The sad news from Newtown, CT, is mind-boggling. I struggle to recall any comparable incident from our youth, at least in the schools. If it happened, it was an isolated incident, nowhere near a school zone, and carried out as a recurring event in multiple locations.
We were safe because assault weapons didn't exist. Perhaps the greatest predator was polio, and when the Salk vaccine was introduced I recall lining up for a shot in Mason City. My mother was like any other concerned parent who wanted to seize the opportunity to protect her children.
The nation responded to Salk's discovery. And now I wonder if the nation will successfully respond to the slate of gun violence over the past 15 years. As a gun owner, I have no problem with eliminating the type of weapons used in Newtown, or the 30-round clips that were used.
As a former teacher/administrator I find it ludicrous that some individuals including a congressman in Minnesota, are advocating for teachers and administrators having weapons available to them. The fellow from Minnesota has claimed that knowing the school has weapons inside would keep the perpetrator away.
Really? Let's see, the fellow in Newtown who obviously was not of the right mind would be rational enough to pick a different school? Or the kids who shot up Columbine? In their case the greater likelihood is that they would seek out the teacher they knew to be carrying, get the jump and eliminate him before carrying out their carnage elsewhere.
There are no simple solutions, and let's be clear that none of the massacres from Oak Creek, Aurora, Columbine, Portland, or now Newtown are acceptable, but at last we have found our lowest common denominator in Newtown, helpless 6-year-olds who may lift us to take action.
A solution was found for Polio, and a solution, complex as it may be with multiple parts, can be put together to reduce or hopefully eliminate this guy violence. I hope.
Showing posts with label Death and Dying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death and Dying. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
Childhood Diseases
Seniors don't object to lining up for this new vaccine, having been indoctrinated by their parents as to the necessity of doing so. Get in line and git 'er done.
Jonas Salk was quite the hero in 1952 when he developed the vaccine used against Polio. The stories of the iron lung, the youngsters our age who walked on crutches or staggered along, or even the death of the infected caused great concern among parents. Perhaps you, too, lined up in Mason City for the original injected dosage followed a couple years later by the oral vaccine.
That is the disease that rings the bell most loudly for our age, but our parents most likely could list many others that swept across the country wreaking havoc during their youth. Although our parents would not likely have first-hand experience from the pandemic flu that killed close to a million people in 1917-18 they certainly heard about it from their own parents - if those parents survived.
Whole tribes of Native Americans disappeared when confronted with measles or other viruses for which they had not developed any natural immunity - or awareness.
It's a simple methodology: you learn from those affected and then carry the message forward. All our mothers, all our parents, were attuned to the variety of scourges that could affect us and chose to protect us. Many bore injection scars on the arm reflecting their having received the shot in a primitive process, but no one bore any shame from that scar.
We heard it from the parents, passed it on to our children albeit with less passion than we had heard, I suppose, and they to their own children, even less passionately. You do not fear what you do not know/have not experienced directly. And thus we are finding more and more parents putting their children and others at risk by opting out from the vaccination requirements. They are mostly white women, well educated, Master's degree or higher, heavily oriented towards homeschooling and organic living.
As if it's a communist plot or something to listen to the medical community as to the risks and impact. They fear autism. A fear based on . . . perhaps an actress espousing her beliefs on an afternoon TV show? Think risk/reward: a few cases of autism or an entire generation wiped out by disease. What do you choose?
We've been there. Now it's up to us to sound the alarms.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Your Last . . . Whatever
Sometime in the last couple of years we've made purchases that suddenly trigger the notion that "This may be the last time we ever buy . . . " that particular product.
For example, I wanted to convert our grill to natural gas but was told I could not. Considering we had used the current grill for 18 years and it really had many years to go, I realized that if I were to buy a new grill today, it will no doubt be the LAST one I will ever buy, so let's dump the old beater and start a relationship with the newer, more valuable product. Get what you want, because by the time it needs replacement, you probably won't want to be standing outdoors in the rain or snow trying to do the grilling anyway, so the next one WILL be your LAST grill.
We applied the same thinking to other products for the home: a new steam iron, recliners, and various other items. Theoretically, they are our last, ever.
Morbid? I don't look at it that way. Maybe it's "glass half-full vs glass half-empty" but I never really understood the management application of that concept anyway. In the sales world the notion was that those with a positive view would look to the half-full side, and those with a negative view would lean to the half-empty side. Whatever.
I suppose our "glass" is indeed better than half-empty, yet have you noticed the imaginary contents might taste better than 40 years ago? Could it be that at last you have the time to enjoy the flavor, to swirl it in the glass and test the "nose"? Consider how many glasses of milk you have consumed in your lifetime. Consider the satisfaction involved just by the quantity, but also by an appreciation of a lifetime of taste. A half-glass of iced tea or lemonade even tastes better now in the absence of a rush to be somewhere.
Our house itself is a balancing act between lifetime/half-glass thinking. I'm pretty skeptical about the roof we put on 2 years ago. The siding is OK, the windows are Andersen and good to go, but the furnace is now the 2nd replacement since 1985 and won't make the lifetime list, and for sure we'll be replacing the television, computer, printer, and at least some furniture around the house.
The cars? They are always a love/hate relationship. They don't make 'em like they used to, which means you can run them up to 200,000 miles pretty easily even if you're sick and tired of them, which I usually am about 5,000 miles into their lifetime. So it's a real question as to exactly when the last car will be purchased, and even then I'll be waffling over the "want vs need" dilemma.
So you just can't beat the "last a lifetime" concept. That new grill will indeed last a lifetime, as well the steam iron, and the recliners. Those glasses are "full." The question now is "what else?"
We applied the same thinking to other products for the home: a new steam iron, recliners, and various other items. Theoretically, they are our last, ever.
Morbid? I don't look at it that way. Maybe it's "glass half-full vs glass half-empty" but I never really understood the management application of that concept anyway. In the sales world the notion was that those with a positive view would look to the half-full side, and those with a negative view would lean to the half-empty side. Whatever.
I suppose our "glass" is indeed better than half-empty, yet have you noticed the imaginary contents might taste better than 40 years ago? Could it be that at last you have the time to enjoy the flavor, to swirl it in the glass and test the "nose"? Consider how many glasses of milk you have consumed in your lifetime. Consider the satisfaction involved just by the quantity, but also by an appreciation of a lifetime of taste. A half-glass of iced tea or lemonade even tastes better now in the absence of a rush to be somewhere.
Our house itself is a balancing act between lifetime/half-glass thinking. I'm pretty skeptical about the roof we put on 2 years ago. The siding is OK, the windows are Andersen and good to go, but the furnace is now the 2nd replacement since 1985 and won't make the lifetime list, and for sure we'll be replacing the television, computer, printer, and at least some furniture around the house.
The cars? They are always a love/hate relationship. They don't make 'em like they used to, which means you can run them up to 200,000 miles pretty easily even if you're sick and tired of them, which I usually am about 5,000 miles into their lifetime. So it's a real question as to exactly when the last car will be purchased, and even then I'll be waffling over the "want vs need" dilemma.
So you just can't beat the "last a lifetime" concept. That new grill will indeed last a lifetime, as well the steam iron, and the recliners. Those glasses are "full." The question now is "what else?"
Thursday, May 31, 2012
A Memorial Day Speech
The following is the speech given by Major John Meyer, USAF, retired, at the Northwood Memorial Day services on Monday, May 28, 2012. The speech sings of the sacrifices of a few, and the community of us all. We thank him for sharing this with us.
Friends, neighbors, fellow veterans it is a privilege to gather here in freedom to honor those who have given so much in service to our great nation. The freedom we enjoy is continually being purchased for us at an enormous price. Today thousands of our men and women are engaged in war to ensure that you and I can continue to enjoy freedom.
It is never over. Missions may end but the legacies left and the pain of their absence endures.
It is never over. The pain of the absence of our brave young men and women endures. I felt everyone knew Lt. Col. John McCrae’s poem “In Flanders Fields.” It has been called the most memorable war poem ever written. My 6th grade teacher read it to us. When I talked about it on Saturday I found out that not everyone knows it and decided to add it to my talk today.
Lt. Col McCrae wrote this poem on the battlefield in Belgium in 1915. Although he had been a doctor for years it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here and Col McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.
One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lt. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lt. Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae’s dressing station and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.
In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe and he spent 20 minutes of precious rest time scribbling 15 lines of verse in a notebook.
By the time our last remaining combat troops returned from Iraq in December 2011, nearly 4,500 of their comrades lost their lives during Operations Iraqi Freedom and New Dawn.
We continue to lose American heroes every day in Afghanistan and in military training accidents and missions around the world. The loss to their families, friends, fellow service members and country is permanent.
Some were only teenagers and most of those killed were under age 25. In the eyes of their loved ones, they are forever young.
Today Marvin Everhart is placing a wreath in memory of his cousin Donald McNamara, a Marine Corporal who was killed in action in Vietnam. He is the only Vietnam veteran killed in action with Northwood, IA listed as his home of record.
Donald McNamara was a student at Northwood/Kensett when he enlisted in the Marines in March 1964. He has been described by those who served with him as: a very good man, a “hardcore Marine’s Marine,” he was compassionate, a leader who never let a squad member get into a situation over his head, a happy guy, and a good friend.
He was killed in action on July 21, 1967 when his unit was ambushed on patrol and a 6 hour firefight ensued. During the action he manned an M-60 while his squad would advance and fall back.
Marvin Everhart was serving in the Army in Vietnam at that time and accompanied the body home to Albert Lea where Donald’s parents were living at the time. Northwood was thus bypassed in providing recognition for his sacrifice.
Remembering our fallen once a year is not enough. The widows, widowers, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and children remember EVERYDAY.
The empty seat at the dinner table, the smaller gathering on Thanksgiving, and the voice of a loved one heard only as a distant memory are constant reminders that they are gone.
There are also other people like us who can enjoy time with their families because of the sacrifices that others have made.
Scripture tells us that “Greater love hath no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
From the American Revolution to the Global War on Terrorism, one million American men and women like Corporal McNamara have made the Supreme Sacrifice. They died so that we could continue to cherish the things we loved - - - God, country and family.
That is why we are gathered here on Memorial Day…to honor the memory of our fallen warriors who have given everything for their country.
We are also reminded on this day that in each generation, brave men and women will always step forward to take the oath of allegiance as members of America’s armed forces, willing to fight and if necessary die for the sake of freedom.
In reflecting on the sacrifices of their comrades during World War I, the founders of the American Legion saw four common pillars or reasons as to why Americans so often in the past and still to this day answer their nation’s call – even to the point of sacrificing their lives.
They do it to provide a strong national defense --- to keep America safe and secure against those enemies who would destroy our American way of life.
They do it for their fellow comrades --- for those fighting by their side against all odds and for those who eventually separate from the military but proudly claim their status as veterans.
They do it for American core values of God and country --- family, patriotism and our religious heritage.
They do it for their children… so that they can grow up in an America that is strong and free.
It is through this last pillar – children – that we can continue the spirit of Memorial Day each and every day.
More than 6,400 American men and women have died in Afghanistan and Iraq in the latest wars. Many were parents.
The innocence of their grieving children will be challenged by the dramatic change affecting their security and comfort in the family routine. Their hearts will feel the sharp sting of their loss, leaving them only with memories of their loving mom or dad. Life as they have known it will be much harder from now on.
There are many tangible things we can do to honor the service of our fallen heroes. First and foremost is to take care of their families. In some cases this means providing financial assistance to help their children obtain higher education. The American Legion, the Veterans of Foreign Wars, the Vietnam Veterans of America and the Veterans Administration all offer assistance.
We honor the living comrades of the fallen – the wounded, injured and ill members of our Armed Forces through various programs. Often times these veterans are surprised that so many want to help them. We don’t do this because of any requirements. We do it because we want to. It is simply the right thing to do.
Memorial Day is not about picnics and parades – although there is nothing wrong with enjoying and celebrating our American way of life. Memorial Day is really about remembering those who made our way of life possible.
May God bless our fallen heroes and may God bless you for being here today to remember them. Thank You.
Memorial Day - 2012
Friends, neighbors, fellow veterans it is a privilege to gather here in freedom to honor those who have given so much in service to our great nation. The freedom we enjoy is continually being purchased for us at an enormous price. Today thousands of our men and women are engaged in war to ensure that you and I can continue to enjoy freedom.
It is never over. Missions may end but the legacies left and the pain of their absence endures.
It is never over. The pain of the absence of our brave young men and women endures. I felt everyone knew Lt. Col. John McCrae’s poem “In Flanders Fields.” It has been called the most memorable war poem ever written. My 6th grade teacher read it to us. When I talked about it on Saturday I found out that not everyone knows it and decided to add it to my talk today.
Lt. Col McCrae wrote this poem on the battlefield in Belgium in 1915. Although he had been a doctor for years it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here and Col McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.
One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lt. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lt. Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae’s dressing station and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.
In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe and he spent 20 minutes of precious rest time scribbling 15 lines of verse in a notebook.
IN FLANDERS fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields
By the time our last remaining combat troops returned from Iraq in December 2011, nearly 4,500 of their comrades lost their lives during Operations Iraqi Freedom and New Dawn.
We continue to lose American heroes every day in Afghanistan and in military training accidents and missions around the world. The loss to their families, friends, fellow service members and country is permanent.
Some were only teenagers and most of those killed were under age 25. In the eyes of their loved ones, they are forever young.
Today Marvin Everhart is placing a wreath in memory of his cousin Donald McNamara, a Marine Corporal who was killed in action in Vietnam. He is the only Vietnam veteran killed in action with Northwood, IA listed as his home of record.
Donald McNamara was a student at Northwood/Kensett when he enlisted in the Marines in March 1964. He has been described by those who served with him as: a very good man, a “hardcore Marine’s Marine,” he was compassionate, a leader who never let a squad member get into a situation over his head, a happy guy, and a good friend.
He was killed in action on July 21, 1967 when his unit was ambushed on patrol and a 6 hour firefight ensued. During the action he manned an M-60 while his squad would advance and fall back.
Marvin Everhart was serving in the Army in Vietnam at that time and accompanied the body home to Albert Lea where Donald’s parents were living at the time. Northwood was thus bypassed in providing recognition for his sacrifice.
Remembering our fallen once a year is not enough. The widows, widowers, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and children remember EVERYDAY.
The empty seat at the dinner table, the smaller gathering on Thanksgiving, and the voice of a loved one heard only as a distant memory are constant reminders that they are gone.
There are also other people like us who can enjoy time with their families because of the sacrifices that others have made.
Scripture tells us that “Greater love hath no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
From the American Revolution to the Global War on Terrorism, one million American men and women like Corporal McNamara have made the Supreme Sacrifice. They died so that we could continue to cherish the things we loved - - - God, country and family.
That is why we are gathered here on Memorial Day…to honor the memory of our fallen warriors who have given everything for their country.
We are also reminded on this day that in each generation, brave men and women will always step forward to take the oath of allegiance as members of America’s armed forces, willing to fight and if necessary die for the sake of freedom.
In reflecting on the sacrifices of their comrades during World War I, the founders of the American Legion saw four common pillars or reasons as to why Americans so often in the past and still to this day answer their nation’s call – even to the point of sacrificing their lives.
They do it to provide a strong national defense --- to keep America safe and secure against those enemies who would destroy our American way of life.
They do it for their fellow comrades --- for those fighting by their side against all odds and for those who eventually separate from the military but proudly claim their status as veterans.
They do it for American core values of God and country --- family, patriotism and our religious heritage.
They do it for their children… so that they can grow up in an America that is strong and free.
It is through this last pillar – children – that we can continue the spirit of Memorial Day each and every day.
More than 6,400 American men and women have died in Afghanistan and Iraq in the latest wars. Many were parents.
The innocence of their grieving children will be challenged by the dramatic change affecting their security and comfort in the family routine. Their hearts will feel the sharp sting of their loss, leaving them only with memories of their loving mom or dad. Life as they have known it will be much harder from now on.
There are many tangible things we can do to honor the service of our fallen heroes. First and foremost is to take care of their families. In some cases this means providing financial assistance to help their children obtain higher education. The American Legion, the Veterans of Foreign Wars, the Vietnam Veterans of America and the Veterans Administration all offer assistance.
We honor the living comrades of the fallen – the wounded, injured and ill members of our Armed Forces through various programs. Often times these veterans are surprised that so many want to help them. We don’t do this because of any requirements. We do it because we want to. It is simply the right thing to do.
Memorial Day is not about picnics and parades – although there is nothing wrong with enjoying and celebrating our American way of life. Memorial Day is really about remembering those who made our way of life possible.
May God bless our fallen heroes and may God bless you for being here today to remember them. Thank You.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Children of the Greatest Generation
I ran into Chuck and Janis (Jones) Hendrickson at the Memorial Day services in Northwood. Chuck is recovering well from his illness and is looking very healthy. He and Janis were all smiles during the day. The next day Janis responded to an email about the service and happened to mention her Dad, Charlie, having served in WW II. I had just heard that he had been a POW, so I asked Janis to confirm that, which she did.
Correct. Dad was in the National Guard. He was captured by the Germans in North Africa and was a POW in Poland for 27 months. He wrote a book of his war experiences in the late 80’s. My brother went to Poland and retraced Dad’s steps, seeing where he was actually imprisoned. How I would have loved to have gone with him!! Before Dad’s health began to decline he did lots of public speaking on his experiences and especially enjoyed being invited to tell his story to high school history classes.
I’m in the process of reading 4 years of letters back and forth between my dad and mom…and my dad and his parents – all of them during the war. Spellbinding. My dad was a gifted writer – they read like a novel.
Charlie owned the theater in Northwood for a number of years and may have been best known for his work as a public address announcer and emcee, for the church league softball in what is now Swensrud Park, and at high school football games. I asked Janis if she could share some of his story with us, and she submitted the following.
My father, Charlie Jones, was a member of the 34th Red Bull Division of the U.S. Army and its 168th infantry in WWII. He was fighting the Germans in North Africa, when he, along with many other members of the nearly decimated 168th, was forced to surrender on Feb. 17. 1943. He became a Prisoner of War for 27 months. He was liberated on May 21, 1945 and was honorably discharged as Captain in February 1946.
Dad was engaged to my mother during his imprisonment. Letters back and forth between the two of them were heartfelt and were lifelines for them both, especially my father. Our family recently came across these spellbinding letters which read like a novel.
The Red Cross and the YMCA were paramount in the well-being of the POWs. Through these two organizations, the prisoners were furnished reading material, musical instruments and sheet music, as well as food care packages to supplement the watered-down soup and stale bread provided by the Germans.
The prisoners amazingly organized their camp, setting up areas of administration, recreation and education, training and supply sections. Dad first served as company clerk, then was later moved to be in charge of phonograph music. He kept himself busy with the activities made available: a library, a theatre of sorts, lectures, recitals, plays, concerts and many types of school classes on almost any subject imaginable. Dad kept a log of all the books he read during his captivity and, if memory serves me correctly, it was around 1,000. He loved the classics of literature, philosophy, and religion but found the most peace in books of poetry.
The POWs could make most anything out of nothing. Our family had many mementoes Dad made including a toothbrush implemented from wood attached to many threads (better at mopping the teeth than actually brushing), and eating utensils he had whittled out of a few pieces of scrap wood. There was also a hand-woven coin purse he’d made from threads he’d acquired from scrap fabric with a closure button made from a prune pit in which he’d carved the letter “M” for Myrtle, my mother. His hands were busy for many months embroidering a large tablecloth my mother sent to him, which later graced our family dining table for every holiday. Many items have been donated to the Iowa Gold Star Military Museum in Johnston, Iowa.
While imprisoned, Dad was a member of a 17 man chorus. We’ve heard their actual recordings attained through the archives, and were thrilled to hear Dad’s name announced as a Bass member of the group. He also participated in many stage plays during his time at the camp.
My father kept a diary…Following are several excerpts:
December 31, 1944: As the year closes, I can look back and be thankful for many things. Health has stayed about fair level. I haven’t been too cold, having managed to keep from being too hungry, have had food from home and comparatively frequent assurance from home that my loved ones are well and still waiting for me and loving me. May God continue to bless Myrtle, Mom and Dad and family. And may I be worthy of continued blessings as much as the past. With hope and prayer for the future, it’s good bye to 1944.
The following entry was written after the Germans had marched the POWs over a period of months in the bitter winter weather to new locations to avoid the Russians, who were approaching and trying to liberate the POWs.
March 7, 1945 Been getting gradually weaker on a diet of bread and pea soup and ersatz tea. Sleeping on a handful of wet straw on 8 bed boards. Too cold to take off any clothes so I’ve had mine on since January 20th, save for one de-lousing. Skinny and weak as a cat.
Why was my father a survivor? First of all, he was an officer. He was not forced to work long hours on the Germans’ behalf. Second, the luck of the draw took him to camps with generally more humane leadership from the Germans than existed in other camps. In addition, he kept himself as busy as possible in the activities the camp had to offer, as well as his own handiwork, embroidery, etc. His values and growing religious beliefs were also clearly a factor. But above all else, Dad had something that kept him focused on the future: the woman he loved, her letters and pictures, and his faith that she would be there for him when he arrived home. And she was. The long wait was over. They were married 3 weeks after he arrived home on American soil, granting them 54 years together. Dad passed away September 10, 1999 at the age of 86.
Unlike many WWII veterans who chose not to discuss their time at war, my dad was always very verbal to his children about his experiences. I remember sobbing one evening when Dad sat all 5 of his children down to talk about what life was like for him as a POW. I couldn’t bear the fact that my father had endured such hardship. That was a child’s reaction. As an adult, I am thankful he was a POW in a fairly humane camp, and was not one of those many of our fallen heroes who gave the ultimate sacrifice.
Dad constructed a mock-up of his camp which he took with him on his many lectures to area high school history classes over the years. I think he knew that the story must be told…that the world must not forget the atrocities war brings about. I’m very proud and thankful my father felt inclined to pass on such an important piece of his, and America’s, history. Mostly, I’m so glad he survived! He was a hero in my eyes!
Submitted by:
Janis (Jones) Hendrickson
Correct. Dad was in the National Guard. He was captured by the Germans in North Africa and was a POW in Poland for 27 months. He wrote a book of his war experiences in the late 80’s. My brother went to Poland and retraced Dad’s steps, seeing where he was actually imprisoned. How I would have loved to have gone with him!! Before Dad’s health began to decline he did lots of public speaking on his experiences and especially enjoyed being invited to tell his story to high school history classes.
I’m in the process of reading 4 years of letters back and forth between my dad and mom…and my dad and his parents – all of them during the war. Spellbinding. My dad was a gifted writer – they read like a novel.
Charlie owned the theater in Northwood for a number of years and may have been best known for his work as a public address announcer and emcee, for the church league softball in what is now Swensrud Park, and at high school football games. I asked Janis if she could share some of his story with us, and she submitted the following.
My father, Charlie Jones, was a member of the 34th Red Bull Division of the U.S. Army and its 168th infantry in WWII. He was fighting the Germans in North Africa, when he, along with many other members of the nearly decimated 168th, was forced to surrender on Feb. 17. 1943. He became a Prisoner of War for 27 months. He was liberated on May 21, 1945 and was honorably discharged as Captain in February 1946.
 |
| Official POW photo and snapshot on a Memorial Day mid-90s at Sunset Rest Cemetery - original Army uniform |
Dad was interned most of his time at Oflag 64, famous for holding General Patton’s son-in-law, John K. Waters. It was a small camp at Schubin, Poland. On capture there were only about 150 American officers in the 10-acre compound. By the time Oflag 64 was evacuated in January 1945, the roll call had reached 1,400.
Dad was engaged to my mother during his imprisonment. Letters back and forth between the two of them were heartfelt and were lifelines for them both, especially my father. Our family recently came across these spellbinding letters which read like a novel.
The Red Cross and the YMCA were paramount in the well-being of the POWs. Through these two organizations, the prisoners were furnished reading material, musical instruments and sheet music, as well as food care packages to supplement the watered-down soup and stale bread provided by the Germans.
The prisoners amazingly organized their camp, setting up areas of administration, recreation and education, training and supply sections. Dad first served as company clerk, then was later moved to be in charge of phonograph music. He kept himself busy with the activities made available: a library, a theatre of sorts, lectures, recitals, plays, concerts and many types of school classes on almost any subject imaginable. Dad kept a log of all the books he read during his captivity and, if memory serves me correctly, it was around 1,000. He loved the classics of literature, philosophy, and religion but found the most peace in books of poetry.
The POWs could make most anything out of nothing. Our family had many mementoes Dad made including a toothbrush implemented from wood attached to many threads (better at mopping the teeth than actually brushing), and eating utensils he had whittled out of a few pieces of scrap wood. There was also a hand-woven coin purse he’d made from threads he’d acquired from scrap fabric with a closure button made from a prune pit in which he’d carved the letter “M” for Myrtle, my mother. His hands were busy for many months embroidering a large tablecloth my mother sent to him, which later graced our family dining table for every holiday. Many items have been donated to the Iowa Gold Star Military Museum in Johnston, Iowa.
While imprisoned, Dad was a member of a 17 man chorus. We’ve heard their actual recordings attained through the archives, and were thrilled to hear Dad’s name announced as a Bass member of the group. He also participated in many stage plays during his time at the camp.
My father kept a diary…Following are several excerpts:
December 31, 1944: As the year closes, I can look back and be thankful for many things. Health has stayed about fair level. I haven’t been too cold, having managed to keep from being too hungry, have had food from home and comparatively frequent assurance from home that my loved ones are well and still waiting for me and loving me. May God continue to bless Myrtle, Mom and Dad and family. And may I be worthy of continued blessings as much as the past. With hope and prayer for the future, it’s good bye to 1944.
The following entry was written after the Germans had marched the POWs over a period of months in the bitter winter weather to new locations to avoid the Russians, who were approaching and trying to liberate the POWs.
March 7, 1945 Been getting gradually weaker on a diet of bread and pea soup and ersatz tea. Sleeping on a handful of wet straw on 8 bed boards. Too cold to take off any clothes so I’ve had mine on since January 20th, save for one de-lousing. Skinny and weak as a cat.
Why was my father a survivor? First of all, he was an officer. He was not forced to work long hours on the Germans’ behalf. Second, the luck of the draw took him to camps with generally more humane leadership from the Germans than existed in other camps. In addition, he kept himself as busy as possible in the activities the camp had to offer, as well as his own handiwork, embroidery, etc. His values and growing religious beliefs were also clearly a factor. But above all else, Dad had something that kept him focused on the future: the woman he loved, her letters and pictures, and his faith that she would be there for him when he arrived home. And she was. The long wait was over. They were married 3 weeks after he arrived home on American soil, granting them 54 years together. Dad passed away September 10, 1999 at the age of 86.
Unlike many WWII veterans who chose not to discuss their time at war, my dad was always very verbal to his children about his experiences. I remember sobbing one evening when Dad sat all 5 of his children down to talk about what life was like for him as a POW. I couldn’t bear the fact that my father had endured such hardship. That was a child’s reaction. As an adult, I am thankful he was a POW in a fairly humane camp, and was not one of those many of our fallen heroes who gave the ultimate sacrifice.
Dad constructed a mock-up of his camp which he took with him on his many lectures to area high school history classes over the years. I think he knew that the story must be told…that the world must not forget the atrocities war brings about. I’m very proud and thankful my father felt inclined to pass on such an important piece of his, and America’s, history. Mostly, I’m so glad he survived! He was a hero in my eyes!
Submitted by:
Janis (Jones) Hendrickson
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Donald Woodward McNamara, Part II
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| Ronald McNamara, on the left Donald McNamara, on the right, ca. 1962 |
Just ten days ago the story of Donald McNamara, who attended NKHS from the fall of '63 until he enlisted in March, 1964, was reported on the blog.
Without a complete re-write of that story, suffice it to say that Donald enlisted in the Marines, presumably with his mother's permission, rather than graduate, at age 17 1/2, then died in Viet Nam on July 21, 1967, at the age of 20, three months short of his 21st birthday.
Since the original posting, other NHS and NKHS graduates have been engaged in uncovering more. They have found that Marv Everhart, '61, is a cousin, was serving in Nam in the Army, was part of the detail that escorted Donald home, and was present at the funeral and burial at Graceland Cemetery in Albert Lea.
Ann Swensrud Johnson, NHS '56, has led the search at the local level and coined the term "Project McNamara." Through her friend Jan Mielke of Lake Mills, she found the above photo in the 1963 LMHS yearbook, with the twins on either side of Steve Kvale, the fellow with glasses. Donald and Ronald had been students at LMHS prior to transferring to NKHS, and the photo caption identifies them as Ron and Don Carberry.
At this writing we have no other photos of Donald to share, though Ann has discovered that Marv and the daughter of a half-sister have several - which will allow us to meet the original commitment of posting his photo on the Virtual Wall and the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund site, where his military information is available.
Donald and twin brother Ronald were buried at Graceland, Donald with proper military rites, having been transported to an Albert Lea mortuary from Minneapolis. Thus Northwood was left "out of the loop" if you will, which is not surprising given his short attendance at NKHS, from September '63 to March '64, yet he enrolled as a Northwood resident, and his military records reflect that.
At this point we are researching any connection or commemoration for him at the Northwood VFW. Marv has a copy of a short obituary that appeared in the Anchor on July 27, 1967, and notice of his funeral service two weeks later, August 3.
If you happen to be standing right now, you may want to sit down for this next part. The bigger story for all involved in this research came four days after the original post.
We received an email request from a fellow named Shane Edgar, asking if we could provide more information about Donald McNamara. He had Googled the name, found our post, and sent the email. We told him we had posted what we knew, and asked Shane, as a point of curiosity, what his connection would be.
His email answer: I am trying to get some information on him because I was recently told he is my father.
We were all shocked, and our search went into overdrive, resulting in much of the information above.
We have since spoken directly with Shane, who is piecing together his own story, have invited him to meet with several from Northwood and Lake Mills who were connected to Donald in some way, and invited him to meet with several from the Class of '62 during the 50th Anniversay Reunion this summer.
The story of Donald Woodward McNamara is certainly being fleshed out, with help from players like Ann and Marv, who not only was a cousin but a good friend of Donald, and is himself learning things he did not previously know, along with Amber Carberry, the daughter referenced above.
If anything good has come following the Viet Nam War, this just about has to be at the top of the list. Strangely, there have been so many coincidences that have brought it about including, in shortened format, the following events:
- I had been copied in the past on emails sent to Ann Johnson, and beginning March 10 I connected with her more personally about our parents and family, with a series of email discussions.
- On March 13, Stan sent the email about the Virtual Wall, asking if anyone knew Donald Woodward McNamara. I forwarded his email to Ann Johnson, and the day following, she ran into Nancy Hengesteg and Vickie Perkins at the Northwood Theater. They knew him, and the story took wings.
- On March 16, as cited above, the story was first posted, and on the 20th, for the first time ever, Shane Edgar Googled the name of Donald Woodward McNamara.
- Then, in a bizarre twist, on Saturday, March 24, Shane told me on the phone that his wife's niece, Mary, from the Lyle, MN, area, is dating a fellow by the name of Nathan, who is the grandson of Ann Swensrud Johnson.
What a story. You just could NOT make this up.
Look for additional information and photos to be posted here on the blog as well as the two websites listed above. Donald Woodward McNamara may have slipped through the cracks 45 years ago but we will pay him due respect today. We salute his service.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Donald Woodward McNamara, 1946 - 1967
Stan Arendts sent along an email about a "Virtual Wall" that memorializes those Americans who gave their lives in Viet Nam. The website, VirtualWall.org, lists names and hometowns, and photos if any are available.
The lone casualty listed from Northwood or Kensett is Donald Woodward McNamara, and Stan asked if anyone knew this guy. He was a member of the class of '65 but apparently he and his family were not district residents for very long, so little information has turned up as to his local impact, other than his being a nice, nice, handsome guy.
Don's name and photo are not listed in the '62 or subsequent yearbooks, and there is no photo of him on the Virtual Wall website. There is, however, a profile that reveals he died outright of hostile enemy action in Quang Tri Province, South Vietnam, and a report from the Virtual Wall:
| The 3rd Bn, 3rd Marines' Command Chronolgy for July 1967 reports that at 2:15 PM, 21 Jul the 2nd Plt, Mike 3/3, while escorting a road sweep team on Highway 9 southwest of Ca Lu, encountered two enemy soldiers. The Marines killed one of the NVA soldiers, retrieving the dead soldier's body. Shortly afterwards, the platoon found itself under heavy attack by what seemed to be most of an NVA battalion. The remainder of Mike 3/3 came to help, while Kilo 3/3 and a light tank section mounted out from Ca Lu to assist. By 8:15 PM Mike Company reported they had broken contact and were withdrawing. While the number of enemy dead is not known, the Marines lost eleven men killed in action - and another died from wounds three weeks later. |
The Vietnam Vets Memorial Fund has a page dedicated to him online. One of his fellow Marines reports on his page that he is buried in Graceland Cemetery in Albert Lea, and the VVMF has a link that will allow you to make donations to their cause in his honor.
The page also includes links to Remembrances left at the Wall in his honor. Lyle Frazer tells from a Marine's point of view about Donald and the incident leading to his death.
Ray Calhoun says Don and I would lay on our backs, looking at the stars, and singing Up Up and Away to the top of our lungs. They all thought we were crazy.
When he turned 18 he chose to enlist rather than finish school, and being a Northwood resident at that time he is listed that way in all the war records under his name, though sadly few that we've contacted can recall who he was. Yet review the remarks of Frazer and Calhoun and you get a sense, a feeling, that this fellow was indeed one of our nation's finest. Perhaps we can find a photo that could be posted, not just here in the NKHS 62 blog but on the Virtual Wall, all to his honor.
He may have had few worldly possessions when he was at home or when he went away, and in the end, he gave his all.
He may have had few worldly possessions when he was at home or when he went away, and in the end, he gave his all.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Old and Sad News - Around the Nation
March 1, 1962 -
The NIC champion NK Vikings were defeated in the first game of the sectional tournaments by the Lake Mills Bulldogs 72-66 Wednesday night to end a 16-game winning streak. The Vikings had defeated the Bulldogs twice in the regular season and will still go down in history as one of the greatest teams in the history of the school.
Not until 2006-07 when the Vikings won a state championship was this level of performance achieved again. The next day at school was sad, but there was a sense of relief that it was over. The follow-up 50 years later appeared in a posting just last month. Read more here . . .
Mrs. Dean Morris and her daughter Barbara of rural Northwood were injured in a train-car crash Monday night at the rail crossing over Highway 105 two miles west of Carpenter. Both were taken to Mercy Hospital in Mason City by ambulance where their condition is rated as fair at the present time.
We all know what happened here, the death from an apparent blood clot that moved in a broken leg. It was a sad moment for the school, and we all looked at what life is about at this funeral. Read the previous blog article from a year ago. . . Apparently the accident occurred on Monday the 26th, and the game on Wednesday the 28th, but if you have better information, let us know. One loss was painful, the other devastating.
Bringing home top honors from the district declam contest held Saturday in Mason City were Donna Davenport, Robert Hickman, Gerald Sawin, Ardis Holstad, Phyllis Mueller, Carol Boutelle, Sue Bergan and Sue Drury. These winners will participate in the state speech contest in Cedar Rapids March 30 and 31.
"Mad Men" returns on March 25 with more references to the history and culture of our era, including a mention of two simultaneously-occurring events in New York City: March 1, 1962 was a day of intense horror and immense celebration for New York City. On that momentous Thursday morning, an American Airlines flight crashed on takeoff from Idlewild Airport (now John F. Kennedy International Airport), killing all 95 passengers and crew aboard. At the same moment, a roaring crowd of four million people waited enthusiastically along Broadway to honor astronaut John Glenn with a ticker-tape parade for becoming the first American to orbit the Earth.
March 1, 1962 is the date that K-Mart opened, and the US and Britain conducted joint nuclear tests in Nevada. Each lives in a different kind of infamy.
The NIC champion NK Vikings were defeated in the first game of the sectional tournaments by the Lake Mills Bulldogs 72-66 Wednesday night to end a 16-game winning streak. The Vikings had defeated the Bulldogs twice in the regular season and will still go down in history as one of the greatest teams in the history of the school.
Not until 2006-07 when the Vikings won a state championship was this level of performance achieved again. The next day at school was sad, but there was a sense of relief that it was over. The follow-up 50 years later appeared in a posting just last month. Read more here . . .
Mrs. Dean Morris and her daughter Barbara of rural Northwood were injured in a train-car crash Monday night at the rail crossing over Highway 105 two miles west of Carpenter. Both were taken to Mercy Hospital in Mason City by ambulance where their condition is rated as fair at the present time.
We all know what happened here, the death from an apparent blood clot that moved in a broken leg. It was a sad moment for the school, and we all looked at what life is about at this funeral. Read the previous blog article from a year ago. . . Apparently the accident occurred on Monday the 26th, and the game on Wednesday the 28th, but if you have better information, let us know. One loss was painful, the other devastating.
Bringing home top honors from the district declam contest held Saturday in Mason City were Donna Davenport, Robert Hickman, Gerald Sawin, Ardis Holstad, Phyllis Mueller, Carol Boutelle, Sue Bergan and Sue Drury. These winners will participate in the state speech contest in Cedar Rapids March 30 and 31.
March 1, 1962 is the date that K-Mart opened, and the US and Britain conducted joint nuclear tests in Nevada. Each lives in a different kind of infamy.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The World We Were Born Into
Stan Arendts has forwarded this video of spontaneous celebrations on Hawaii on VJ Day, August 14, 1945. With music by Jimmy Durante the perfect background, you get a strong sense of the joy concluding the "Big One," fought by the Greatest Generation.
It was the beginning of our time. Eisenhower and Churchill were heroes. The world was right, we fought real wars against clearly defined enemies wearing clearly marked clothing, and enjoyed clearly defined victory. This is the world we were born into. Ambiguity and confusion would have to wait 30 or 40 years.
For the website with more background information on this amazing video, go to contributor Richard Sullivan's website. The movie is an edited version of the 16mm Kodachrome film shot by his father, and it is marvelously well done. Thanks to Stan for forwarding.
Be sure to click the "full screen" icon next to the word "vimeo" in the control box.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Climb the Water Tower?
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| The "Peak" of Northwood |
The other "local" story came from Stanton Arendts when he told of his Kensett water tower experiences last May.
But as the saying goes, "you ain't seen nothin' yet" until you click on the YouTube posted below.
Honestly, if you have any fear of heights you may feel something gripping your body in unusual ways as you view this. We recommend that you click the full-screen icon so you can view this in all its glory.
Can you imagine what the two fellows in this YouTube are paid? On the advice of Merrilee Reid, "Pay him whatever he wants!"
Friday, November 11, 2011
Salute to Veterans
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| Marines on Patrol in Viet Nam |
Several years ago in Terre Haute, IN, during the course of a business lunch with 3 or 4 others, one of them, Dave, silently left the table. Across the room there was a sudden commotion of sorts, and there we saw Dave standing at a booth, motioning to a fellow who had kind of a blank look on his face, to get up, and the man scrambled to do so.
Dave slipped behind him, performed the Heimlich, and a piece of meat popped out of the man’s mouth. Without saying a word, and before the man could thank him, Dave returned to our table to finish our lunch and conversation with little or no reference to what had just happened.
It should have been no surprise that he would do that. A former owner of a steak house, he likely had encountered the situation on more than this occasion, and he sought no accolades for essentially saving a person’s life. After all, he had done it before.
Later, while Dave was doing some paperwork in his office, I was studying a photo on the wall, of a patrol in Viet Nam, 6 or 8 soldiers in chest-deep water, rifles held over their heads to keep them dry. “I am the second guy in the line,” he said from his desk. “The two right behind me never came home.”
His comment was sobering, perhaps moreso today. Maybe he didn’t stand directly in the line of fire protecting us, but he was there to serve, so in truth he really had “done it before” the incident at lunch, putting his own life at risk in the process.
Heroes seem to serve quietly, and today being Veterans Day we pause to thank the Dave’s of our world, who leave to serve, and continue to serve when they return. From the class of ‘62, in particular, we pay our gratitude to Stanton Arendts, Arlyn Morse, Ron Van Steenburg, David Skellenger, Robert Smith, Mike Lien, and any others who served.
Dave slipped behind him, performed the Heimlich, and a piece of meat popped out of the man’s mouth. Without saying a word, and before the man could thank him, Dave returned to our table to finish our lunch and conversation with little or no reference to what had just happened.
It should have been no surprise that he would do that. A former owner of a steak house, he likely had encountered the situation on more than this occasion, and he sought no accolades for essentially saving a person’s life. After all, he had done it before.
Later, while Dave was doing some paperwork in his office, I was studying a photo on the wall, of a patrol in Viet Nam, 6 or 8 soldiers in chest-deep water, rifles held over their heads to keep them dry. “I am the second guy in the line,” he said from his desk. “The two right behind me never came home.”
His comment was sobering, perhaps moreso today. Maybe he didn’t stand directly in the line of fire protecting us, but he was there to serve, so in truth he really had “done it before” the incident at lunch, putting his own life at risk in the process.
Heroes seem to serve quietly, and today being Veterans Day we pause to thank the Dave’s of our world, who leave to serve, and continue to serve when they return. From the class of ‘62, in particular, we pay our gratitude to Stanton Arendts, Arlyn Morse, Ron Van Steenburg, David Skellenger, Robert Smith, Mike Lien, and any others who served.
Monday, July 18, 2011
A Summer of Memories
Last Friday, heavy rains in the Twin Cities area led to a washout at a train trestle in a suburb, and a train wreck was the result. An old friend of mine from Michigan, who is currently a railroad engineer, often copies me in on photos and videos of train wrecks as they occur around the country, and forwarded photographs of the Saturday train wreck to me not knowing that it had happened in Fridley, MN.
Because I knew him when he was living in Minnesota and knew he would appreciate finding out more, I sent him a link to local television coverage, and only then did Don realize a personal connection:
Wow, that was close to home. I grew up at 400 Rice Creek Blvd, Fridley MN from 1965 on. Before that we were a couple miles the other way on Talmadge Way. I did some of my finest "bridge diving" at that location.
When I was about 6 yrs old and my Dad worked for the City of Fridley and was on the volunteer fire dept, they got a call that a train had run down three kids from Talmadge Way on that trestle (involved in Saturday's train wreck) and only one survived by quitting running and hanging from a tie off the side as the train roared by. That was Bill Messer, 4 houses up the street. Kenneth and Dennis (the little blonde boy) Ellis, tried to outrun the train and were killed. They were four houses up and across the street from us. 1958 was a sad summer on Talmadge Way. The Elliss' boys Dad, Burt had survived the Bataan Death March not too many years before that and now this.
When Dad heard it was a little blonde haired boy from Talmadge Way that was killed, he was
frantic, as the whole scene fit my M.O. perfectly. I couldn't figure out why he was so glad to see me when he got home and why he cried so hard when he did.
Now I kinda get it.
Even though my friend Don is not connected in any way to the class of '62, the story is one that sounds like growing up in a small town in Northern Iowa, so it seemed suitable for this blog. Richard Holstad has spoken of one of his favorite movies, "Stand By Me" starring a young Kiefer Sutherland, and it, too, features a race across a bridge to avoid an oncoming train. More than that, it addresses the issue of coming of age, of being a youngster, a teen, a youth finding his way just like we all did in the '50s.
And the last line of Don's email certainly speaks to all we are doing here in this blog: "now we kinda get it."
Monday, March 21, 2011
More Reflections on "Close Calls"
Richard Holstad finished his last email with some reflections:
There are plenty more stories – close calls down at the Fort At Shell Rock River; Close calls at the train depot (yes the train depot); Close calls climbing on the roof tops down town; Close calls shooting marbles in our sling shots; Close calls throwing water balloons out of the car windows; Ask John Roberts about mixing chemicals in the basement laboratory; Close calls in the hay barn on the farm; Close calls climbing the windmill on the farm; The night we climbed up on the roof of the old gymnasium and wrote ”Show ’em No Mercy Albertson” in bold yellow paint so Albertson could see it from his classroom window; Oh Yeah, the 4th of July antics when it was possible to buy cherry bombs; The spring thaw when the ice jams would make the river flood … WOW there were some close calls there ……..
Remember the little red light on the wall of the Gildner-Johnson building ….. meant there was trouble somewhere and Mel, the Sheriff was supposed to call in?
All these adventures could have turned out poorly
Why did we make it this far and others didn’t?
Let me know if you figure it out ….. on second thought don’t let ANYONE know, we may just be here on borrowed time.
By the way, if anyone knows anything more about the red light on the wall of the Gildner-Johnson building, let us know. On my most recent trip to Northwood I went out of my way to check it out. There's a spot high on the wall that looks like it might have been "patched" with mortar, as if wiring had been there but later removed . . .
A Stairway to Heaven
Richard Holstad reports on his climb up the water tower -
Another one for the books was climbing the good old water tower …. If I came home to Northwood and the water tower was gone, it just wouldn't be home. I've said this so often that if it were possible to remove the layers of paint from the water tower - one layer at a time – it would display a priceless documentary of our “glory days”!
I recall soo many adventures involving that water tower – Mike Lien told about climbing the ladder, someone saw him in the act, and called Arnold, Mikes’ dad. Mike had just begun his ascent of the water tower when he was discovered and the call went out to his dad ….. Mike got to enjoy the thrill of the climb, not knowing his dad had even been contacted and was on his way over to meet him when he came down. In Mike’s words, when he was making the descent and realized his dad was waiting at the bottom, he wasn't sure what would be worse: to face his dad’s wrath or to jump from a high level to his own demise.
The first time I climbed the water tower was an eye-opener pretty much from start to finish. It is one of those things like diving off the high board at the swimming pool the first time. People can describe it, advise you what to do, coach you, you can imagine how it will be - but until you actually do it …….. you don’t know diddle.
For instance, no one explained to me that the last 15 feet or so the water tower ladder tilts backward --- it feels like you are hanging on to a ladder that is not perpendicular (90 degrees) to the ground like the first section. But it is actually more like past perpendicular (110 degrees) to the ground, so that if you lifted both your feet off the ladder rugs, they would swing out and you’d be dangling by your hands ……. I wasn't counting on that sensation, especially at the very top.
So, to get yourself from the ladder to the platform, it is not a simple climb up and step onto the platform like you’d first anticipate …. WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME THAT AHEAD OF TIME ?!
That was S-C-A-R-Y with a capital S-C-A-R-Y! So I placed my hand above my head to reach up to the platform ….. still trying to figure out the proper maneuver with my hands and feet to make the transition onto the platform -- I was hesitant to just grab the platform and leave the ladder because my feet would swing out and away from the ladder. And the way my dad taught me, bless his heart, no matter your situation you need to always keep in mind that you need to reverse the this process when it is time to come back down again.
My heart is beating faster even now just telling you this …… I swear to you these are true stories.
So I got my strategy in mind on how to transition to the platform – there was no way to avoid that breathtaking moment when you transition from using your hands and feet to when you are holding on only with your hands to pull yourself onto the platform. It didn’t require super-human strength by any means. I just kept thinking about the fall if something went wrong…….Got the picture?
So I reached up to grabbed the strongest possible crosspiece of the platform ……. I HAD NO IDEA THAT TWO PIGEONS WERE SLEEPING RIGHT THERE -- AND WHEN I PUT MY HAND UP ON THE PLATFORM, THEY BOTH SPOOKED AND FLEW RIGHT INTO MY FACE!
To this day, I can’t explain why I didn't totally lose my MoJo right there -- and let go of everything!
Why did we make it this far and others didn't?
Richard Holstad on the Fairground Racetrack
Richard Holstad has his own memories of the racetrack and passed them along.
Your memories of the races at the old fairground track …. Those were awesome times.
I recall sneaking in the south fairgrounds gate ….. crawling on our bellies up to the edge of the track …. at the southeast curve …. we would hide in the grass on our bellies …. where the cars would pass in front of us so close, the dirt would fly up and get in our hair, in our eyes and ears, and mouth and teeth … on every lap …. I can still smell the exhaust ….. the engine sounds were thunderous.
We were RIGHT THERE in the action ….. we never considered that if a car went wide and slid off the track on that curve we were RIGHT THERE in that action too ….. we would have been “H-I-S-T-O-R-Y” like the kid says in the Stand By Me movie clip. But they didn’t, and we weren’t, and the race track memories are SOLID GOLD in my mind.
Why did we make it this far and others didn’t?
Pondering Immortality
In response to a previous posting (Thoughts While Shoveling Snow) and a few shared emails, Janis Hendrickson ('65) sent this along, edited in part.
Your preceding emails called out to me – here’s my response…for whatever it’s worth.
Why are some spared, others not? That question perplexes us who have survived. Is it the luck of the draw, Divine intervention, common sense, or possibly a strong resistance to open the door if the Grim Reaper has attempted to get in?
I’d venture to say that as children, and certainly as teenagers, any of us could have easily succumbed from dangerous circumstances that required “thinking.” It has been proven in medical studies that teenagers’ brains do not have the ability to know good from bad judgment, many times. How many of us actually weighed the dangers before proceeding in something exciting, but perilous? I know I certainly didn’t…many times over. Three members of our class of '65 were driving a white Buick at age 17 on Highway 105 East of Northwood, all 3 in the front seat, when the driver put the pedal to the metal to test out the power of the car. One rider yelled over the roar of the engine ”105 is the highway number, NOT the speed limit!” Case in point, a living testimonial of the above mentioned medical study.
Another impulsive, non-thinking decision in my senior year could have easily caused an early demise. Two classmates were riding in a car when a 3rd somehow entered the scene and subsequently drove the car a distance down the frozen Shellrock River south of the ball park. Was there any discussion that perhaps the ice wouldn’t hold us? Did they think or reason out the situation? Not a thought…nada…of any potential hidden danger. The outcome could have been so different. Why were they lucky, when others who pulled the same prank elsewhere were not so fortunate?
It does give one pause to wonder why we’re here, and others have gone on to meet their maker ahead of us.
Ultimately we not in control of our own destiny, as hard as it is to own that thought. There is a reason and purpose for everything and it is not for us to understand all the whys and what-ifs in life.
I guess we need these ponderings, not to ask why we’re still here and others aren’t, but to be thankful that we are and remember, in reverence, the ones who preceded us to the Great Beyond! Pondering is a good thing – it quiets the soul and lets us come to terms with our own mortality.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Painful Thoughts While Shoveling Snow
I wrote this a month ago but let it sit in draft status until today, and I'm not sure why. But here goes . . .
It's kind of amazing how thoughts tumble through my head while I'm out shoveling (more) snow. Richard Holstad keeps dropping ideas and I get these recollections, some good, some bad, and sometimes they crystallize while I'm trying to make my physical world better.
Within the walls of the old high school building I don't think I was ever smart enough to imagine where I would wind up today. That's not necessarily a good or bad thing, and maybe I'm not the only one to fall into this category of having, to some degree, "drifted" to where I am today. And that is not necessarily a good or bad thing either. It's just what it is.
But while I think about that I also think of the classmates that we've lost over the years and their consequent inability to get to our age - like we have, whether by design or by accident. So far as I know, Barbara Morris was the first to be in this group, and the more I think about it, the more tragic it is that she never made it out of high school, never really made it into the starting blocks, so to speak.
On the day of her funeral my dad asked me about my plans to attend, and at the moment he asked I was frankly waffling, not sure if I should or would or not. Somehow, his question made me think that it must be important to be there, so I went. You were probably there, and you probably remember like me just how quiet it was in that packed church - the Methodist Church, as I recall. The 6 seniors of the basketball team served as pallbearers, and the whole service was a check against our immortality. It was so sorrowful, so sudden, so true.
It was five or six years later that Arlo Severson died in a car accident near Cedar Rapids. I was asked to be a pallbearer, my first time doing so, and again felt this surreal awareness of mortality. After the services we had the traditional Norwegian Lutheran lunch in the basement, and it was there that Gladys Severson thanked me for being a pallbearer. What was I supposed to say? I was caught short of words. "You're welcome" seems feeble and "thank you for asking me" would be downright stupid.
Serving as a pallbearer is not my favorite thing to do, even though it is certainly an honor to be asked to do so, and I would not decline unless it flat is not possible to participate. And where our early departing classmates are concerned, I find myself musing over their lives - what might they have become? We who are left can only be musing about our own dreams and whatever measure of satisfaction we might feel we have achieved.
It's kind of amazing how thoughts tumble through my head while I'm out shoveling (more) snow. Richard Holstad keeps dropping ideas and I get these recollections, some good, some bad, and sometimes they crystallize while I'm trying to make my physical world better.
Within the walls of the old high school building I don't think I was ever smart enough to imagine where I would wind up today. That's not necessarily a good or bad thing, and maybe I'm not the only one to fall into this category of having, to some degree, "drifted" to where I am today. And that is not necessarily a good or bad thing either. It's just what it is.
But while I think about that I also think of the classmates that we've lost over the years and their consequent inability to get to our age - like we have, whether by design or by accident. So far as I know, Barbara Morris was the first to be in this group, and the more I think about it, the more tragic it is that she never made it out of high school, never really made it into the starting blocks, so to speak.
On the day of her funeral my dad asked me about my plans to attend, and at the moment he asked I was frankly waffling, not sure if I should or would or not. Somehow, his question made me think that it must be important to be there, so I went. You were probably there, and you probably remember like me just how quiet it was in that packed church - the Methodist Church, as I recall. The 6 seniors of the basketball team served as pallbearers, and the whole service was a check against our immortality. It was so sorrowful, so sudden, so true.
It was five or six years later that Arlo Severson died in a car accident near Cedar Rapids. I was asked to be a pallbearer, my first time doing so, and again felt this surreal awareness of mortality. After the services we had the traditional Norwegian Lutheran lunch in the basement, and it was there that Gladys Severson thanked me for being a pallbearer. What was I supposed to say? I was caught short of words. "You're welcome" seems feeble and "thank you for asking me" would be downright stupid.
Serving as a pallbearer is not my favorite thing to do, even though it is certainly an honor to be asked to do so, and I would not decline unless it flat is not possible to participate. And where our early departing classmates are concerned, I find myself musing over their lives - what might they have become? We who are left can only be musing about our own dreams and whatever measure of satisfaction we might feel we have achieved.
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