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!
*
Saturday, November 26, 2011
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!
*
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Someone Has To Win
Across the Fence #363
“We just drew your name and you’re the winner of the 1977 Corvette!” Those were the words I heard when we answered the phone on Friday night, October 21. “Is this a joke? Who is this?” I thought someone was pulling my leg. The caller explained that I had just won the Valley View Rotary Classic Car raffle in La Crosse. They were calling from the drawing for the car celebration party at the La Crosse Center. I heard cheering in the background. I couldn’t remember ever buying a ticket. My mind was still spinning as I tried to remember where I had bought a raffle ticket.
The woman I was talking with assured me it wasn’t a crank call. I was the winner of the Corvette. As we continued talking, I was still in my skeptical mode because I still couldn’t remember buying a ticket. We arranged for me to pick up the car at Brenengen Chevrolet near Valley View Mall on Monday at 4:30 pm. I asked how much the IRS would want from me, because I knew they always got their money when someone wins a larger prize. A man came on the line to explain that the IRS required a 28% gambling tax on the value of the car. There’s no free lunch. I needed to pay the tax before the car could leave the lot.
When we finally hung up, I was still searching my memory for when and where I had bought a ticket. I guess I was still skeptical, so I went on the web and googled Valley View Mall Rotary. Holy cow, there were pictures of a burgundy-colored 1977 Corvette, and a notice that the drawing would be held on October 21. It was for real! I read through the rules of the raffle to see if that would jog my memory. The tickets were $10 or three for $20. Then I remembered. I had bought the ticket during the Westby Syttende Mai, way back in May, at the Classic Car Show. I remembered they were trying to sell me the three for $20, a better deal, and I said it only takes one ticket to win.
I never buy raffle tickets thinking I’m going to win. I think most of us buy them to support the organizations. They were also donating money to the Freedom Honor Flight program to send World War II vets to Washington. I’m pretty “fugal” when it comes to buying raffle tickets, but that was a cause I wanted to donate to, or I wouldn’t have spent $10. Is it any wonder I’d forgotten about a purchase I’d made six months earlier?
So now we have a 1977 Corvette. I’d never even sat in one before. They’re interesting to get in and out of, but once you’re seated and fastened in, it’s like sitting in the cockpit of a race car. I’ve never had a sporty-looking car before. People will probably think I’m having a “late-life” crisis if they see me driving around in this car. I’m way past the “mid-life” crisis stage.
I bought my first car when I was 23 years old and had just returned from Vietnam in 1967. It was a used, 1965 Chevy Impala. While driving it on the way to Fort Knox, Kentucky, I found out why the previous owner had gotten rid of it. It was an oil burner. I joked that every time I filled up the gas tank, I added a quart of oil. It wasn’t far from the truth.
Every car we’ve ever had has been a Chevy. I’ve even had a couple Chevettes. Not exactly in the same league with the Chevy Corvette, but I liked them. They usually got me from Point A to Point B without too much trouble, and they suited my frugal pocketbook. I had a used, Chevy Impala that I remember. It was yellow with a brown, vinyl top. Actually the top was several shades of brown and black and peeling off in spots. The yellow exterior had nice, brown rust spots of varying sizes. I called it my Ghetto Cruiser. I could have left it unattended in the toughest sections of Chicago and no self-respecting thief would have touched it. I’ll need to be a bit more careful where I park this Corvette.
When Linda and I went to La Crosse to pick the car up, my brother, Arden, rode along. You should have seen Arden and me getting into the car for the ride back to Westby. If you’ve ever gotten in and out of a Corvette, you know what I’m talking about. It had been a long time since I’d driven a stick shift, but it didn’t take long to get the hang of it again. The worst part was hitting rush hour traffic as we were leaving. I didn’t want someone banging into us before we even got it home.
Corvette’s are not exactly a Wisconsin winter mode of transportation, so it will go into storage at the first hint of snow, and not emerge until spring. Then I think I’ll have to do a little cruisin’.
I used to say, if my name was the only one in the hat, they’d draw out the hat size. I guess I can’t say that any more. Someone has to win, and this time I was the lucky one.
*
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Sleepy Hollow-een
Across the Fence #362
The other day we were driving around, when I started noticing all the roads with Hollow in the name. It brought back memories of Sleepy Hollow. How many of you remember “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving? I remember watching Walt Disney’s animated version on The Wonderful World of Disney in the mid-1950’s when I was young.
It had the gangly schoolteacher, Ichabod Crane as the main character and was narrated by Bing Crosby. It also had a dark forest and the scary headless horseman. I don’t remember a lot of details about the story, but I know it was exciting and frightening.
I remember the headless horseman chasing after Ichabod as they rode through that dark forest, with the branches of the trees reaching out like skeletal fingers, trying to grab Ichabod—Pretty scary stuff. A perfect story to remember as Halloween approaches.
There’s always something magical about Disney animation, and when you add Bing Crosby narrating and singing, you have the makings of a wonderful film. Ichabod was the underdog in the story. He was everything that we associate with the non-hero type of person. I think most of us like to stick up for the underdog and see them win. We see ourselves as underdogs too, and can relate to them.
I prefer the Disney animated films to the horror films, usually associated with Halloween. Even before I went to art school, I wanted to be an animator for Walt Disney Productions in California. I even wrote a letter to Walt when I was still in grade school, telling him I hoped to work for him some day. I never did hear back from him. I suspect he had more important things to do, and received many letters like that every day. It’s probably a good thing I never headed off to California to seek employment with Walt, or my life would have been completely different and I wouldn’t be writing this story now. Life seems to offer us paths that we can choose to travel, but just as Ichabod found out, some of the paths we choose can be pretty scary at times.
Halloween has changed a lot in my time. When I was young, I don’t remember going trick or treating. When you lived in the country, you couldn’t just walk door to door and collect more candy than you could eat in a month, as kids do today. In our case, our father would have had to drive us from place to place. He was busy milking cows and we were busy helping with the chores. My mother didn’t drive.
I think our Halloween celebration happened in our one-room country school, where we had a party on a day close to Halloween. We bobbed for apples, and had a fish pond where a sheet was strung up and we took turns fishing. The pole had a line attached to it with a clothespin on the end. When you put the line over the sheet, older kids behind the sheet attached a small prize. They pulled on the line so it felt like you’d caught a fish, and you brought up your prize. I don’t remember what the prizes were, but they were probably pretty simple. The dressing up we did was called Hobo Day. I think that was all part of our Halloween celebration.
When our kids were young, they always went trick or treating around our neighborhood. Linda or I went with them and stayed on the sidewalk while they went up to each house. One of us stayed home to dish out the candy to kids who came to our house. We just went to houses where we knew the people, not to every house within a mile radius, as some kids seemed to do. One year I got into the act too. Linda’s brother, Lon, and his family, lived in Middleton. We drove to their house, where I put on a mask and wore an old trench coat. When the kids rang the doorbell, I knelt on my knees between them. When they opened the door, we all said “trick or treat.” But the trick was on me. They knew exactly who that big kid was between Erik and Amy. “Aren’t you a little old to be trick or treating?” I guess I should have stuck to tipping corn shocks and outhouses. I’ve heard tell, people used to do those activities on Halloween.
Halloween can also be a cold time of year. Many times it’d be raining and very cold. The kids would be all dressed up in their Halloween outfits and then have to wear a coat over the top to go trick or treating. That kind of defeated the whole purpose of dressing up. They could just as well have dressed up in long johns, heavy parkas, mittens, and a ski mask to cover their face, and gone door to door that way. At least they’d have been incognito and warm.
They also had Halloween parties at their school, except for a couple years, when it was decided by the powers-to-be in Madison, that it was not politically correct to dress up with masks, because some people might be offended or frightened. At least Halloween was later reinstated, so the kids could enjoy the occasion and have some fun memories to look back on too.
Happy Hollow-eening everyone!
*
The other day we were driving around, when I started noticing all the roads with Hollow in the name. It brought back memories of Sleepy Hollow. How many of you remember “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving? I remember watching Walt Disney’s animated version on The Wonderful World of Disney in the mid-1950’s when I was young.
It had the gangly schoolteacher, Ichabod Crane as the main character and was narrated by Bing Crosby. It also had a dark forest and the scary headless horseman. I don’t remember a lot of details about the story, but I know it was exciting and frightening.
I remember the headless horseman chasing after Ichabod as they rode through that dark forest, with the branches of the trees reaching out like skeletal fingers, trying to grab Ichabod—Pretty scary stuff. A perfect story to remember as Halloween approaches.
There’s always something magical about Disney animation, and when you add Bing Crosby narrating and singing, you have the makings of a wonderful film. Ichabod was the underdog in the story. He was everything that we associate with the non-hero type of person. I think most of us like to stick up for the underdog and see them win. We see ourselves as underdogs too, and can relate to them.
I prefer the Disney animated films to the horror films, usually associated with Halloween. Even before I went to art school, I wanted to be an animator for Walt Disney Productions in California. I even wrote a letter to Walt when I was still in grade school, telling him I hoped to work for him some day. I never did hear back from him. I suspect he had more important things to do, and received many letters like that every day. It’s probably a good thing I never headed off to California to seek employment with Walt, or my life would have been completely different and I wouldn’t be writing this story now. Life seems to offer us paths that we can choose to travel, but just as Ichabod found out, some of the paths we choose can be pretty scary at times.
Halloween has changed a lot in my time. When I was young, I don’t remember going trick or treating. When you lived in the country, you couldn’t just walk door to door and collect more candy than you could eat in a month, as kids do today. In our case, our father would have had to drive us from place to place. He was busy milking cows and we were busy helping with the chores. My mother didn’t drive.
I think our Halloween celebration happened in our one-room country school, where we had a party on a day close to Halloween. We bobbed for apples, and had a fish pond where a sheet was strung up and we took turns fishing. The pole had a line attached to it with a clothespin on the end. When you put the line over the sheet, older kids behind the sheet attached a small prize. They pulled on the line so it felt like you’d caught a fish, and you brought up your prize. I don’t remember what the prizes were, but they were probably pretty simple. The dressing up we did was called Hobo Day. I think that was all part of our Halloween celebration.
When our kids were young, they always went trick or treating around our neighborhood. Linda or I went with them and stayed on the sidewalk while they went up to each house. One of us stayed home to dish out the candy to kids who came to our house. We just went to houses where we knew the people, not to every house within a mile radius, as some kids seemed to do. One year I got into the act too. Linda’s brother, Lon, and his family, lived in Middleton. We drove to their house, where I put on a mask and wore an old trench coat. When the kids rang the doorbell, I knelt on my knees between them. When they opened the door, we all said “trick or treat.” But the trick was on me. They knew exactly who that big kid was between Erik and Amy. “Aren’t you a little old to be trick or treating?” I guess I should have stuck to tipping corn shocks and outhouses. I’ve heard tell, people used to do those activities on Halloween.
Halloween can also be a cold time of year. Many times it’d be raining and very cold. The kids would be all dressed up in their Halloween outfits and then have to wear a coat over the top to go trick or treating. That kind of defeated the whole purpose of dressing up. They could just as well have dressed up in long johns, heavy parkas, mittens, and a ski mask to cover their face, and gone door to door that way. At least they’d have been incognito and warm.
They also had Halloween parties at their school, except for a couple years, when it was decided by the powers-to-be in Madison, that it was not politically correct to dress up with masks, because some people might be offended or frightened. At least Halloween was later reinstated, so the kids could enjoy the occasion and have some fun memories to look back on too.
Happy Hollow-eening everyone!
*
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Across the Fence: Roads Less Traveled
Book #5
Now Available
$16.00
Contact Howard Sherpe
to purchase a book.
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