa arrived, and not even Santa liked cold coffee. We even left some carrots for the reindeer. They get hungry too, pulling the heavy sleigh, Santa, and all the presents.
Christmas is an exciting time for children. We need to retain some of that childhood magic of Christmas as we get older.
In Ben Logan’s wonderful book, “Christmas Remembered,” he has a story called “Santa Claus Is a Woman.” He tells how his family all waited around for someone to make Christmas happen that first winter after his mother had died. He remembered that Christmas was a casualty of her death.
Ben and I have talked about that story and the feelings he had as a 17-year-old boy whose mother was no longer there to make Christmas happen. It got me thinking about my mother and how important she was to our family at Christmas. We didn’t know it at the time, but she was Santa Claus, just as Ben Logan said his mother was in his story.
Our father bought the tree and set it up in the stand, but that’s usually where the role of most men ended in making Christmas happen. Then the women took over. Ma brought down the boxes of lights and ornaments that were stored in the upstairs walk-in attic. She strung the bubble lights, hung the ornaments with the help of us kids, and let us put the icicles on the tree. When we got older and could reach, we got to put the angel on top of the tree. That was a special job. She then opened the red, folded paper bells, fanned them out to form a bell shape, and hung them from a door. I haven’t seen one of those bells since I was young.
When the tree was ready, she decorated the house, hand-addressed and wrote on all the Christmas cards, baked all the Christmas cookies and other Norwegian goodies, and bought and wrapped the presents. The house came alive with the Christmas spirit when she was done.
When I was young and still believed in Santa, it was Ma who comforted me and reassured me that Santa was real and would still bring presents after Sandy told me there was no Santa Claus. Just because we didn’t have a fireplace was no reason for Santa to skip our house. He could always use our front door that was never locked. And no, he wouldn’t get burned up in our wood-burning stove if he came down the chimney. Santa had magical powers and could even make himself small enough to squeeze through the damper in the stovepipe. I couldn’t understand how he could also squeeze his bag and our presents through there, but he always did. He ate all the cookies and drank the milk we left for him too.
Yes, the women have always made Christmas happen. My mother turned the rituals of the season into memories that I still carry and bring to life again each Christmas season.
I know all the pictures we see of Santa show a large man in a red, fur-lined suit, with a bushy, white beard. But tell me this, have any of you ever seen the “real” Santa on Christmas Eve? Not just those Santa’s helpers that you see in the malls. We never saw him, but he always showed up after we had finally fallen asleep. I’m willing to bet, that if we had been lucky enough to catch even a fleeting glimpse of Santa, it would have been a small, thin, woman wearing an apron, and bearing a striking resemblance to my mother.
It’s just like Ben Logan said, “Santa Clause Is a Woman!”
*
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Sandy and Christmas Memories
Across the Fence #369
What’s your earliest memory of Christmas? Looking way back, my first memory of Christmas is hoeing tobacco with my cousin, Sandy. I couldn’t have been very old, because I still believed in Santa Claus. Sandy, being three years older and wiser when it came to the mysteries of the universe, suddenly dropped a grenade at my feet that literally blew my world apart that day.
Even though it was a hot summer day, our conversation had turned to Christmas and Santa. Sandy suddenly proclaimed, “There is NO Santa Claus, Uncle and Auntie are Santa Claus.” You can imagine my horror at hearing such a blasphemous statement. In that moment my world started collapsing around me and the sky began falling. If you have my second book, “Across the Fence: Down Country Roads,” you can read the full story on page 131.
Thank goodness my mother came up with answers to all the questions that Sandy had brought up. They were such great answers, I still believe in Santa today! I guess you couldn’t see me wink as I wrote that line.
But, is it any wonder that I remembered where I was and what I was doing at such a moment. It’s just like we remember where we were when President Kennedy was shot, and when the attacks on 9-11 occurred. Traumatic experiences always leave an imprint on our memories.
Many years after that traumatic experience in the tobacco field, Sandy and I found ourselves alone, and far from home and our families, during Christmas in 1965. I was in basic training in the army at Fort Lewis, Washington. We were halfway through basic and weren’t allowed to go home for Christmas. It was like we were in prison and it’s not one of my best Christmas memories. Not only were we “prisoners” during Christmas and New Years, but it was a zero week–it didn’t count since it was holiday time for most personnel who weren’t in basic. That meant we’d spend an extra week in basic training.
On Christmas Eve day it snowed and rained while we were marching all morning. It was really miserable and we got soaked. The snow didn’t stay on the ground. It just turned to slush and our white Christmas quickly disappeared.
That evening we were marched in formation, to and from the Christmas Eve service at one of the chapels on the base. That’s about the only thing that reminded us that it was Christmas. What a joke. I remember how sad everyone was as we sat through that service. It was the saddest Christmas I’ve ever spent. It was even worse than spending Christmas in Vietnam.
On Christmas day, the sergeants let us sleep in until 0600. That was late for us. After pushups and pull-ups we got to eat breakfast. Then we were herded back to our barracks and ordered to GI and spit-shine the barracks and latrines. When everything was to the Sergeant’s liking, I got to march our platoon around our company area for police call. After that we got to stay in our barracks and take it easy until noon.
Sandy was also at Fort Lewis during this time. We weren’t allowed to make or receive phone calls during basic training, so I wasn’t able to see or talk with her. Her husband, Lou Wagner, was an officer with the 1st Cav Division. They had trained at Fort Lewis before being shipped to Vietnam, where he was spending that Christmas, far from home and his family. Sandy and other wives were living on post while their husbands were gone. This is what Sandy later wrote about that Christmas day:
“When Karl (their son) was five months old, Lou’s company shipped out for Vietnam and I stayed on post with Karl. Howard was at Fort Lewis for basic training at that time. Lou was in Vietnam, it was Christmas, I was alone, and wanted very much to spend some time with my cousin. For some reason, the basic trainees were not allowed any visitors. After some serious phone calls, tears, and threats, I was finally able to spend some time with Howard on Christmas day. That was a real sad time for both of us. Seeing each other for a short time, was the only bright spot in that Christmas season.”
I did get to see Sandy for a short visit that afternoon. After being told on the phone that she couldn’t see me, she came to Battalion Headquarters and talked to the O.D. (Officer of the Day), and explained that her husband was in Vietnam and I was the only relative she had around. She said she also shed some crocodile tears for him. The O.D. finally relented, and gave her permission to see me for a short time in a conference room. An armed guard came to our barracks and I was escorted by him to where Sandy was. He stayed with us while we got to visit for about fifteen minutes, and then he escorted me back to my barracks–a distance of about one block! That night we got to watch training films about the Vietnam War.
I echo Sandy’s words, seeing each other for a short time, was the only bright spot in that Christmas season. Santa brought us a great gift that day… a short visit. Even Sandy had to believe in him after that.
*
What’s your earliest memory of Christmas? Looking way back, my first memory of Christmas is hoeing tobacco with my cousin, Sandy. I couldn’t have been very old, because I still believed in Santa Claus. Sandy, being three years older and wiser when it came to the mysteries of the universe, suddenly dropped a grenade at my feet that literally blew my world apart that day.
Even though it was a hot summer day, our conversation had turned to Christmas and Santa. Sandy suddenly proclaimed, “There is NO Santa Claus, Uncle and Auntie are Santa Claus.” You can imagine my horror at hearing such a blasphemous statement. In that moment my world started collapsing around me and the sky began falling. If you have my second book, “Across the Fence: Down Country Roads,” you can read the full story on page 131.
Thank goodness my mother came up with answers to all the questions that Sandy had brought up. They were such great answers, I still believe in Santa today! I guess you couldn’t see me wink as I wrote that line.
But, is it any wonder that I remembered where I was and what I was doing at such a moment. It’s just like we remember where we were when President Kennedy was shot, and when the attacks on 9-11 occurred. Traumatic experiences always leave an imprint on our memories.
Many years after that traumatic experience in the tobacco field, Sandy and I found ourselves alone, and far from home and our families, during Christmas in 1965. I was in basic training in the army at Fort Lewis, Washington. We were halfway through basic and weren’t allowed to go home for Christmas. It was like we were in prison and it’s not one of my best Christmas memories. Not only were we “prisoners” during Christmas and New Years, but it was a zero week–it didn’t count since it was holiday time for most personnel who weren’t in basic. That meant we’d spend an extra week in basic training.
On Christmas Eve day it snowed and rained while we were marching all morning. It was really miserable and we got soaked. The snow didn’t stay on the ground. It just turned to slush and our white Christmas quickly disappeared.
That evening we were marched in formation, to and from the Christmas Eve service at one of the chapels on the base. That’s about the only thing that reminded us that it was Christmas. What a joke. I remember how sad everyone was as we sat through that service. It was the saddest Christmas I’ve ever spent. It was even worse than spending Christmas in Vietnam.
On Christmas day, the sergeants let us sleep in until 0600. That was late for us. After pushups and pull-ups we got to eat breakfast. Then we were herded back to our barracks and ordered to GI and spit-shine the barracks and latrines. When everything was to the Sergeant’s liking, I got to march our platoon around our company area for police call. After that we got to stay in our barracks and take it easy until noon.
Sandy was also at Fort Lewis during this time. We weren’t allowed to make or receive phone calls during basic training, so I wasn’t able to see or talk with her. Her husband, Lou Wagner, was an officer with the 1st Cav Division. They had trained at Fort Lewis before being shipped to Vietnam, where he was spending that Christmas, far from home and his family. Sandy and other wives were living on post while their husbands were gone. This is what Sandy later wrote about that Christmas day:
“When Karl (their son) was five months old, Lou’s company shipped out for Vietnam and I stayed on post with Karl. Howard was at Fort Lewis for basic training at that time. Lou was in Vietnam, it was Christmas, I was alone, and wanted very much to spend some time with my cousin. For some reason, the basic trainees were not allowed any visitors. After some serious phone calls, tears, and threats, I was finally able to spend some time with Howard on Christmas day. That was a real sad time for both of us. Seeing each other for a short time, was the only bright spot in that Christmas season.”
I did get to see Sandy for a short visit that afternoon. After being told on the phone that she couldn’t see me, she came to Battalion Headquarters and talked to the O.D. (Officer of the Day), and explained that her husband was in Vietnam and I was the only relative she had around. She said she also shed some crocodile tears for him. The O.D. finally relented, and gave her permission to see me for a short time in a conference room. An armed guard came to our barracks and I was escorted by him to where Sandy was. He stayed with us while we got to visit for about fifteen minutes, and then he escorted me back to my barracks–a distance of about one block! That night we got to watch training films about the Vietnam War.
I echo Sandy’s words, seeing each other for a short time, was the only bright spot in that Christmas season. Santa brought us a great gift that day… a short visit. Even Sandy had to believe in him after that.
*
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Thanksgiving Leftovers Are Great
Across the Fence #368
Now it begins, that month of anticipation between Thanksgiving and Christmas. As I write this, I’m still as stuffed as the huge turkey our family met up with on Thanksgiving. We were at our daughter and son-in-law’s home near Ixonia, and we certainly didn’t starve. Now we’ve entered the second phase of Thanksgiving—enjoying all the leftovers.
I’ve never been accused of being a great cook, or even a mediocre one. My cooking ability is heating up the charcoal grill, throwing on some hamburger patties or brats, and making sure they don’t get burned to a crisp. I’m not the second coming of Julia Childs.
However, I do have a great recipe for all those leftovers from the big Thanksgiving meal. Dig through your cupboards and find a large microwavable bowl with a cover. Take some of the leftover potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, chunks of turkey, a large helping of stuffing, and grab anything else that looks appetizing. Throw everything into the bowl. Don’t worry about stuff getting mixed together. As you can see, I’m not a picky eater. You might want to leave the cranberry relish and herring out for the time being. They don’t mix very well with the other ingredients. The cranberries tend to turn to juice when heated.
Put a cover on the bowl and shove it into the microwave. The microwave is my preferred method of heating stuff up. The amount of time you heat the concoction is up to you, depending how hot you like your food. When you think it’s hot enough, take it out of the microwave. Remove the cover and sample the mix to see if it’s heated to your satisfaction. If it is, dump the cranberries, herring, and some pickles into the mix, grab a fork, and eat right out of the bowl. That’s if you’re eating it all by yourself. If you have to share, it’s best to scoop some onto a plate. If you get to eat right out of the bowl, you’ll have a lot less dishes to wash up after you’re done. Why use a bunch of bowls when you can get by with one? Next, find a football game to watch on TV, take that bowl you heated everything in, grab some lefse, a beverage of your choice, sit back in your favorite recliner, put your feet up, and enjoy your great meal of leftovers! I hope you had a little pumpkin pie and sweet potato pie left over like we did. As they say at Borgen’s Café in Westby, “Don’t forget the pie!”
I know all this probably sounds like a mess to you. Granted, it’s all mushed together, but it tastes great, and it’s all going to the same place anyway. OK, I told you I wasn’t the next Julia Childs. It’s not for everyone.
Even before the leftovers had cooled down, Black Friday arrived. I hope none of you were part of those frenzied mob scenes I saw on TV, as shoppers stormed the doors, trampling each other in their hurry for a bargain. You couldn’t drag me to a store with a team of horses on Black Friday. I’m enjoying my leftovers as people are fighting with each other and pepper spraying other shoppers in order to snag that coveted item. I keep hearing how bad shape the economy is in, but you’d never know it by the way people were spending money.
Then just when you think the buying frenzy is over, along comes Cyber Monday. In case you missed out on the bargains on Black Friday because you got trampled or pepper sprayed, you can now sit in the comfort of your home and shop online. No traffic jams, no parking problems, no masses of people to contend with. I wonder if they ever had this kind of buying frenzy in my parent’s generation? I suspect not. I know they always shopped locally in Westby and Viroqua for our Christmas presents. There was a “Dime Store” in Viroqua. I can still remember how awe-struck I was when I saw all the toys on their shelves during Christmas. Looking back, it amounted to one small section of the store, but we thought it was wonderful. We’d probably have died of shock if we could have walked into a huge Toys-R-Us store like they have today.
Another of the happenings after Thanksgiving is over, is the hanging of the Christmas lights and decorations. I know the stores have been decorated since Halloween, but that’s just too early.
Now I’m about to begin an early phase of Christmas—the untangling of the strings of lights. It’s a yearly tradition in most homes. No matter how carefully you put them away, they manage to get all tangled up. Then after I manage to get them untangled, I find out the lights won’t light up. You’d think I’d learn to test them before spending all that time untangling them.
Soon the first Christmas card will arrive. Then I’ll start feeling guilty about not having my cards all picked out, addressed, and ready to send.
There’s only one solution to all this holiday stress. Round up another helping of Thanksgiving leftovers, throw them in the microwave, find a station airing White Christmas with Bing Crosby, then sit back and enjoy those leftovers while watching the movie. Christmas will come soon enough!
*
Now it begins, that month of anticipation between Thanksgiving and Christmas. As I write this, I’m still as stuffed as the huge turkey our family met up with on Thanksgiving. We were at our daughter and son-in-law’s home near Ixonia, and we certainly didn’t starve. Now we’ve entered the second phase of Thanksgiving—enjoying all the leftovers.
I’ve never been accused of being a great cook, or even a mediocre one. My cooking ability is heating up the charcoal grill, throwing on some hamburger patties or brats, and making sure they don’t get burned to a crisp. I’m not the second coming of Julia Childs.
However, I do have a great recipe for all those leftovers from the big Thanksgiving meal. Dig through your cupboards and find a large microwavable bowl with a cover. Take some of the leftover potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, chunks of turkey, a large helping of stuffing, and grab anything else that looks appetizing. Throw everything into the bowl. Don’t worry about stuff getting mixed together. As you can see, I’m not a picky eater. You might want to leave the cranberry relish and herring out for the time being. They don’t mix very well with the other ingredients. The cranberries tend to turn to juice when heated.
Put a cover on the bowl and shove it into the microwave. The microwave is my preferred method of heating stuff up. The amount of time you heat the concoction is up to you, depending how hot you like your food. When you think it’s hot enough, take it out of the microwave. Remove the cover and sample the mix to see if it’s heated to your satisfaction. If it is, dump the cranberries, herring, and some pickles into the mix, grab a fork, and eat right out of the bowl. That’s if you’re eating it all by yourself. If you have to share, it’s best to scoop some onto a plate. If you get to eat right out of the bowl, you’ll have a lot less dishes to wash up after you’re done. Why use a bunch of bowls when you can get by with one? Next, find a football game to watch on TV, take that bowl you heated everything in, grab some lefse, a beverage of your choice, sit back in your favorite recliner, put your feet up, and enjoy your great meal of leftovers! I hope you had a little pumpkin pie and sweet potato pie left over like we did. As they say at Borgen’s Café in Westby, “Don’t forget the pie!”
I know all this probably sounds like a mess to you. Granted, it’s all mushed together, but it tastes great, and it’s all going to the same place anyway. OK, I told you I wasn’t the next Julia Childs. It’s not for everyone.
Even before the leftovers had cooled down, Black Friday arrived. I hope none of you were part of those frenzied mob scenes I saw on TV, as shoppers stormed the doors, trampling each other in their hurry for a bargain. You couldn’t drag me to a store with a team of horses on Black Friday. I’m enjoying my leftovers as people are fighting with each other and pepper spraying other shoppers in order to snag that coveted item. I keep hearing how bad shape the economy is in, but you’d never know it by the way people were spending money.
Then just when you think the buying frenzy is over, along comes Cyber Monday. In case you missed out on the bargains on Black Friday because you got trampled or pepper sprayed, you can now sit in the comfort of your home and shop online. No traffic jams, no parking problems, no masses of people to contend with. I wonder if they ever had this kind of buying frenzy in my parent’s generation? I suspect not. I know they always shopped locally in Westby and Viroqua for our Christmas presents. There was a “Dime Store” in Viroqua. I can still remember how awe-struck I was when I saw all the toys on their shelves during Christmas. Looking back, it amounted to one small section of the store, but we thought it was wonderful. We’d probably have died of shock if we could have walked into a huge Toys-R-Us store like they have today.
Another of the happenings after Thanksgiving is over, is the hanging of the Christmas lights and decorations. I know the stores have been decorated since Halloween, but that’s just too early.
Now I’m about to begin an early phase of Christmas—the untangling of the strings of lights. It’s a yearly tradition in most homes. No matter how carefully you put them away, they manage to get all tangled up. Then after I manage to get them untangled, I find out the lights won’t light up. You’d think I’d learn to test them before spending all that time untangling them.
Soon the first Christmas card will arrive. Then I’ll start feeling guilty about not having my cards all picked out, addressed, and ready to send.
There’s only one solution to all this holiday stress. Round up another helping of Thanksgiving leftovers, throw them in the microwave, find a station airing White Christmas with Bing Crosby, then sit back and enjoy those leftovers while watching the movie. Christmas will come soon enough!
*
Saturday, November 26, 2011
My First 18 Months Were Eventful
Across the Fence #367
When we went through all the stuff in the house after my parents died, I came across the Viroqua Hospital bill from when I was born. It’s dated May 14, 1944, ten days after I came kicking and screaming into this world.
I was born on Thursday, May 4, 1944 at 5:40 p.m. at the old Viroqua Hospital. I weighed in at 7 lbs, 5 ozs., assisted in my arrival by Dr. Lars Gulbrandsen. My baby book says that I resembled my father. The only other thing mentioned is under “What amuses the baby?” Music is listed. Maybe that’s why I still like listening to the Big Band music from the 1940’s. More on that later.
Back to that hospital bill, it’s itemized, and includes ten days in the hospital for my mother and me at $4.50 per day for a total of $45.00. Other costs were: anesthetic - $2.50, dressings - $2.00, delivery room - $5.00, drugs - $3.00, and nursery – ten days at $1.00 per day: $10.00. It comes to a grand total of $67.50! No matter what happens, I can always say I’m worth at least $67.50. No one can ever say I’m worthless.
Things have certainly changed since those days. That was a lot of money for my folks at the time. They were renting a farm, and my grandmother and my cousin, Sandy, lived with us. In those days people were more self-sufficient. Those were the war years when everything was rationed and times were tough for everyone. At least farmers could produce a lot of the food for their own family.
Some interesting numbers from 1944: the average wage was $2,400, minimum wage was 40 cents per hour, a new house cost $3,450, a car could set you back $1,250, gas to power that car was 15 cents per gallon, a loaf of bread cost 10 cents, and you could mail a first class letter for 3 cents. Now before you start wishing you could pay those prices for things, would you work for $200 a month?
When I checked to see what notable events happened in the world on the day I was born, nothing is listed. There are events on May 3rd and 5th, but it looks like my birth on May 4th did not make the notable events list. Well, at least it was notable to me! On May 3, meat rationing ended in the U.S., “Meet Me In St. Louis” opened on Broadway, and the movie “Going My Way” staring Bing Crosby, was released. On May 5, Gandhi was freed from prison and the Russian offensive began against Sebastopol. I bet some of you remember those events.
A major event occurred when I was 34 days old. On June 6, D-Day began when 155,000 Allied troops hit the beaches of Normandy, France in a major offensive against the Germans. On June 15th, 128,000 U.S. Army and Marine troops began landing on Saipan in the Pacific Theater of operations against the Japanese. That December was the beginning of the Battle of the Bulge. While I enjoyed my first Christmas, in the warmth of our house on the Hauge farm, Allied and German forces were locked in a life and death struggle in the bitter cold and snow during that battle. While I was celebrating my first birthday, the battle for control of Okinawa was being fought. It was one of the largest and bloodiest battles of the war. I wasn’t aware of any of those epic events at the time. The only thing that concerned me at the time was getting my next meal of baby food, a bottle of milk, and having a dry diaper. The fighting men on Okinawa had much bigger problems, but they were also concerned with getting food, water, and staying dry in the rain and mud. Americans suffered 75,000 casualties on the ground on Okinawa. The events taking place involving World War II dominated the news during the first 18 months of my life. It was a historic time to be alive.
What was life like for you during World War II? I’d love to hear your stories and include some of them in Across the Fence.
I mentioned that music was said to amuse me when I was a baby. What songs was I listening to in those years? How about "Shoo-Shoo Baby," "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," "Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree," and "Rum and Coca-Cola" by the Andrew Sisters. Who wouldn’t be amused and love songs like that? The Mills Brothers had hits like "Paper Doll" and "You Always Hurt the One You Love." I still love their music. Bing Crosby ruled the charts with such hits as "I’ll Be Seeing You," "Swinging On A Star," "People Say We’re In Love," "Moonlight Becomes You," and many more. There were songs by Les Brown with Doris Day, Glenn Miller and his Orchestra, Jimmy Dorsey, The Ames Brothers, Vaughn Monroe, Harry James, Johnny Mercer, Duke Ellington, Judy Garland, The Ink Spots, and of course, Frank Sinatra.
I still love all that music from the 40’s. It’s the music I cut my teeth on. Music played a big part in keeping people’s spirits up, both at home and on the war front, during that momentous time in our history. It also kept a young baby, that cost $67.50, smiling on a farm near Westby!
*
When we went through all the stuff in the house after my parents died, I came across the Viroqua Hospital bill from when I was born. It’s dated May 14, 1944, ten days after I came kicking and screaming into this world.
I was born on Thursday, May 4, 1944 at 5:40 p.m. at the old Viroqua Hospital. I weighed in at 7 lbs, 5 ozs., assisted in my arrival by Dr. Lars Gulbrandsen. My baby book says that I resembled my father. The only other thing mentioned is under “What amuses the baby?” Music is listed. Maybe that’s why I still like listening to the Big Band music from the 1940’s. More on that later.
Back to that hospital bill, it’s itemized, and includes ten days in the hospital for my mother and me at $4.50 per day for a total of $45.00. Other costs were: anesthetic - $2.50, dressings - $2.00, delivery room - $5.00, drugs - $3.00, and nursery – ten days at $1.00 per day: $10.00. It comes to a grand total of $67.50! No matter what happens, I can always say I’m worth at least $67.50. No one can ever say I’m worthless.
Things have certainly changed since those days. That was a lot of money for my folks at the time. They were renting a farm, and my grandmother and my cousin, Sandy, lived with us. In those days people were more self-sufficient. Those were the war years when everything was rationed and times were tough for everyone. At least farmers could produce a lot of the food for their own family.
Some interesting numbers from 1944: the average wage was $2,400, minimum wage was 40 cents per hour, a new house cost $3,450, a car could set you back $1,250, gas to power that car was 15 cents per gallon, a loaf of bread cost 10 cents, and you could mail a first class letter for 3 cents. Now before you start wishing you could pay those prices for things, would you work for $200 a month?
When I checked to see what notable events happened in the world on the day I was born, nothing is listed. There are events on May 3rd and 5th, but it looks like my birth on May 4th did not make the notable events list. Well, at least it was notable to me! On May 3, meat rationing ended in the U.S., “Meet Me In St. Louis” opened on Broadway, and the movie “Going My Way” staring Bing Crosby, was released. On May 5, Gandhi was freed from prison and the Russian offensive began against Sebastopol. I bet some of you remember those events.
A major event occurred when I was 34 days old. On June 6, D-Day began when 155,000 Allied troops hit the beaches of Normandy, France in a major offensive against the Germans. On June 15th, 128,000 U.S. Army and Marine troops began landing on Saipan in the Pacific Theater of operations against the Japanese. That December was the beginning of the Battle of the Bulge. While I enjoyed my first Christmas, in the warmth of our house on the Hauge farm, Allied and German forces were locked in a life and death struggle in the bitter cold and snow during that battle. While I was celebrating my first birthday, the battle for control of Okinawa was being fought. It was one of the largest and bloodiest battles of the war. I wasn’t aware of any of those epic events at the time. The only thing that concerned me at the time was getting my next meal of baby food, a bottle of milk, and having a dry diaper. The fighting men on Okinawa had much bigger problems, but they were also concerned with getting food, water, and staying dry in the rain and mud. Americans suffered 75,000 casualties on the ground on Okinawa. The events taking place involving World War II dominated the news during the first 18 months of my life. It was a historic time to be alive.
What was life like for you during World War II? I’d love to hear your stories and include some of them in Across the Fence.
I mentioned that music was said to amuse me when I was a baby. What songs was I listening to in those years? How about "Shoo-Shoo Baby," "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," "Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree," and "Rum and Coca-Cola" by the Andrew Sisters. Who wouldn’t be amused and love songs like that? The Mills Brothers had hits like "Paper Doll" and "You Always Hurt the One You Love." I still love their music. Bing Crosby ruled the charts with such hits as "I’ll Be Seeing You," "Swinging On A Star," "People Say We’re In Love," "Moonlight Becomes You," and many more. There were songs by Les Brown with Doris Day, Glenn Miller and his Orchestra, Jimmy Dorsey, The Ames Brothers, Vaughn Monroe, Harry James, Johnny Mercer, Duke Ellington, Judy Garland, The Ink Spots, and of course, Frank Sinatra.
I still love all that music from the 40’s. It’s the music I cut my teeth on. Music played a big part in keeping people’s spirits up, both at home and on the war front, during that momentous time in our history. It also kept a young baby, that cost $67.50, smiling on a farm near Westby!
*
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Much To Be Thankful For
Across the Fence #366
Happy Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving is the time to give thanks for all that we’ve been blessed with. This Across the Fence column certainly falls into that category for me. It’s a privilege to visit across the fence with you each week. I realize how lucky I am to be able to write a column that runs in newspapers where people can actually read it. Many writers would give their right arm for such an opportunity. Fortunately, I’m left handed! A big mange tussen takk (many thousand thanks) to all of you!
This begins the eighth year of “Across the Fence.” I keep looking down into the well to see if it’s running dry. Luckily, there haven’t been any droughts yet, and after a little priming of the pump, I’m able to pull up enough thoughts and words to fill another column. I’m always thankful for readers who help prime my pump by giving me ideas and topics to write about. It’s appropriate that the anniversary of this column falls during Thanksgiving week each year. It’s the perfect time to thank everyone.
My thanks again to Richard Brockman, publisher of the Linn News-Letter in Central City, Iowa, and Dorothy Jasperson-Robson, Editor of the Westby Times in Westby, Wisconsin, for providing a “door of opportunity” for me. I was able to open and walk through that door eight years ago, and start writing this column.
A special thank you to everyone who visits with me each week. I appreciate when I hear from you, whether it’s on the street, by letter, or over the Internet. Your comments help keep me going and energized.
Not only is this Thanksgiving week, but it’s also the deer gun season in Wisconsin. Thousands of orange-clad hunters will be roaming the woods and fields in search of that elusive trophy buck. I wish you all a safe and successful hunt. We had lots of snow on the ground a week ago that would have made for great tracking, but it’s all gone now.
I wasn’t sorry to see it melt. It’s just too early for winter to arrive. I’m still trying to get over the notion that those beautiful fall days are behind us and cold, snow-filled days lie ahead. It gets to be a mighty long winter when there’s snow on the ground from early November into April. Now we can get a new start on the snow, hopefully after Thanksgiving. Mid-December would be a fine time for the next snowfall. The older I get the more I dread the long winters, especially the sub-zero temperatures. On the flip side of that coin, I’ve got to admit, the countryside was beautiful with that new white coat.
The moon was full last week and reflected off the snow. It gave the night landscape a special brightness. It was the type of night that made for many great cross-country skiing experiences over the years. There’s something special about gliding over the snow on a moonlit night. The snow glistens and sparkles like it’s filled with diamonds. It’s very exhilarating and makes you thankful to be alive and able to enjoy it. I’ve said many times, that snow softens the sharp edges of the world and brightens, even the darkest corners. Even a long, cold winter has its good points.
That reminds me of a note I got from a reader last winter in response to a story. He said, “All the seasons had their good & bad points. You are so right in describing the warm glow in the kitchen as we would walk up from the barn on a dark January night. We’d stop to carry an armload of wood, while on our way in. Then of course there’s the prideful feeling of working so hard making hay all day in the summer, and seeing the cows walk out to the pasture after milking, knowing mom had food on the stove, waiting for us when we finished milking. I so wish my boys could have had those wonderful experiences that I did. I’m sure that nothing has shaped my life more than growing up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin.”
Another reader wrote that when she’s driving in the pre-dawn or evening hours and sees the warm glow from lights in barns and houses around the countryside, it makes her feel as if all's right in the world.”
Both of those reader’s comments carry a message of hope and thankfulness. There’s much that is right in this world if we just look around us. Most of the time it’s the little things that mean the most. It’s the things that money can’t buy.
I know I’ve mentioned this before. A friend once told me he enjoyed my column because it reminded him of a box of chocolates… you never know what you’re going to get each week. Many of you have said you enjoy the positive stories, when so much of the news we hear and read about today is negative. I’ll keep trying to stir up good memories with positive stories for you, provide a mix of chocolates to give you some variety, and also make you think about this wonderful world we’re all a part of.
I look forward to meeting you here each week, “Across the Fence.” Until next time, I hope you have a great Thanksgiving.
*
Happy Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving is the time to give thanks for all that we’ve been blessed with. This Across the Fence column certainly falls into that category for me. It’s a privilege to visit across the fence with you each week. I realize how lucky I am to be able to write a column that runs in newspapers where people can actually read it. Many writers would give their right arm for such an opportunity. Fortunately, I’m left handed! A big mange tussen takk (many thousand thanks) to all of you!
This begins the eighth year of “Across the Fence.” I keep looking down into the well to see if it’s running dry. Luckily, there haven’t been any droughts yet, and after a little priming of the pump, I’m able to pull up enough thoughts and words to fill another column. I’m always thankful for readers who help prime my pump by giving me ideas and topics to write about. It’s appropriate that the anniversary of this column falls during Thanksgiving week each year. It’s the perfect time to thank everyone.
My thanks again to Richard Brockman, publisher of the Linn News-Letter in Central City, Iowa, and Dorothy Jasperson-Robson, Editor of the Westby Times in Westby, Wisconsin, for providing a “door of opportunity” for me. I was able to open and walk through that door eight years ago, and start writing this column.
A special thank you to everyone who visits with me each week. I appreciate when I hear from you, whether it’s on the street, by letter, or over the Internet. Your comments help keep me going and energized.
Not only is this Thanksgiving week, but it’s also the deer gun season in Wisconsin. Thousands of orange-clad hunters will be roaming the woods and fields in search of that elusive trophy buck. I wish you all a safe and successful hunt. We had lots of snow on the ground a week ago that would have made for great tracking, but it’s all gone now.
I wasn’t sorry to see it melt. It’s just too early for winter to arrive. I’m still trying to get over the notion that those beautiful fall days are behind us and cold, snow-filled days lie ahead. It gets to be a mighty long winter when there’s snow on the ground from early November into April. Now we can get a new start on the snow, hopefully after Thanksgiving. Mid-December would be a fine time for the next snowfall. The older I get the more I dread the long winters, especially the sub-zero temperatures. On the flip side of that coin, I’ve got to admit, the countryside was beautiful with that new white coat.
The moon was full last week and reflected off the snow. It gave the night landscape a special brightness. It was the type of night that made for many great cross-country skiing experiences over the years. There’s something special about gliding over the snow on a moonlit night. The snow glistens and sparkles like it’s filled with diamonds. It’s very exhilarating and makes you thankful to be alive and able to enjoy it. I’ve said many times, that snow softens the sharp edges of the world and brightens, even the darkest corners. Even a long, cold winter has its good points.
That reminds me of a note I got from a reader last winter in response to a story. He said, “All the seasons had their good & bad points. You are so right in describing the warm glow in the kitchen as we would walk up from the barn on a dark January night. We’d stop to carry an armload of wood, while on our way in. Then of course there’s the prideful feeling of working so hard making hay all day in the summer, and seeing the cows walk out to the pasture after milking, knowing mom had food on the stove, waiting for us when we finished milking. I so wish my boys could have had those wonderful experiences that I did. I’m sure that nothing has shaped my life more than growing up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin.”
Another reader wrote that when she’s driving in the pre-dawn or evening hours and sees the warm glow from lights in barns and houses around the countryside, it makes her feel as if all's right in the world.”
Both of those reader’s comments carry a message of hope and thankfulness. There’s much that is right in this world if we just look around us. Most of the time it’s the little things that mean the most. It’s the things that money can’t buy.
I know I’ve mentioned this before. A friend once told me he enjoyed my column because it reminded him of a box of chocolates… you never know what you’re going to get each week. Many of you have said you enjoy the positive stories, when so much of the news we hear and read about today is negative. I’ll keep trying to stir up good memories with positive stories for you, provide a mix of chocolates to give you some variety, and also make you think about this wonderful world we’re all a part of.
I look forward to meeting you here each week, “Across the Fence.” Until next time, I hope you have a great Thanksgiving.
*
Saturday, November 12, 2011
North Dakota Prairie Raises Questions
Across the Fence #365
As we traveled mile after mile after mile after mile, across the flatlands of North Dakota, on our way back from Høstfest in Minot, this old Norwegian-American did some thinking and reflecting about the lives of our ancestors. I couldn’t help but wonder how the early settlers survived the experience, and wondered how we would fare if we found ourselves in their place.
In many parts, the land is so flat you can see the horizon in every direction, without even a small hill to obscure your view. A few patches of trees dot the landscape, but they’re often few and far between, especially when you’re used to the hills and valleys of Wisconsin’s Driftless Area.
Many Scandinavians headed west from Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Iowa, to find land on which to homestead. When I looked out at the wide-open landscape, I couldn’t help but wonder what their life was like and how they survived. It must have been a very isolated existence. Farms would have been few and far between. How did they get the supplies they needed in those early days? Even today it’s often a long journey between towns.
Those first settlers couldn’t have farmed too much land, because they didn’t have the use of tractors and large combines, like farmers do today. Now the land is filled with large fields, with few fences in sight. It would be hard to find a place where we could talk across the fence.
Winters must have been brutal. I know how the winds howl across Coon Prairie where we live. There’s nothing to slow down the wind and drifting snow in the winter. I can’t even imagine what winters must have been like for those early settlers in their log and sod houses on the wide-open plains? When winter arrived in all its fury, they must have been isolated until spring.
Many thoughts went through my mind as I looked out our bus windows and wondered about their lives: There were no telephones, radios or televisions. They had no electricity and all the modern appliances and conveniences we’re used to. Even wood to cook with must have been scarce. How did they go about getting water to drink, take baths, and wash clothes? It’s not that easy to drill a well, and from what I could see, streams and rivers were not as plentiful as in Vernon County where I live. Perhaps the early settlers tried to locate their farms near sources of water.
What did they do in the case of a medical emergency or accident? I imagine many people died or simply disappeared and vanished off the face of the earth. In genealogy, you often hear about an individual or family who headed west to seek their fortune and were never heard from again. I suspect some died from illness and accidents. Perhaps some froze or starved to death during the long winters.
At that time, in the mid-to-late 1800’s, Native Americans still occupied the territory. I can’t imagine them being very happy about all the white people taking over their homeland and hunting grounds. As more settlers arrived, they were forced off their land and life as they and their ancestors had known it for thousands of years, would never be the same. Dealing with unhappy Native Americans must have been a part of their life on the prairie.
Fast forward to today. How many of us could do what our ancestor’s generations did? I suspect very few of us would survive. We are too dependent on others and outside sources to provide the majority of the things we need to function on a daily basis. We panic if the electricity is disrupted for even a short time. It knocks out all the appliances that we depend on for survival and entertainment. I know all too well, how people complain if their TV has occasional blocking. Our ancestors certainly had bigger things to worry about.
What would we do if we found ourselves on a piece of land in an isolated area, with no cell phone, no computers, no television or radio, no stoves, refrigerators, washing machines, and no car? Our only possessions were a team of horses or oxen, and some bare necessities that we could fit into a wagon. How many people would know how to build a simple shelter and even survive one winter? That gives me great appreciation and admiration for those generations who did survive. They were tough and resourceful.
I think of my ancestors who pioneered small farms in Vernon County in the 1850’s. They must have been a tough bunch of Norwegians. Knowing how dependent I’ve become on modern conveniences, I wonder how long I’d survive if I suddenly found myself in the conditions they lived through?
Looking out across the North Dakota countryside, posed a lot of questions in my mind regarding the lives of our ancestors, whether they lived on Coon Prairie, or on the immense Dakota prairies. We live in the present with all our modern conveniences, but every once in a while, it’s good to remember the past and keep an appreciation for the people who lived during those times.
*
As we traveled mile after mile after mile after mile, across the flatlands of North Dakota, on our way back from Høstfest in Minot, this old Norwegian-American did some thinking and reflecting about the lives of our ancestors. I couldn’t help but wonder how the early settlers survived the experience, and wondered how we would fare if we found ourselves in their place.
In many parts, the land is so flat you can see the horizon in every direction, without even a small hill to obscure your view. A few patches of trees dot the landscape, but they’re often few and far between, especially when you’re used to the hills and valleys of Wisconsin’s Driftless Area.
Many Scandinavians headed west from Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Iowa, to find land on which to homestead. When I looked out at the wide-open landscape, I couldn’t help but wonder what their life was like and how they survived. It must have been a very isolated existence. Farms would have been few and far between. How did they get the supplies they needed in those early days? Even today it’s often a long journey between towns.
Those first settlers couldn’t have farmed too much land, because they didn’t have the use of tractors and large combines, like farmers do today. Now the land is filled with large fields, with few fences in sight. It would be hard to find a place where we could talk across the fence.
Winters must have been brutal. I know how the winds howl across Coon Prairie where we live. There’s nothing to slow down the wind and drifting snow in the winter. I can’t even imagine what winters must have been like for those early settlers in their log and sod houses on the wide-open plains? When winter arrived in all its fury, they must have been isolated until spring.
Many thoughts went through my mind as I looked out our bus windows and wondered about their lives: There were no telephones, radios or televisions. They had no electricity and all the modern appliances and conveniences we’re used to. Even wood to cook with must have been scarce. How did they go about getting water to drink, take baths, and wash clothes? It’s not that easy to drill a well, and from what I could see, streams and rivers were not as plentiful as in Vernon County where I live. Perhaps the early settlers tried to locate their farms near sources of water.
What did they do in the case of a medical emergency or accident? I imagine many people died or simply disappeared and vanished off the face of the earth. In genealogy, you often hear about an individual or family who headed west to seek their fortune and were never heard from again. I suspect some died from illness and accidents. Perhaps some froze or starved to death during the long winters.
At that time, in the mid-to-late 1800’s, Native Americans still occupied the territory. I can’t imagine them being very happy about all the white people taking over their homeland and hunting grounds. As more settlers arrived, they were forced off their land and life as they and their ancestors had known it for thousands of years, would never be the same. Dealing with unhappy Native Americans must have been a part of their life on the prairie.
Fast forward to today. How many of us could do what our ancestor’s generations did? I suspect very few of us would survive. We are too dependent on others and outside sources to provide the majority of the things we need to function on a daily basis. We panic if the electricity is disrupted for even a short time. It knocks out all the appliances that we depend on for survival and entertainment. I know all too well, how people complain if their TV has occasional blocking. Our ancestors certainly had bigger things to worry about.
What would we do if we found ourselves on a piece of land in an isolated area, with no cell phone, no computers, no television or radio, no stoves, refrigerators, washing machines, and no car? Our only possessions were a team of horses or oxen, and some bare necessities that we could fit into a wagon. How many people would know how to build a simple shelter and even survive one winter? That gives me great appreciation and admiration for those generations who did survive. They were tough and resourceful.
I think of my ancestors who pioneered small farms in Vernon County in the 1850’s. They must have been a tough bunch of Norwegians. Knowing how dependent I’ve become on modern conveniences, I wonder how long I’d survive if I suddenly found myself in the conditions they lived through?
Looking out across the North Dakota countryside, posed a lot of questions in my mind regarding the lives of our ancestors, whether they lived on Coon Prairie, or on the immense Dakota prairies. We live in the present with all our modern conveniences, but every once in a while, it’s good to remember the past and keep an appreciation for the people who lived during those times.
*
Sunday, November 6, 2011
I Salute All Veterans
Across the Fence #364
A cool, strong wind greeted us as we exited the car. The large American flag atop the flagpole stood straight out and rippled in the wind. Welcome to The Highground, a 140-acre veteran’s memorial park west of Neillsville, Wisconsin on Highway 10.
Recently, Harlan Springborn, Larry Skolos, David Lewison, and I took a trip to The Highground. It was the first time for Larry and David. Harlan, Larry, and I had been together in Vietnam. David, from Viroqua, went to Vietnam after we came home, but was also stationed in the Central Highlands and operated in the same areas as we had. We had all grown up as farm boys in Vernon County. We had a lot in common.
A year ago, Harlan and Larry were with me at Westby High School when I was the guest speaker during the Veteran’s Day program. Don Hanson and Ray Slaback were also there. It was the first time all five of us had been together since we left Vietnam. Another year has now been added since that reunion and we’re all still above ground. We realize how lucky we are to still be here.
Veteran’s Day holds a special meaning for us, because it was one day after Veteran’s Day, 45 years ago, that we came close to becoming names on The Wall in Washington instead of living veterans. I mentioned last year how we were almost overrun that day by 1,500 NVA soldiers. We were saved at the last minute when “Puff the Magic Dragon” and napalm-carrying jets finally arrived.
We have much to celebrate and be thankful for. Our trip to The Highground, during this time of year, was to remember those who didn’t survive. As we stood by the Vietnam memorial statue, the chimes that are part of the sculpture, were singing in the wind. We were thankful that our names aren’t engraved on one of the chimes. They hold the names of the 1,181 Wisconsin men who were killed or are still missing. We know we could easily have been among them. We’ve now enjoyed 45 bonus years.
Back in 1988, I wrote the following for the dedication of the Vietnam memorial. It’s called “Coming Home.”
“Listen, I can hear them coming, there are voices in the wind. If you sit and listen quietly they will speak to you again. They tell of years of waiting since they first marched off to war, searching for a quiet place to silence the battle’s roar. Some place to show this country we’re proud of who we are. We supported each other in battle and we’ll support each other now. We’re coming home to The Highground, no more are we to roam. We’ll rest upon this hilltop, at last we’ve found a home.” I wrote those words for the Spirits of those who didn’t make it home, and for the mentally and emotionally wounded Spirits of those who survived.
It took most of us a long time before we sought out other vets. As close as we are now, it took Harlan, Larry, and me 32 years before we got back together. I don’t know why it took us so long. Perhaps Ray Slaback, who finally reunited with us last Veteran’s Day summed it up best. It was not wanting to revisit those horrible memories from our past, that took him so long to reunite with guys he had shared those experiences with. There are a lot of ghosts still with us.
Those of us who survived that battle on November 12, 1966, were finally able to talk about it among ourselves. After 45 years it’s still too hard to talk about with others. I tried writing about it once, thinking that people need to know what really happens in war, in all its gory details, but I tore it up and threw it away. Some things are just too personal to share with anyone. On this trip we never even mentioned that night. There was no need to. We were still here to celebrate another Veteran’s Day together and that’s all that mattered.
We celebrate the day each year, but what exactly is a veteran? Too often, I think people associate veterans with having served in a war zone. Unfortunately, we’ve had way too many wars and too many veterans fall into that category. But a veteran is anyone, man or woman, who has served at any time in any branch of the military. Very few of us had any say in what our MOS (job) would be or where we would serve. Many people served during peacetime. Yes, there have actually been brief periods in our history when we haven’t been involved in a war some place in the world. The people who served during those times were trained and ready to go to war if needed.
I was born a month before D-Day in World War II. I have tremendous respect for the men who served during that war. I can’t imagine the hardships that they and our Korean veterans endured. Their numbers are dwindling every day, just as peacetime veterans and Vietnam veterans are disappearing too. Most veterans have nothing good to say about war, but the majority of veterans stand together, united as a band of brothers and sisters, and proud of having served, regardless of when and where. I salute all of you!
*
A cool, strong wind greeted us as we exited the car. The large American flag atop the flagpole stood straight out and rippled in the wind. Welcome to The Highground, a 140-acre veteran’s memorial park west of Neillsville, Wisconsin on Highway 10.
Recently, Harlan Springborn, Larry Skolos, David Lewison, and I took a trip to The Highground. It was the first time for Larry and David. Harlan, Larry, and I had been together in Vietnam. David, from Viroqua, went to Vietnam after we came home, but was also stationed in the Central Highlands and operated in the same areas as we had. We had all grown up as farm boys in Vernon County. We had a lot in common.
A year ago, Harlan and Larry were with me at Westby High School when I was the guest speaker during the Veteran’s Day program. Don Hanson and Ray Slaback were also there. It was the first time all five of us had been together since we left Vietnam. Another year has now been added since that reunion and we’re all still above ground. We realize how lucky we are to still be here.
Veteran’s Day holds a special meaning for us, because it was one day after Veteran’s Day, 45 years ago, that we came close to becoming names on The Wall in Washington instead of living veterans. I mentioned last year how we were almost overrun that day by 1,500 NVA soldiers. We were saved at the last minute when “Puff the Magic Dragon” and napalm-carrying jets finally arrived.
We have much to celebrate and be thankful for. Our trip to The Highground, during this time of year, was to remember those who didn’t survive. As we stood by the Vietnam memorial statue, the chimes that are part of the sculpture, were singing in the wind. We were thankful that our names aren’t engraved on one of the chimes. They hold the names of the 1,181 Wisconsin men who were killed or are still missing. We know we could easily have been among them. We’ve now enjoyed 45 bonus years.
Back in 1988, I wrote the following for the dedication of the Vietnam memorial. It’s called “Coming Home.”
“Listen, I can hear them coming, there are voices in the wind. If you sit and listen quietly they will speak to you again. They tell of years of waiting since they first marched off to war, searching for a quiet place to silence the battle’s roar. Some place to show this country we’re proud of who we are. We supported each other in battle and we’ll support each other now. We’re coming home to The Highground, no more are we to roam. We’ll rest upon this hilltop, at last we’ve found a home.” I wrote those words for the Spirits of those who didn’t make it home, and for the mentally and emotionally wounded Spirits of those who survived.
It took most of us a long time before we sought out other vets. As close as we are now, it took Harlan, Larry, and me 32 years before we got back together. I don’t know why it took us so long. Perhaps Ray Slaback, who finally reunited with us last Veteran’s Day summed it up best. It was not wanting to revisit those horrible memories from our past, that took him so long to reunite with guys he had shared those experiences with. There are a lot of ghosts still with us.
Those of us who survived that battle on November 12, 1966, were finally able to talk about it among ourselves. After 45 years it’s still too hard to talk about with others. I tried writing about it once, thinking that people need to know what really happens in war, in all its gory details, but I tore it up and threw it away. Some things are just too personal to share with anyone. On this trip we never even mentioned that night. There was no need to. We were still here to celebrate another Veteran’s Day together and that’s all that mattered.
We celebrate the day each year, but what exactly is a veteran? Too often, I think people associate veterans with having served in a war zone. Unfortunately, we’ve had way too many wars and too many veterans fall into that category. But a veteran is anyone, man or woman, who has served at any time in any branch of the military. Very few of us had any say in what our MOS (job) would be or where we would serve. Many people served during peacetime. Yes, there have actually been brief periods in our history when we haven’t been involved in a war some place in the world. The people who served during those times were trained and ready to go to war if needed.
I was born a month before D-Day in World War II. I have tremendous respect for the men who served during that war. I can’t imagine the hardships that they and our Korean veterans endured. Their numbers are dwindling every day, just as peacetime veterans and Vietnam veterans are disappearing too. Most veterans have nothing good to say about war, but the majority of veterans stand together, united as a band of brothers and sisters, and proud of having served, regardless of when and where. I salute all of you!
*
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