#286 – Dick Bernard: Visiting the Fielding Garr Ranch and some thoughts about the past.


On our recent trip to Salt Lake City, we had an opportunity to visit the Fielding Garr Ranch on Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake.
While the ranch, on the south end of the island, is only several miles west of Salt Lake City, the necessary driving trip is perhaps 50 miles or more, as the sole road entry to the island is over a long causeway on the north end.
It was a chilly late afternoon when we visited the ranch, and all of us probably wondered in various ways “why am I doing this?”, but I found the half-hour or so visit to be thought-provoking.
The story of the island and the ranch are told in the links (above).

Touring the ranch


I kept thinking, as I shivered, and our guide gave us a most personable ‘tour’ of the environs, about that time back in the 1840s and 1850s, especially, when the west was being settled by white settlers seeking land.
We learned (and kids probably still learn) the romanticized ‘Cowboys and Indians’ version of the story, but this was a rough-and-tumble time in our history. The Cowboys won, the Indians lost, and that was that.
What the cowboys won, were they Mormon, or any other settler, was an unforgiving land where laziness or mistakes were not rewarded. Simply put, it was a struggle to get there, and to survive once there. At Salt Lake City’s Temple Square is a sculpture that tends to capture the difficulty of the move west.

Pioneer Statue Temple Square Salt Lake City


We’re a nation of immigrants. In my case, my French-Canadian ancestors got a bit of a head start on this continent, attempting to eke out a living in the 16 and 1700s in what is now Quebec, and like the Mormons, came west beginning in the 1850s; my German ancestors arrived in Wisconsin in the 1850s and 1860s.
All of the things we now take for granted, they couldn’t even imagine. Food had to be processed to last through winter, and, often, parceled out carefully. One didn’t jump in a car to get anywhere, or start a gasoline engine to do the chores. It was all by hand, often backbreaking.
As we viewed that chilly but bucolic area I would call the ‘farmstead’, I could imagine how life might have been back then. We wouldn’t have been sitting in a golf cart, listening to an enthusiastic and pleasant guide telling us about this place at which he was a volunteer.

The Ranch house


(“Back then” in reality is not all that far back in time. I can remember my grandparents farm before rural electrification brought electric current to the farm in the late 1940s. The end of the “olden days” is really pretty recent.)
It was a different time, then; a time almost unimaginable to today’s kids.
Out on Antelope Island these days, successful attempts are being made to reintroduce buffalo who are as nearly as possible the direct genetic descendants of the buffalo we very nearly exterminated back then. In other ways, the ranch and the island have become places to help visitors become better aware of the need for careful stewardship of ever more scarce resources.
Near the end of the trip the guide pointed out a building in front of the main house which had been the pump house. For many, many years it had been the source of spring water for the farm. In recent years, the spring stopped running – the water table beneath had receded due to increasing use in Salt Lake City to the east. No one in Salt Lake City would notice this change….
Be aware. What is may not necessarily be forever.

Deer near the Fielding Garr ranch house


#285 – Dick Bernard: Revisiting Woodstock, 1969

I don’t know why 1969’s Woodstock fascinates me but it does. Here’s some YouTube clips from ‘back in the day’.
I was 29 when Woodstock happened, and while certainly in the age range, I was about as far from the stereotyped Woodstock life style as I was from it geographically – Minnesota to New York. It was a different world. In fact, at the time I don’t recall even knowing that it had happened. Two weeks after Woodstock my second child was born; in the same week we moved into a new house. I was busy and about as completely ordinary as they come. It could be said that I missed the 60s.
Still, when I happened across the revisiting of Woodstock on the History Channel Saturday night after Thanksgiving, I was riveted to it. There is something about it that speaks to me across the years. Had I been out there, then, I probably would’ve wandered over.
We all have our biographies, however dramatic or mundane. I had some of both in the 60s.
I was a junior in college when 1960 began; later that year John F. Kennedy was elected President of the U.S.; Dwight Eisenhower’s eight years in the White House were concluding. An Italian Pope, John XXIII, had convened something called the Second Vatican Council to reform the Catholic Church I still belong to. One of JFK’s first initiatives was the promise of a man on the moon by the end of the 60s, a truly audacious goal which was achieved.
College over at the end of 1961, I joined the Army to get it out of the way – those were still the days of the Military Draft. The Cuban Missile Crisis occurred on my watch in the service. I was engaged to my college sweetheart and we got married in June of 1963. Without knowing it then, I was part of the first ‘class’ of that military group called “Vietnam era Veterans”.
A month out of the Army, teaching school in northern Minnesota, JFK was assassinated. My new wife was pregnant and very ill. The Beatle’s joined the American conversation. In July, 1965, my wife passed away, leaving me a single Dad during most of the rest of the 60s. She was buried on the very day that the Medicare act was signed into law. Survival became the essence of each day for me.
In the spring of 1968, Martin Luther King was assassinated, then, a couple of months later, Robert Kennedy fell to an assassin’s bullet. The riots; the Democratic Political Convention in Chicago…. I remarried at the end of November, 1968.
So, a few things were happening as 1969 entered.
Then Woodstock happened, apparently without my knowledge, not long after Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon.
Four months after Woodstock we had a house guest for a short while: my brother had been nearly killed in a aircraft accident over Thailand. He survived. (We just returned from a visit with him in Utah.)
The 60s ended, but not the conflict. the Kent State massacre occurred on my 30th birthday in 1970.
The 60s began 50 years ago this year. They were the “best of times, and the worst of times”. One could be both troubled and optimistic. They were a time of change.
Today we’re long past Woodstock and the 60s…or are we? There are good reasons for a new ‘revolution’ centering on the crucial question: will our descendants even have a planet worth living on 50 years from now?”
It’s worth a thought, since we’re the ones who will make it or break the future for those who follow.
Time for another Woodstock.

#284 – Dick Bernard: advent of Advent

In my own faith tradition, American Roman Catholic, today is the first Sunday of Advent, the beginning of the liturgical year. It is a part of the liturgical calendar in many churches, observed in various ways in the present day.
As the visiting Priest pointed out today, the religious Advent has lots of competitors, primary among them the long-time dominance of consumerism called “Christmas Shopping”. In our society “Christmas” has become centered on business and profits (Black Friday, etc.)
So, the advent of Advent can be and is all things to all people, from just another weekday, to an especially significant religious marker, to a very deeply depressing time.
I’m not exactly sure how I will try to make Advent meaningful in my own life, but I am trending towards looking for and emphasizing the good surrounding me at this season.
Even if my resolution lasts only today, I’ll start with the father and son, both named Philip, who I see almost every week at Church, normally in the side aisle, with Dad pushing his son in a wheelchair.
The Dad tells part of their story in the most recent of Basilica magazine. You can see it here AdventGonzales2010001 . You can read more at Philip Gonzales website here.

#283 – Dick Bernard: A simple and positive idea, Holiday Greetings to those who may not otherwise receive them.

A great friend clued me in on a project a friend of hers was doing: to deliver 1000 greeting cards to military service persons, their families or veterans. It has a deadline of December 10, 2010, and the details are here.

Early 1900s Christmas Card


I bought in on the project and it was simple process to complete 50 cards for the project. We had unused cards from previous Holiday seasons, and it was simple enough to find cards that were not overly focused on one religious tradition or another. I chose to identify myself as a US Army veteran because that is what I am. I was in the service in 1962-63, nearly 50 years ago, in an infantry company.
Back then, as Company Clerk, I was well aware of the fact that when mail call came, there were always colleague GIs who didn’t get any mail at all. Some never got any mail. There is something unfortunate about feeling left out when (it seems) everybody in the unit is getting mail but you. This feeling intensifies when you’re a long way from home and you’re missing a major holiday.
The folks with this project have very simple rules: no inserts, personal messages, mailing addresses – that sort of thing.
The rules make sense…and they make the project even simpler. I simply offered “all best wishes, in peace” and that was that.
Dig out those leftover cards, complete as many as you care to, and send them in within the next week. They cannot be sealed, and the fold has to be inside so that the cards can be easily inspected for content.
If this particular idea doesn’t intrigue you, replicate the idea in some other way this intense season of the year.
Whatever your tradition, or your personal feelings about this season, I’d recommend this as a worthwhile project.

Christmas postcard from December, 1913


My story about those long ago postcards, two of which appear above is here.

#282 – Dick Bernard: Inducing Hysteria: some thoughts on Air (and other) "security"

I write this on the afternoon of Thanksgiving eve, 2010. I’ve heard that this day is the heaviest air travel day in the U.S. I have also heard that Thanksgiving Day itself is the lightest travel day. At this writing I don’t know whether/if there have been slowdowns or many, if any, protests. All I know, sitting here in suburban St. Paul MN on a chilly late afternoon, is that today may be a miserable day for ground transportation here.
The TSA flap seems to catch the wave of we Americans tendency towards over-simplification; as well as our “chicken little” “sky is falling” tendency: to expand little problems into earth shaking scenarios. It is very easy to induce near-hysteria and/or outrage in us.
I wrote yesterday about our recent every benign experience with TSA and air security generally. We are infrequent fliers: the last time in an airplane was nearly two years ago. We might be a somewhat average air traveler. Somewhere lurks that data.
I’ve thought back, today, about aspects of my own flight history: the first time in a jet aircraft, 1962 or so – a soldier-passenger flying in a military tanker/transport which was a lot like flying inside a cigar with no windows to give any perspective. In a word, terrifying.
I was thinking, this afternoon, about a certain flight from Minneapolis to Portland OR in June of 1973. My employer had chartered a Northwest Airliner, and we flew as a group. The plane was full, as I recall. At some point in the flight, the pilot and co-pilot opened the door to the cockpit and allowed us to come up and take a look at the business end of the aircraft. Nobody was allowed to “take the wheel”, but I don’t know of anyone who was skittish about the casualness either.
It was years earlier – 1961 – that the first sky-jacking of an aircraft occurred over the U.S. Some folks got a free flight to Cuba….
We’re long past the days when a person could walk in off the street and greet someone getting off the plane.
Now we’re where we’re at, and terrorists have to be laughing at us. (Our only ‘incident’ on check-in at Minneapolis a week ago was the scan of my luggage found a small (8 oz) bottle of Listerine mouth wash I had simply overlooked as a potential problem. It was confiscated – politely – and thrown out.)
Another piece of data I heard recently is that on an average day there are 2,000,000 air travelers in the United States. This means that only one of every 150 people in the U.S. is in the air on any particular day. It also means that over 300,000,000 of us are not even in the air.
I don’t mean to minimize the potential problem but with that many people in the air, it is absolutely impossible to assure absolute safety regardless of the means used.
It is an absolute certainty that future incidents will occur, some very serious. And I would concede that prudence at airports is warranted.
But sometimes it can get to be ridiculous.
As I’ve watched and read the “heavy-breathing” on this issue I see focus on an infinitesimal number of potential abuses of the system. It will be interesting to watch the nightly news in a few minutes to see how Thanksgiving eve traffic is going; how many protestors actually tried to protest.
My guess is that there will be few problems, as many of these caused by passengers as by the harried and harassed TSA agents who are, basically, just doing what they are supposed to do – assure reasonable safety.
We need to get, and keep, perspective.
Happy Thanksgiving.

#281 – Dick Bernard: "A Red Sky at Morning…." Thoughts at Thanksgiving 2010

Last Friday morning in Salt Lake City we were treated to a vivid sunrise over downtown. It was a magnificent vista, even if spoiled by some cars in the parking lot and a nearby sandwich shop.
I stepped out on our hotel balcony, and took two photos:

Salt Lake City UT early morning November 19, 2010


Utah State Capitol, early morning, November 19, 2010


Of course there is often a downside to a red sky at morning. As the ancient rhyme goes: “Red Sky at Night, Sailor’s Delight; Red Sky at Morning, Sailor’s Warning.”
As predicted by both sky and weatherman, seasonable weather began to turn, with heavy snow on Saturday night. Today, Tuesday, came an e-mail from a Salt Lake City friend reporting that a blizzard had descended on the Salt Lake City area and the University of Utah had closed.
So, enjoy those morning red sky’s while you can…something bad might be on the other side!
Meanwhile, back indoors in the “Crossroads of the West”, in the papers and on television in Salt Lake City, the yapping of the day revolved around the evil TSA and its supposedly horrendous and invasive procedures at airport check-in. We had checked in at Minneapolis-St. Paul airport last Wednesday afternoon; and checked in again at Salt Lake City airport last Sunday. There was a severe disconnect between the reality we experienced in the airports and the on-line, print and video outrage portrayed by the formal and informal media. We all went through the lines quietly and without incident. Of course in every crowd there’s the near-“road rage” type, but they are the rare exception. But they also make – dominate – the “news” today, on most any subject.
The vast majority of us knew the check-in drill, practiced for years now. The TSAers we encountered were polite and businesslike. We saw or heard no meltdowns. We weren’t newsworthy.
If the crowd we were with in those check-in lines represents America, the country is okay. And that we can be thankful for.
This being Salt Lake City, we took in programs at Temple Square and toured the immense and magnificent Latter Day Saints Conference Center across the street from Temple Square. As expected, people were unfailingly polite and gracious. Our Guide at the Conference Center was a few years older than I, and walked with a limp – five hip replacements can do that to a person. But the fact that she would take on such a volunteer assignment was most impressive. The Mormons know a thing or two about hospitality.

Temple Square from the roof of the LDS Conference Center. The Tabernacle is the building with the unusual roof at right.


The evening of the “red sky at morning” we attended a magnificent Bell Concert at the Tabernacle. Because I arrived late, I joined a line of latecomers and ended up with what I considered to be the best seat in the house: behind the orchestra, seated where the Tabernacle Choir sits. Missing the first half-hour was almost worth it.

At the conclusion of the Holiday Bells Concert at the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake City November 19, 2010


Sunday morning we joined the group attending the weekly radio broadcast of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir from “the crossroads of the west”. One needs not be Mormon – I’m not – to be inspired by this magnificent choir.
The radio broadcast began in 1929; I first saw the Choir in person in 1971; first heard it a few years earlier. It is constant quality, it’s members volunteers. This being Thanksgiving week, the program was Thanksgiving based. The rendition of Irving Berlin’s “Counting your blessings” brought tears (listen to a version here).
Outside the Tabernacle’s walls, of course, the winds of controversy about this or that continued to swirl. But for a moment there was a respite.
Tomorrow, Thanksgiving eve, grocery stores will be packed; then there is Thanksgiving; then there’s that monstrosity called “Black Friday” – the official frenzy beginning the “Christmas Shopping Season”, unfortunately our real “Christmas season”. The traditional reason for Christmas is left to compete for leftovers of attention. “Christmas” is “shopping”. At my coffee place, Christmas music started Nov. 1.
“Christmas shopping” will happen.
Today, I prefer to remember the image outside the Salt Lake City home where my brother’s 65th birthday was being celebrated last Saturday night. The “Red Sky” had brought winds earlier, then rain, then snow to the windward side of the Wasatch, and large wet snowflakes began to fall. I took a few photos of the outside scape. Here’s one of my favorites:

Salt Lake City Saturday evening November 20, 2010


Have a very Happy Thanksgiving, and work for a brighter, better country and world.

#280 – Virgil Benoit: On French-Canadians, English and the American Revolutionary War

During an animated conversation on Sunday, some new friends, long-time residents of Long Island NY, and for a number of years residents in Salt Lake City UT, asked a question about an aspect of French-Canadian history, which I then rephrased for Dr. Virgil Benoit of the University of North Dakota, an expert on things Franco-American. His Initiatives in French – Midwest is a fledgling but important organization to celebrate the French heritage in the Midwest.

Dr. Benoit re-enacting an important French-Canadian trader at old St. Joseph (Walhalla) ND 2008


I asked Dr. Benoit: “Is there a simple reason why the French did not support the Americans when, in the Revolutionary War period, the fledgling U.S. was interested in throwing the English out of power in Quebec?
I know nothing is simple, but perhaps there is a general answer.*

Dr. Benoit responded almost immediately, and his succinct commentary is well worth sharing, and is shared with his permission.
Hi Dick,
The Quebec Act of 1774 [Q Act] is often cited as the event which encouraged French-Canadians [F-Cs] to not revolt against the British in Canada in 1776. The Q Act gave F-Cs the freedom to practice their religion, customs and language.
The Q Act was a first in British governance towards its colonies. But the British were only a small minority in Quebec at the time. Maybe they felt they had to do it that way. They also knew they could lose the other thirteen colonies in North America and have no foothold in the New World. The F-C. also had no support from France by 1776. They also were afraid of being swallowed up by the neighboring anglo-saxon protestant culture, i.e. the new United States. As it were the Quebec Act gave them more protection as a defeated people than the unknown relationship with a nation-to-be.
With the defeat of 1760 [of France, by England at Quebec] the F-C society lost its upper class. Its leaders with political contacts went either back to France or had been lowered in status to common folk as far a political or social influence was concerned. The one class that rose quickly to exert influence in Quebec at this time was the clergy, which turned out to act very conciliatory toward the British. They [the clergy] interpreted the new situation stemming from the Quebec Act as one that guaranteed protection. They felt that as a conquered people the French-Canadians should be careful and appreciate that they had religious freedom as well as privileges to use French and customs as before the conquest in 1760. Over time, the clergy tied the privileges of religion and language together, saying that to keep French was also to be true to the Catholic faith.
These two “freedoms” became the clergy’s motto for keeping French-Canadians together, so to speak. The clergy fought migration to urban areas, such as Quebec City and Montreal which were very British and Protestant up until WWI. In short, the surrender of New France by France led to the seemingly paradoxical situation you are asking about. But the French of the former New France did not side with the Americans. It happened as you see because the common people of the former New France saw little hope, and their choice not to fight again was reinforced by the clergy. The common folk had fought the British invasion of 1760, but were in the end greatly outnumbered on the battle fields. They lost and along with the defeat, strategy (contacts with the homeland) and courage were also lost.
It would take the French Canadians until the 1970s to work their way back to a Quebec society that could be called contemporary to its counterparts in the world. Bravo. They did it. There was the Revolution of 1836 against British dominance in Quebec. It was stopped. There was the war’s act of Trudeau against Quebec in about 1968. It did not last. In all the rest of time and in all other arenas of civilized society the Quebec people have worked through parliament to regain equity with those who invaded and took their country away in 1760.
A final observation, invading armies can make war, but they can’t kill culture. It will surface and come back. In Quebec, not only has culture survived wars between gigantic superpowers and brutal scrimmages on the home front, but a rich government has been put into place and the country is dynamic today. Best to you.”

Virgil
* – At the time of the American Revolution, the French had already been established in what is now Quebec for 168 years. The founding of Quebec as a French Colony dates to 1608, with the major development beginning after 1630.

#279 – Dick Bernard: On Turning 65

Today, my brother is 65. He’s the cherub in the blankets in the photo taken probably in very early 1946. If you could see this photo close up, even then you can imagine him squirming, hoping to break the shackles of those blankets and play in that snow! He would have been ready, that’s for sure.

Bernards, Sykeston ND 1946


65.
I’m old enough so I can legitimately say “he’s just a kid”. And I know many people who can say, to me, that I’m “just a kid”. Strange how Time just keeps on walking.
For years, literally, I’ve done the mental exercise of remembering this or that at a certain age. It helps to give perspective.
For instance, my four grandparents were 68, 60, 59 and 58 when I was born. When I became old enough to have a notion who they were, they were really, really, really old.
65.
In our society it has been, for many years, a ‘marker’ with unusual significance. It is an appropriate marker of a transition point from the work world to the retired world. It is not a place set in stone. I know people who continue to be employed beyond 65, some because they want to be, others because they need to be. On the other hand, I recently talked to a friend who told me he became the adult in charge of most of the work on their farm when he turned 13 due to his Dad’s disability. He “grew up” rather soon.
In the end analysis the number is less significant than what one does with the time between the beginning, the present and the end.
Best, I think, that one can show that he or she contributed to making the greater world a better place because of his or her being here.
Later today we’ll be flying to visit my brother and friends in his long-time home of Salt Lake City.
Yesterday I was remembering a long-ago trip which took my then-family through Salt Lake City in June, 1971. I dug out the slides from that trip and found the one below which shows my children, then, at the Bingham Copper Mine outside of Salt Lake City.

Tom and Joni June, 1971, at Kennicott Copper Mine


This day, November 17, 2010, Tom is driving his trucking route somewhere in the Great Plains outside of Denver; Joni is doing her work as a school Principal in a suburban Middle School. Tom and Jennifer have a married daughter and son-in-law “as we speak”; Joni and John have a couple of kids well up in elementary school. Time flies.
Happy Birthday, Frank.
To the rest of us, I recall one of Dad’s many admonishments as a school teacher to we reluctant scholars looking at the clock, waiting for school to end: “Time passes. Will you?”

#278 – Dick Bernard: Muslims of the Midwest: From the 1880s to 2010

Back on September 5, 2010, I posted “A Close Encounter With a Mosque“, remembering a friendship in the 8th grade in Ross, North Dakota in 1953-54.
In the mysterious ways such things work, someone saw the blog post, liked it, and on November 13, 2010, I found myself on stage at the annual celebration and awards banquet of the Islamic Resource Group of Minnesota (IRG)*, and my blog post** printed in their program booklet. I said to the assembled group that I was both astonished, and very, very honored to be with them. The evening was a powerful and inspirational one, with very good attendance considering the first major snowstorm of the season had just struck us here in Minnesota.
“Mysterious ways” indeed. I have long believed that there is no such thing as a “coincidence”. Everything has some purpose. Some would call this “luck”, or “fate” or attribute good or bad occurrences to something caused by a higher power, using that same higher power to justify good or bad actions.
Whatever the reason, I felt very privileged and humbled to be in that hotel banquet room last night.
There is a formulaic aspect to such events as IRG’s celebration: food, speeches, awards….
These all happened last night.
I chose to notice who was in that room, and who it was that really made IRG a success. They were, by and large, young people: people in their 30s or younger. Yes, there were the ‘gray-maned’ folks like myself and my spouse, but this was a celebration by and about youth.
There was another aspect of this gathering that stood out for me. This was a group that was about understanding, not fear and division; a group whose intention is to promote dialogue rather than positioning and taking sides. To be for, not against. The “Building Bridges Awards” were for Media, Education, Interfaith, Community Leadership and the “IRG Speaker of the Year”. Four of the five Award winners were young people.

This photo and following: people recognized for their work with IRG



Keynote speaker Daniel Tutt, himself a young person, helped us to understand some of the reasons for the dynamics which lead to the politics of division, which in turn lead to the kinds of campaigns which exploit the issues of such as the Ground Zero Mosque (why I wrote the previously mentioned September 5 blog post), fear and loathing of “illegals”, Gays, etc., etc., etc.

Daniel Tutt


Daniel knows of what he speaks. He is program director of the national program 20,000 Dialogues, a program of Unity Productions Foundation.
As Daniel was speaking it occurred to me that the major controversial wedge issues, like the “Ground Zero Mosque”, suddenly went silent immediately after the election November 2.
Before November 2 they were eminently useful, politically. Now they aren’t, but simply put on the shelf till the next election….
There is a window of opportunity now to, as IRG emphasized, “Build Bridges”.
Indeed, as I heard last evening, those bridges are already being built, as Emmett and his family and Muslim Community in rural North Dakota were building from 1902 forward.
Whatever your issue, talking – dialogue – is a strong part of the answer of breaking down barriers. “Building Bridges”.
* – The IRG website is currently under re-construction, but still includes useful information about the group.
** – On November 13, I updated the September 5 blog post to include some additional information.

#277 – Dick Bernard: MinnSPRA Celebrates Its 50th anniversary

Friday I went to a luncheon celebrating 50 years history of an organization for which I once served a one year term as President (2000-2001).
The group, Minnesota School Public Relations Association (MinnSPRA) has always been a small organization, probably never exceeding 150 members. It began in 1960, and affiliated with a national group, the National School Public Relations Association (NSPRA) which dates back to 1940. In each case, as in all cases of such grassroots organizations, some dedicated persons came together in a common interest to help each other and, in this case, public education.
I didn’t count, but it appeared that at least 20 of we former Presidents took the time to travel to this luncheon. It was an impressive turnout, a reunion for many of us, a renewal of some old esprit d’corps. A time to tell stories of the past.

MinnSPRA Alumni November 12, 2010


Small organizations like MinnSPRA come and go. When such a group endures for 50 years, it is a testimony to people of vision and persistence who ride the usually small waves, and often endure the cruel rip tides, which come with advocating for most anything in an organized fashion. For an organization to last 50 years is a testimony to the tenacity and dedication of many. A 50 year marriage is a great accomplishment for two people. A voluntary organization living for 50 years endures constant change every year, including in the “cast of characters” who come on ‘stage’ (like me). Survival is more than a small miracle, well worth celebrating!
At our tables we all were asked to discuss four questions about MinnSPRA: 1) Best memory; 2) Best Program All-time; 3) Person who embodies/embodied MinnSPRA; 4) why, in one particular year, we decided to change our name from M-NSPRA to MinnSPRA. (With respect to #4, I was involved, then, but I couldn’t recall exactly why – that’s what 20 years can do!)
With many tables, there came much rich feedback, bringing back long-forgotten memories of really very significant events that happened and passed into history.
I thought to myself that MinnSPRA’s history really was a series of small parts which when put together created a very substantial whole. In themselves, those small parts didn’t seem very important at the time. Those long years ago when I was sitting first on MinnSPRA’s Board, and then took a one-year turn as President, it often seemed that we weren’t accomplishing anything. But when added to all the other small accomplishments, we had accomplished a great deal. We had left a very substantial base from which to continue to build. The next generation chose to continue building.
Our Keynote speaker, Rich Bagin, Executive Director of NSPRA, took us through a very significant discussion of change in the past 50 years. In 15 segments he talked about things Public Relations (PR) people “used to believe” as contrasted to what they “now believe”. With a single exception, the reality of the other fifteen beliefs had changed very significantly in 50 years.
The essential message Mr. Bagin conveyed, it seemed to me, was “live in the past, die in the past”.
I went to the reunion today unsure what to expect.
I came home very happy that I had attended.
Best wishes to MinnSPRA for another 50 years even better than the first 50!

Janet Swiecichowski, MinnSPRA


Mary Ellen Marnholtz, North Central NSPRA V.P, Wausau WI


Rich Bagin, NSPRA