Memorial Day Thoughts - 2011

Across the Fence #341

As I write this column, Memorial Day is a week away. This year I’ve been invited to be the speaker at the Coon Valley Memorial Day service. We’ll be remembering the sacrifices of our fallen comrades, while the vast majority of Americans will be enjoying a three-day weekend with little or no thought or participation in the activities connected with what the day means.

They’ll be enjoying a three-day weekend because of the lives lost that some of us will be remembering on Memorial Day. That includes my friends who lost their lives during a battle in May, 44 years ago. One of those killed was my training partner at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, where 20 of us from the 4th Infantry underwent medical training together.

It’s hard to believe it’s been 44 years since those terrible days in May of 1967 during the Vietnam War, when we lost 76 killed and over 200 wounded. It’s a lifetime ago, yet it seems like only yesterday. This is still a tough time of year for me to deal with. It’s the universal problem that most survivors of war feel – guilt because we’re still alive and many of our friends are not. For some reason, we were the lucky ones and made it home alive.

I’d like to mention some of those fellow medics I trained and worked with.
Bob Sherman is my cousin, and we were drafted together from Vernon County. We went through basic training together with the 4th Infantry in Fort Lewis, Washington. During medical training we shared a bunk, he was on top and I was on the bottom.

Wesley and I were training partners and practiced on each other during classes, learning to give shots, draw blood, and give IV’s. Not the most fun time I’ve ever had. It was pretty brutal when we were first learning how to hit veins on each other!

Nagl, Lebitz, Alesick and I often studied our class notes together at night while having a few beers. Nagl, Lebitz, Steele, and I also enjoyed playing chess during free time in the evenings.

Those training days and chess matches seemed like a distant memory as we sat around the aid tent near Ban Me Thout in May, 1967. We were all involved in an operation to find a couple of NVA regiments who were in the area.

Nagl, Lebitz, Steele, and I didn’t play any chess on that operation. We did play some cards though. Steele was a writer and hoped to write the great American war novel. I remember his wonderful poetry. One night while we were on the operation that lead up to the Nine Days In May Battle, a bunch of us medics were sitting around in the aid tent and Steele read some of the war poems he had written since being in Vietnam. They were very moving.

What happened to those medics who were enjoying being together and listening to John read his poetry that night: Wesley - killed, Lebitz- killed, Mason - wounded, Jacobs - wounded, Prince - wounded, Marcos - wounded, Bob Sherman - wounded. Alesick and Culpepper came out with no physical wounds. Steele was assigned to the aid station. Nagl was on R&R in Japan when the battle took place and has been filled with survivor guilt ever since. I was needed by the Battalion Surgeon in the aid station during the battle, and worked on wounded that had been evaced.

How can a battle I wasn’t in have such a lasting impact on a person? It seems to me that after 44 years I could put all this to rest and let it die. I’ve tried to analyze the situation over the years. I think it’s safe to say I carry a lot of survivor guilt also. Nagl and I feel like we deserted our friends because we weren’t with them when we all needed each other the most.

I know I was just following orders when I was assigned to the aid station, but that doesn’t do much to lessen the feeling. I know that if I had been there, it wouldn’t have changed anything as far as the battle is concerned. My friends who were killed and wounded would still have been casualties. One reason so many medics went down that day was because the snipers in the trees picked them off as they tried to get to the wounded to help. The chances are good that if I’d been there, I’d also have been a casualty. Once that happened, I’d have been of no use to anyone either. As we were told in medical training... “Don’t try to be a hero, a dead medic is of no use to anyone!”

So, I wasn’t a hero and I’m still alive. Those of us who are still alive on this Memorial Day will remember those who weren’t as lucky. These extra years have been a gift and I don’t want to waste a single day.

I think author Ben Logan said it best. He was the only one in his crew to survive World War II. He said, “I still think of those men. The incident changed my life and made life increasingly precious. I pledged then that I would never waste a moment. I dedicated myself to live for them too.”

Amen to that brother, from all of us survivors.

Outhouse Adventures - Inside the John

Across the Fence #340

My stories about outhouses certainly brought more stories out from behind the lilac bushes and into the light. It seems to be a subject that is near and dear to the heart of those people who once beat a path to them in all kinds of weather.

I keep telling Linda we really need an outhouse out behind our house. I was going to make it non-usable. By that I mean that it wouldn’t have any holes in the seat. Then I wouldn’t have to dig a hole under it either. I told her I could go out there and sit in the peace and quiet while writing my stories. Think of the great inspiration I could get from that setting… or is that sitting? I could even put in a reclining seat so I could put my legs up and really get comfortable. Can’t you just see a couple of legs sticking out the door of an outhouse? That would certainly make people wonder what was going on, as if an outhouse near a modern house wouldn’t be enough to set the tongues wagging.

A modern outhouse doesn’t have to be a drab place like the old ones that you and I once knew. I could decorate the inside with outhouse pictures and memorabilia and have a bookshelf with books about outhouses for your reading enjoyment. I’d even wallpaper it, with outhouse related art of course, and put in some indoor/outdoor carpeting. It could even have a seat warmer so I’d never have to sit on a cold seat again. I might even paint the outside white and call it the “White House.” I think it’s a good name for an outhouse.

Don’t you think an outhouse where I can do my writing is a great idea? OK, Linda wasn’t too crazy about it either.

I still think there are many good reasons to bring back outhouses. I’ve heard people have become so accustomed to constant noise around them from TV’s, radios, cell phones, and numerous other technology items, that they don’t know what peace and quiet is. If people aren’t listening to constant noise, they’re texting on their cell phones. Maybe what they need is an outhouse where they can sit in peace and quiet and do some thinking. And... they wouldn’t be allowed to bring a cell phone, portable TV, radio, or any other listening or viewing device. That would probably freak many people out.

I’m just trying to think outside the box, or inside the John in this case, and provide a place where people can have some quiet time, maybe even do some meditating. Have you ever tried to find a quiet place where you could sit for a few minutes and do some meditation? It’s almost impossible. That’s why we need outhouses!

However, outhouses aren’t always a place of peace and quiet. Bonnie Howell-Sherman, publisher and editor of the La Farge Epitaph News, said after my last outhouse story, “My grandma didn’t have indoor plumbing until I was seven or eight. My uncle, who ran the farm, was notorious for having Black Cat firecrackers on hand. Someone (I’m not sure who… one of the older cousins as I remember) put a firecracker in the outhouse... while occupied by our uncle. Need I say more?”

I wonder if that scared the “you know what” out of her uncle? It couldn’t be any worse than having someone tip the outhouse over while you’re in it. I’ve heard stories about that happening, but can’t personally attest to their authenticity.

As all of you who have used an outhouse know, there is one major drawback to using an outhouse as a place to write and meditate during the cold winters we experience here in the frozen tundra. It’s just too darn cold to spend any amount of time sitting there.

I mentioned that an outhouse gives you a quiet place to think outside the box, or inside the John. I’ve been doing some thinking and have come up with a solution to those cold, winter outhouses. Solar energy. I figure if I put some solar panels on the roof of my writing and meditation facility outhouse, I can generate enough heat to keep it warm and cozy during the long, winter months. Then, even if it’s snowing and the wind is blowing, I’ll be sitting in comfort in my solar-powered outhouse. Hey, don’t laugh; it just might work.

Some of you are probably thinking at this point that I’ve lost it and need to be locked in an outhouse with padded walls, until my thinking clears up. Maybe it’s still clouded by all that smoke from the trees they burned on Sherpe Road. Whatever it is, I think those of you who have been outhouse sitters know what I mean. It was a quiet, private place, away from the hustle and bustle of daily life… a perfect place to sit, think, and write.

So if you’re driving on Sherpe Road one day and see an outhouse with solar panels on the roof, don’t be surprised if you see feet sticking out the open door. That will be me kicking back in my recliner, laptop in hand, working on my next column. There’s nothing like a little thinking… inside the John.

The "Ole Battalion" of World War II

Across the Fence Extra

During the American Civil War, Colonel Heg commanded the 15th Wisconsin, composed almost entirely of Norwegians. So many of the men were named Ole, that I like to refer to them as the “Ole Regiment.”

Most people are not aware that one of the U.S. Army’s more distinct units during World War II was the 99th Infantry Battalion (Separate), also composed of Norwegian-Americans. I like to call it the “Ole Battalion.”

In 1942 the army decided to organize a battalion of Norwegian nationals, who would infiltrate Norway and help free their fellow Norwegians and relatives from German occupation. The men would be Norwegians, Norwegian immigrants, and second-generation Americans of Norwegian descent. Most of the men who were transferred, or volunteered, to the 99th battalion, came from the ”Norwegian” areas in Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, and the Dakotas.

Those selected were all fluent in Norwegian, and most knew how to ski. They were a mixture of infantrymen, paratroop, and mountaineer specialists. Their insignia was a shield with a Viking ship, in the Norwegian national colors of red, white, and blue. These Norwegian-speaking, U.S. soldiers would be sent on special commando missions in Norway, behind enemy lines, and needed to blend in with the local populace. What better disguise could you have than a bunch of guys who looked and sounded like the Norwegian people.

I’ve known two men who served in this Norwegian “Ole Battalion.”

Owen Bekkum, who now lives in Madison, is a Westby, Wisconsin native. Owen grew up speaking Norwegian and learned to ski at an early age, as did most boys around Westby. He was a member of the 99th Infantry Battalion during training at Camp Hale, Colorado, and was later transferred to the 10th Mountain Division.

Thomas Skattum, of Belmont, Wisconsin, joined the 99th in England in April, 1944, and was with the unit until he was discharged after the war.

In 1942, Owen Bekkum from Westby, was a Freshman in college in Milwaukee. One of his best friends, Stanley Lunde, was his roommate. After the Fall semester they were told they didn’t need to register for the next semester because they would soon be drafted.
He was drafted in March, 1943, along with DeVerne Mathison, also from Westby.

One day while they were training with the 106th Infantry Division at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, Owen, DeVerne, and five other men in their unit who spoke Norwegian and could ski, were told they were being transferred to a Norwegian Battalion at Camp Hale, Colorado. They went by train to Denver and then headed up to Leadville and their first view of the Rocky Mountains. Camp Hale was located near Leadville at 9,300 feet. Owen said, “After South Carolina, we thought we’d died and gone to Heaven.”

The story is told that one day Marvin Skogrand from Minnesota was told to report to headquarters. They had seen in his records that he came from a Norwegian background. They asked if he knew any foreign languages, and he said no, because he didn’t consider Norwegian a foreign language. But when he found out they were looking for Norwegians to join a special unit, he told them, “I can speak Norwegian!”

Thus began the journey for Owen, DeVern, Marvin, and many other Norwegian-speaking soldiers who would soon find themselves training as ski troop commandos to help liberate Norway.

At Camp Hale, Owen and his friend, DeVerne, were assigned to different companies for training. They were immediately thrown in with men who had already been training in the mountains for several weeks. The thin mountain air was rough on the flatlanders at first. Even the big hills of Coon Valley and Timber Coulee couldn’t prepare a person for the mountains. Anyone who has visited the mountains knows how winded and tired you get the first few days just walking around.

Owen said, “We weren’t going to let on that we were tired and couldn’t keep up. There’s pride and a little bit of macho involved.” Owen said, “I didn’t weigh 150 pounds at the time!”

The training was tough. A book called The 99th Battalion by Gerd Nyquist, published in Oslo, Norway in 1981, says that 40% of the men didn’t make it through the training. Try hiking up a mountain with a backpack full of gear, your rifle, plus heavy wood skis and ski poles. It says that every soldier carried from 70 to 90 pounds of gear, depending on the assignment to be carried out. They would spend a week at a time living in the mountains and snow, and learning survival skills. It took some very tough, special men to complete that grueling training.

The winter training at Camp Hale took place for the most part on skis or on snowshoes, and spending the night outside, or taking daily trips with overnight stops. The big load of clothes and equipment, had to be carried on these trips.

They were often in altitudes of 10,000 to 12,000 feet. It was difficult to light the ovens so the food could be heated up. It was also difficult to eat the food, because it froze between the food container and the person’s mouth. Water froze in the canteens. The ski boots had to be put in the sleeping bags overnight, so they would not be frozen stiff the next morning.

Owen tells of waking up in the mornings in a sleeping bag covered with frost. His early skiing, which had consisted of skiing on back pastures, as most of us Westby kids did at one time, helped when it came to learning to ski down a mountain.

I asked Owen if he ever got hurt. “Only one time,” He said. A soldier from out East wanted to ski with him. He said he was showing off a little, how fast he could ski down the mountain, through the trees. He fell and sprained an ankle! He got back up and kept going. “If you did get hurt you never wanted to show or admit it,” he said.

After the snow had melted, the ski training was replaced with mountain climbing and rappelling down the rock cliffs to practice warfare in the mountains. The backpack was lighter, only 44 pounds, plus they carried their personal weapon and ammunition.

After successfully completing the training with the 99th Infantry, Owen was asked by Major Sofus Urberg, from Galesville, Wisconsin, to transfer with him to the 90th Infantry Regiment of the 10th Mountain Division. He then spent the next two years with the 10th.

In 1944, the 99th was sent to England, where Lt. Tom Skattum, joined the battalion. His platoon was the first unit of the 99th Battalion to go ashore on Omaha Beach at Normandy. They took part in the fighting in France, and fought in the Normandy Campaign, the North France Campaign, the Battles at Würzeln/Aachen, and the Battle of the Bulge.

Some historians feel the 99th should have been attached to the 10th Mountain Division where their mountain and ski training could have been put to better use in the Italian campaigns.

The original purpose of the 99th, was to participate in ”Operation Plough,” the liberation of Norway. But the only sabotage action in Norway by the 99th was ”Operation Rype.” Their main target was the railway and took place during the autumn of 1944. A small group of saboteurs blew up the railroad lines and disrupted German soldiers trying to leave Norway and reinforce the depleted German forces in Europe.

In June 1945, the 99th finally arrived in Norway. This was a very special moment for the men as they arrived in the country of their Norwegian roots. Their task was guard duty during the repatriation of the 375,000 Germans still in Norway.

Tom was among the 54 American soldiers of the 99th Battalion Honor Guard that welcomed King Haakon back to Norway from exile in England.

On November 1, 1945, Tom and the 99th Battalion arrived back in the US, and it was disbanded shortly after.

Like so many other World War II veterans, Owen and Tom feel very fortunate to have survived the war. Owen’s two best friends from Westby, Clifford Barstad and Stanley Lunde, were killed.

The training and ordeals the men of the 99th Battalion endured, has stayed with them. They were challenged, as most of us will never be challenged, and rose to meet that challenge. They had lived and survived in almost unbelievable conditions, and feel it instilled a self-confidence that they could do anything, and as a result, anything was possible.

Owen said the loss of his two best friends had a big impact on him. It made him think there must be some purpose that he survived the war.

I think the world needed him to survive the war and succeed in business and life, more than the army needed another casualty of war. If Owen had been lost in the war, would Westby have a new library? Would Norskedalen still be just an idea... not a reality? Would Westby graduates be receiving thousands of dollars in scholarships each year? Would Vesterheim be what it is today? Would the Norwegian-American Genealogical Center be the success it is today? Those are just five things he’s been involved in.

Owen Bekkum, Tom Skattum, and the men of the 99th (The Ole Battalion), one of the most unique units of World War II, truly are members of the “Greatest Generation.”

49 Years and A Wakeup

Across the Fence #339

It’s that time of year when high school students are preparing for graduation. Those seniors are finally realizing how quickly four years can go. I can almost remember my high school graduation. I say almost, because it’s been a long time since the Westby High School class of ’62 walked across the stage and were handed a diploma. That’s 1962!

For those of you who paid attention during math class, you should be able to do the subtraction. For those of you who had other things on your mind, the answer is 49. Math was not one of my strong points, but I know this is the correct number, because I recently received a letter informing me that I’m on the planning committee for our 50th reunion next summer.

Uff da, that number can’t possibly be right. I remember when my mother and father had their 50th reunions and they were old at the time. At least I thought they were. I remember thinking they would be mighty small reunions because they couldn’t have that many classmates who were still above ground. And now, here we are, one year away from that momentous occasion.

Truth be told, high school was not the best time of my life. I don’t have very many good memories. I was talking with a fellow classmate, Monte Nelson, about our high school experiences one day. He said that high school was not a happy time for him either. He said, “High school was the longest twelve years of my life.” Just to set the record straight, Monte gave me permission to use his name in this story. They lived on a farm near Coon Valley. He went on to say that his family was very poor. How poor were they? Monte said they were so poor that his mother had to make stone soup for supper, but didn’t have anything else to throw in the pot with the stones. Then in the morning, his father would crush the remaining stones so he could put them in his sandwich to take to school. Now that was so poor, even I couldn’t come up with a good story to out-poor him!

I reminded Monte about one of our classmates who liked to intimidate people by hitting them in the arm. One day in Ag class, before our teacher arrived, he hauled off and nailed me in the upper arm. It really hurt and my “Hothead Sven” gene suddenly erupted. I grabbed him and we both went tumbling over a table and I landed on the floor on top of him. Just then, Mr. Nestingen came into the room. I must have looked like the guilty party as I sat straddling him with my fist raised, ready to deliver another blow. The fight came to an abrupt halt as Mr. Nestingen took control of the situation. At least my classmate never messed with me again.

Ah yes, those good old high school days. The ensuing 49 years have seen several of our classmates head off to that big reunion in the great beyond, including the guy I had the altercation with. Ardy Sloane is another classmate who recently joined them. She died last fall while getting ready for school one morning. Since both our names started with “S,” she usually sat behind me in class. Ardy taught English and Journalism at North-Linn High School in Iowa, and was able to read my column each week in the Linn News-Letter in Central City, Iowa. She often sent me e-mails commenting on my stories. I miss her comments and often got ideas for stories from her. She commented one time that she and I would probably be the only people at our 50th reunion who aren’t retired. Even though teaching could be frustrating at times, she still loved it.

Regarding teaching, she once wrote: “I’m not a teacher who believes in pigeon-holing kids into high, low, and in-between potential. Poop on that. In my view, that just encourages and reinforces learned behavior. I believe every student is capable of excellence if encouraged.” What a great attitude toward teaching and her student’s abilities. I suspect her students will look back on their high school years and have her on their list of favorite teachers.

Now she’s gone and maybe I’ll be the only one still working full-time when we have our 50th reunion next summer. Uff da.

I’ve got to admit, I’ve only attended three of my class reunions. That probably had something to do with it not being the best time of my life. I did attend our 40th and had a good time visiting with classmates. The nice part is that Westby isn’t a large school with thousands of students. We all knew each other, and believe it or not, most of us can still recognize each other, even though most of us look nothing like we did when we were in high school. I also liked that because we were older, no one was trying to impress anyone, as people tend to do in their younger years. What you see is what you get. Take it or leave it. I like that attitude. As one classmate said, “Why didn’t we all talk together like this in high school?”

That was a great question. It would have made the high school experience better for everyone.

Eulogy To A Road

Across the Fence #338

As I stood in the middle of what was left of Sherpe Road, in the early morning hours of Arbor Day, my heart was heavy. Smoke filled the air from burning brush piles. It’s been that way for several days along Highway 14 between Westby and Viroqua.

As I stood on what used to be a beautiful, peaceful, tree-lined road, the scene that surrounded me looked like a bombed out, smoldering landscape in the midst of war. Everything had been destroyed. There was hardly a blade of grass left standing. Fifty-year-old trees had been ripped from the ground, bulldozed into huge piles, and set on fire. Nothing was spared. Everything was gone, and I felt naked and exposed as I stood there among the ruins. I also felt sadness and a lot of anger.

There is no good reason for all this destruction. It was even more ironic that it was Arbor Day as I stood there, a day when we should be planting trees, not destroying them. I thought of the many lives along the path of destruction that have been disrupted and changed; homes destroyed, farms destroyed, farmland destroyed, trees and wildlife habitat destroyed, and all for what one person described to me as a “road to nowhere.”

I’ve talked with a lot of people and they all say they don’t understand why this four-lane is being built. We had a flat, good highway, with only one gradual curve. We’re talking about a new stretch of highway that’s only 4.5 miles long. If you speed on the new highway, you might gain one or two extra minutes at the most as you travel between the two cities. Then it funnels back down to two lanes through town. Is that extra minute or two worth all the destruction? Is it worth spending millions of dollars on, when the state of Wisconsin is supposed to be broke? I guess it’s worth it to the politicians in Madison, and the powers to be in the Wisconsin DOT, who seem to have no concept of what life is like outside the Republic of Madison.

Several people have told me that they voiced their opinions and opposition to the project at DOT listening sessions, but nobody was listening—it was like talking to a brick wall. Everything had already been decided.

According to our governor, the state is broke, but you’d never know it by the millions of dollars they’re spending to destroy the countryside between Westby and Viroqua. The political leaders want to make drastic spending cuts in education and senior-related programs, but the state can still pay contractors millions of dollars to build roads to nowhere. Maybe if we had spent more money on education in the past, our leaders would be better equipped to make these decisions.

Perhaps it’s just the smoke from all the burning trees and brush piles that’s clouding my mind, so I can’t see the big picture. The only picture I see, is total destruction, devastation, and property destroyed. Sherpe Road that used to be home to wildlife and birds in all the trees and bushes, that had wild plum trees and wild blackberries, that was beautiful to drive or walk through in all seasons, is now a barren wasteland – everything destroyed.

The Olson property on the corner of Tri-State Road and Highway 14, where Faye McClurg lived – destroyed. The house, barn, and beautiful trees where the Clara Olson family lived – destroyed. The farm where Pete Erickson lived when I was young – destroyed. It was Pete and my father who used to talk across the fence and where the name for this column came from. Smith School, that had been converted into a home is now gone. So are all the large, old trees that stood around the school – destroyed. The field where my grandparents, Oscar and Julia Hanson, raised tobacco and strawberries – destroyed. The field where my uncle and aunt, Maynard and Jeannette Hanson, raised tobacco – destroyed. Part of Thompson’s field along the highway – destroyed. Rogers house and fields along the highway – destroyed. The homes next to the Wayside Park, where the root beer stand was – destroyed. Those are just the places near where we live that are affected. That’s also a lot of history destroyed.

Is it any wonder that I felt sadness and anger as I stood among the destruction on Arbor Day? They say you can’t beat a dead horse, and this horse is dead. It’s been destroyed, not because it was hurt or ailing, but killed for no good reason. I just wanted to let people know what a fine horse it was before it was destroyed.

This is my eulogy to that fine horse, to the lives disrupted and land destroyed along that highway. It will take another 50 years before that landscape begins to resemble what’s been destroyed. Most of us will be gone by then. My hope is that the generations coming behind us are better stewards of the land, and not so quick to destroy everything in order to gain an extra minute of time. I hope they’ll have a better appreciation for nature and not want to bulldoze everything down and cement it over.

Only time will tell. Meanwhile, Rest In Peace!