Father’s Day, a week early

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A week from today is Father’s Day.

Three days ago, a father died in a St. Paul hospital; Thursday of this week will be his funeral.  His grandson is Bennie, who is scheduled to

begin coming out of the induced fog he’s been in since  the car accident Memorial Day weekend.  His son, the Dad of Bennie, also my son-in-law, is doing better physically, but “home” for him now is at the hospital with his own Dad’s daughter-in-law and  grandson.

I could go on and on.

Family relationships and circumstances go on and on, far beyond the boundaries set by the first message received; the media coverage; the obituary….

They are often complicated.

This day I think back to the old newspaper column seen above.  The total column is here: My father died 1997001 .  

I was at the Chicago O’Hare Hilton, Nov. 16, 1997, there for a conference, leafing through the Chicago Tribune, and  saw the article.  It was a Sunday morning.

Nine days earlier, my own Dad had died down in Belleville IL, on the doorstep of 90 years old.  Susan Schmich’s column “spoke to me” that Sunday morning, and ever since, any time the father of someone I know dies, I send them a copy of this column.

Now, I will be sending it out again.

Bennie’s Grandpas death was not unexpected.  He was told a year ago he probably wouldn’t make it to his next birthday (later this summer).  It was no secret.  The family knew.

The intersection of multiple ailments which couldn’t be remedied for medical reasons was the ultimate cause.  But he had a reasonably normal life till a few days before his death.  We saw him not that long ago.

He wasn’t perfect, but who of us is “perfect”, by even the loosest definition of the word, especially reviewing many years of life?

He and his wife were the first at the hospital when Bennie arrived by helicopter from the accident scene about two weeks ago.

For years this Dad  witnessed the graveside rituals of many at the Ft. Snelling military cemetery, as a loyal member of those unsung teams who give the last salute to the departed veterans.

I understand that he had wanted to be buried at Ft. Snelling, but just days before his death learned he couldn’t be – his National Guard service wasn’t enough to qualify under long-time VA rules.

Maybe there will be more conversations about that.

For now, let it suffice, a Dad died.

And the impact is broader than one might think.

COMMENTS:

from Melvin: 

Thanks for your message. In synchronicity, I texted Father’s Day greetings to my uncle, 2-brothers, and a cousin this morning. My brothers lovingly informed me that I was a week early, however, they enjoyed the affirmation of celebrating every day.

My father passed in 1990, a few days after my birthday. Like with Bennie’s grandpa, my father’s death was not unexpected. I always felt grateful that my father seemed to wait until my birthday came and went before he went to his heavenly home.  He is buried at Ft. Snelling; I hope Divine Intervention will come through for Bennie’s grandpa to be buried there too.

Thanks again for your timely article and message. Have a relaxing Sunday. Peace

“What a difference a day makes…”

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PRE-NOTE: Friday evening we got a telephone call about a very serious auto accident involving Grandson Ben and Son/son-in- law David.  Ben was air-evac’ed to Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis.  This is written on Sunday afternoon, May 27.

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“What a difference a day makes…”, a long ago tune, keeps running through my mind.

Friday seems so long ago, when the lives of grandson Ben and Dad and Mom David and Robin and so many others changed instantly.  At that intersection in western Minnesota, one single second would have made a huge difference.

One single second.

I’ve just returned from the hospital.  Those with an interest can check in on Ben Menier.   I notice there have been over 1,700 visits already.  There will be time for individual visits later.

I’ve passed along all of the comments made by you – 40 so far.  Thank you so very much.

A couple of other favorites of mine come to mind today.  Louie Schwartzberg’s short film on Gratitude  is one I highly recommend.

Another is “The Station“, which Ann Landers liked so much she reprinted it from time to time years ago.  You can read it here: The Station001.

Ben and David and Robin were together in Ben’s ICU room yesterday afternoon.  As I write Ben is in surgery, another step towards a hoped for good end to an event no one could have anticipated.

At best, his will be a long haul, with uncertain end.

In peace.

*

For those who follow my blog, here is my offering for Memorial Day, 2018 written prior to the accident.

The Stoop and the Postcard….

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A few days ago a friend mentioned that she hasn’t seen many blog posts from me lately. It’s true: I’ve been on-line less. Part of it is my wordpress has for some reason been cantankerous. Another, though, is a bit of disspirit. We are at a very dangerous time in our history as a nation, and too many seem to have the attitude, “What, me worry?” (Alfred E. Neumann, Mad Magazine.) We have an autocrat in chief; a Republican party controlling Congress that enables and exhibits enabling behavior that in the days when Alfred E. Neuman was born (1954) would have outraged that same party – coddling Russia and the like.

We’re in strange times. Just Above Sunset catches it this morning: The Old World Now Gone.

But I am an optimist, and I’ve had something of a mantra throughout life thus far that “patience and persistence pays”, and I’m not inclined to quit. So, at the end of this post is a bit of optimism from my state’s Attorney General, sent out a few days ago, and before that a couple of pieces of nostalgia from times preceding mine. Just some things to think about.

The Stoop and the Postcard:

Recently I came across two seemingly unrelated items: a photo I took of a door stoop in Norma Township ND in Dec. 1999; and a postcard sent to my grandmother in Henrietta Township ND in 1911. I offer them to encourage reflection about a country that was.

Stoop at the Anderson Place, Norma Township ND Dec. 1999.

This was the entry to a country farm home where many children were raised about 100 years ago. My first wife’s mother was one of these, and this thus represents, now, five generations of Americans. All of us have our stories, our own stoops (that piece of iron on the edge – anyone who grew up on a farm, especially, knows what that was for – to at least put a dent in the farm dirt and manure from the barn….)

The Depot, Eagle Butte SD, 1911

The contents of the postcard are below. Here is a pdf of the letter: Eagle Butte SD003

The postcard contents.

This was a card about relationship, the story never to be totally told. Grandma, then, was 27 years old, with two youngsters, four and two (the youngest my mother). “D.A.L.” was probably someone who had moved, perhaps a nearby farm wife, probably someone who’d taken up farming there about the same time as my kin: 1905.

I leave the interpretation to the reader. They needed each other then. We need each other now, more than ever. And we won’t survive if we continue to cherish individualism and polarization and power, at all cost.

MN Attorney General Lori Swanson March 13, 2018:

“Leaders should inspire us to be our best. Our leaders achieve the most when they are optimistic about America’s destiny. The best leaders know that negotiated compromise, not unbridled polarization, is what moves America forward.

FDR’s optimism gave the country hope in the Great Depression. He observed: “The person with big dreams is more powerful than the one with all the facts.” And he described negotiation as follows: “For the young people here: practicality is a good thing. There are times where compromise is necessary. That’s part of wisdom. But it’s also important to hang on to what you believe.”

John F. Kennedy optimistically foresaw a moon landing, a Peace Corps to share America’s dream, and a new era of civil rights and individual dignity. To achieve progress, he noted in his inaugural speech: “Let us never negotiate out of fear; but let us never fear to negotiate.” He was quick to point out that “compromise does not mean cowardice.”

Martin Luther King, Jr. optimistically shared his dream that “…one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed…That all men are created equal.” He embraced optimism by declaring: “Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.” As to compromise, he said: “A genuine leader is not a searcher for consensus but a molder of consensus.”

Eleanor Roosevelt, a great inspiration for the women of her time, said: “The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.” Eleanor had this to say about compromise: “We must be willing to learn the lesson that cooperation may imply compromise, but if it brings a world advance it is a gain for everyone.”

Mahatma Gandhi described human progress this way: “Human life is a series of compromises, and it is not always easy to achieve in practice what one has found to be true in theory.” As to polarization, he said: “A principle is the expression of perfection, and as imperfect beings like us cannot practice perfection, we devise every moment limits of its compromise in practice.”

Social and economic progress occurs in America when we embrace optimistic leadership and treat each other with respect and dignity, not insults and name calling….”

#MeToo. Time for honest conversations…lots of them.

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Happy Valentine’s Day.

Sometime before she began first grade in about 1913 my Aunt Lucina got a Valentine from a young friend, Stella, who lived on a farm a couple of miles down the road in Henrietta township North Dakota.

(click to enlarge illustrations)

Valentine

Her friends Mom helped make this card for her daughter. Most likely it was delivered in person by horse and buggy. A year or so earlier, rural telephone (“two longs and a short”) had entered the vocabulary of these country neighbors, but in those days the phone was “party line” for everybody, and not for casual use. Stella was apparently missing her young friend down the road, my Aunt Lucina.

Valentine’s Day has a very long history. You can read about it here; (do a quick scroll to “Modern Times” for the more contemporary history.

All of the following are Valentine cards from the Busch farm in ND, which I had borrowed from Uncle Vince and Aunt Edithe, and scanned years ago. They were in a box, and I wrote a bit about them a dozen years ago. My post says there were 19 Valentine’s in the box. I scanned the nine you see here.

The remaining illustrations in this post are all from that same box, that same scan, just waiting for the appropriate time to see the light of day, albeit on a computer screen in 2018.

Valentine

Valentine

Valentine

Valentine

Valentine 1911

Valentine 1913

Valentine 1913

Valentine

POSTNOTE, “#MeToo”:
The following are my scattered/random comments as we wade through the swamp of #MeToo. #MeToo is about relationships of one sort or another gone awry. It has overtaken most everything else in the national conversation the last few months, but if you think about it, the high profile #MeToo’s are very few and very rare.

What follows are some personal unpolished thoughts out loud, hopefully to encourage other thoughts out loud, but mostly to encourage people of different genders, ages, points of view, to discuss together, in person, the “#MeToo” issue. There will be squirming and defensiveness, but the conversations are worth having, far better than the insanity we’re going through today.

I have relevant experience with this, beyond simply being a human being.

As a teacher union staff person from 1972-2000, I and my colleagues had plenty of experience with the “sex” issues of those days: accusations similar to todays, most in the area of inappropriate contact between student and teacher; often front-page news. They were also rare, mostly men were accused (but not all), and mostly there was provable guilt to some degree (but not always). There came to be instant and severe punishment: almost automatic loss of the license to teach.

There was an over-reaction by society generally, and by the teacher community. Some saw individual incidents as opportunities to tar the entire teaching profession, particularly the Unions (including myself) whose duty was to represent our members. At the height, my own union adopted a “no touch” rule for members to avoid problems. It made sense at the time, but was also crazy (such as the female kindergarten teacher afraid to help tie a kindergarten boys shoes).

“Innocent until proven guilty” was not part of the conversation. I’d say it was impossible to get a fair trial that ended with exoneration, or rehabilitation. Once charged, you were presumed to be guilty.

How little we have learned EXCEPT that “sex” has become a very useful political tool….

Fast forward to today, very, very briefly: Full disclosure: two of my personal heroes, Al Franken and Garrison Keillor, have been felled by the recent rounds of #MeToo. Again, once accused, convicted. The “whole truth” unnecessary; all that matters, the result. If you like the outcome against one person, be aware, another person you like, including yourself, may be next on the chopping block.

For some reason I kept the Tuesday, Jan. 16, 2018 Minneapolis Star Tribune, whose top of the front page headline was: “Most believe Franken’s accusers“, with subhead “But nearly half of voters say senator shouldn’t have stepped down.” This was a month after the first allegation against Franken was made, for something which occurred before he ran for U.S. Senate, an accusation accompanied by a single photograph suggesting…. Then came some other allegations, “anonymous”. Then the “court” of public opinion:

(click twice for additional enlargement)

We may as well dispense with hearings or courts or privacy: just take a poll and publicize it…the sample will render the verdict. This is a dangerous way to do things.

I did watch 60 Minutes Sunday night, the “#MeToo” topic was one of the segments. I’m sure you can still watch the segment on-line. Now we move, righteously, to kill sexual harassment. It is a wonderful idea. So was prohibition, and the move to eliminate abortions, or to keep slavery, or get rid of illegals…the lists of schemes to prohibit go on and on and on.

To #MeToo as an issue: I read, and I talk to people of other genders with possibly differing points of view…. “Sex” is a part of every one of our beings. It has a very long history. In our country, there is a fascination with sex, as practiced by someone else.

The objective must be to make things better, rather than to attempt to make things perfect.

Then there is our national moral and legal arbiter Donald Trump. While there is much talk about the sanctity of “due process”, including from me, there is no level playing field when it comes to Trump. It is hard to imagine that he will ever be found guilty of anything. He is a proven serial liar – nothing he says can be taken at face value, even in writing, most certainly not in court, and sexual harassment is generally a very personal deal, rarely public, subject to interpretation. He needs only to deny…and countersue.

Lots of people who should know better, say what he allegedly did happened long ago…we should get over it. (There is something of that mantra about Judge Roy Moore, whose incidents happened, they say, “40 years ago”.)

Trumps reputation as a very rich man is that he is one who can afford to, and does, counter-sue almost at every opportunity. If you have power and lots of money, you can buy much better “due process” justice than if you are poor or less powerful or one of those teachers I used to represent.

With Trump, we have what we deserve, and we’re probably stuck with it. Make it a learning opportunity.

A NEW FAVORITE BIBLE STORY comes via an evangelical guy who attends an every Saturday Bible Study one table away from me at coffee. There seems to be an intended public witness by the half dozen men who usually attend, all nice guys, and knowledgable.

Anyway, a few Saturdays ago one gentleman – likely a PhD and a very decent man from all indications – was saying he’d been at something or other and the speaker talked about the first two commands in the Bible: “have sex and eat“. It got a good laugh from the assembled Christians….

Comments are welcome, but probably this forum is not the best – engage with others where you live.

Happy Valentine’s Day. And Ash Wednesday, too.
dick_bernardATmsnDOTcom

COMMENTS:
From Norm: Those old valentines brought back many memories of my grade school days when we used to exchange them I school. As I recall, there was usually a box set-up in our home room that had been decorated by our creative peers with a slot on its top for us to insert the valentines that we had brought in.

The box would later be opened on or close to Valentine’s Day and its contents distributed with all of the be my valentine messages on them.

I can even recall a few valentines that had a small red sucker attached to them as well.

Thanks for bringing back those special memories, Dick.

from Jeff: I think you make a good point, and one often pointed out, that if you are able, you can buy more due process if you can afford it.

I think the #metoo is a good thing, but while he said she said isn’t always right, sometimes it is (Aziz Ansari)

A long-ago Blizzard

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This morning a blizzard began in our area. We knew exactly when it was coming, and pretty accurately what it would be. There’s not much unpredictable in the present day.

It wasn’t always that way.

I grew up with blizzards, the ferocious snow storms of the dry high plains. North Dakota.

Out at the farm home near Berlin ND was a trove of “junk”: albums, many photo portraits, and large numbers of old photographic negatives taken with two box cameras. In the collection, of the 110 year history of the farm, were two negatives that are especially intriguing, taken the same day, most likely about 1916 or 1917, just over 100 years ago.

Here are rough paper prints of the negatives. Click to enlarge.

After ND Blizzard 1916

After a 1916 Blizzard

Negatives aren’t labeled, of course. I think these are the winter of 1916 or 1917 because they show my grandmother, then about 32, and her four oldest children, Lucina, Esther (my mother), Verena and Mary. There was a fifth child by the time, George, but he would have been too little to frolic in the snow the day after the blizzard passed into history.

Prairie blizzards of my memory were ferocious affairs, sometimes several days duration. They differed from todays storms only in that the habitants of the prairie knew they were going to happen sometime, but had no idea exactly when or how severe they would be – there was no Accuweather then. The prudent settler prepared for the inevitable. Winters were not a time to take risks.

The storms pitted humanity against nature, and when they ended, it was time for a victory lap for the survivors. Photos like these were probably not uncommon.

This particular farm (pictured below about the same year as the blizzard) is one I know well, though it would be 24 more years before I made an appearance there.

Busch’s had some milk cows, then, and milking twice a day was mandatory. It could be a dangerous trip from house to barn; whiteouts could be disorienting. They also had a chicken coop, and the job of chickens was to lay eggs, which needed to be gathered.

(click to enlarge)

Busch farm 1916

The house was small and cramped and a challenge to keep warm in this time of cold temperatures and high winds. There was no electricity, no television or radio, no insulation, no indoor plumbing. One can only imagine living through a blizzard.

But as these photos show, there were celebratory aspects. The dry granular snow drifted into virtual bricks, well suited to tunnels, and igloos if one had the interest. Post-blizzard could be fun for kids.

There were no machines to move the snow on the farm, no trips to town by car for groceries or whatever. People knew, of course, that what came, would ultimately go, and the snow piles would melt…on nature’s timeline.

I can imagine the day of these photographs was something of an exciting day at the farm. I can imagine, too, that some reader memories will come back, looking at these photos.

Happy winter! For me, for years, spring has begun February 1. Yes, I know. By then the worst is past, I reason.

COMMENTS:
(most of those commenting grew up or have some roots in North Dakota)
From Bob: Your blizzard memories are similar to mine, having lived on a remote farm through the 8th grade, one room school house and all. As you said, no electricity, television, central heat or indoor plumbing. And too often lots of snow to shovel by hand.

Young folks today grumble about the horrible winter and tough conditions but don’t know how good they have it compared to earlier generations on the open prairie.

Now we winter in Arizona, so really are spoiled. No blizzards or snow to shovel. Just oranges to pick, and sweep occasional sand off the patio adjacent to the 6th green on our 9 hole golf course.

from Laurie: Wow what a storm that was. Hard to imagine living back then. Life was so hard, today’s kids couldn’t handle it! Most likely I would have a very hard time too! Fun to see all of this info! Thanks for sharing!

from Beth: Loved that post. Blizzards are different now, even from when I was a kid. Hope all is well with you and yours!

from Darleen: The blizzards of yesteryear that I remember are one in the late ’40’s when I froze my nose and the one in the mid 60’s when the drifts were so high between the house & barn that a person could not see over the drift. During that one my mother was in the hospital in Jamestown so my dad was on the farm by himself…Dick the memories are endless of the blizzards. In MN we have not had the depth or low temps that I remember we had in ND. I also remember when the wind was strongthere were snow drifts on the window sill of my bedroom. I was snuggled under one of
my mother’s sheep wool quilts & was warm.

from Jim B: These are awesome, to think I was complaining about a little cool weather here in Florida the last couple weeks…..

from Fred: Thanks for the memories. I grew up on a farm near Lidgerwood (SE North Dakota) and I do remember some of those barn burner blizzards. Dad had a loader on the tractor and was able to dig us out. Another thing I remember is the cold. Twenty below seemed colder back then that it does now. Maybe because of the coats, heaters and furnaces that we have now. I enjoy your reminisces.

from Jim D: Thanks for sending this. I’ve been through a few of these including the March 1966 blizzard, the snow/dirt storm of 1975, and the late April blizzard of 1984 plus a few more. Always exciting!

responding to Jim: I’m wondering if the March 1966 blizzard you refer to is the March 1965 blizzard I remember when I was a teacher in Elgin ND. That was a terrible storm. My wife, and one year old, and I lived in an upstairs apartment. There was no school, of course, and there was nothing to do. I remember sitting at our table and cobbling together some research about “Changes in Small Schools in North Dakota”. I had enough data to do this. Here is the resulting article: Dick Bernard 1965 School001. The Grand Forks (ND) Herald did an editorial about the article a short while later! The project was just something to do during a blizzard….

Dick, from Jim D: Proof of the 1966 blizzard, here

from Dave: Very interesting, since my Mother was born in Illinois in 1909 and moved to Devil’s Lake [ND] when she was two. They moved to Wisconsin in 1921. She had fond memories of her childhood. I never visited Devil’s Lake while at Valley City. I have a 97-year old Uncle who was born in ND in 1920. He was a C-47 crew chief and flew many missions from D-Day on. His life’s story was just published in a book, “Clear the Prop.”

Wonder if ND gets the cold spells like we did in the 60s. I recall 40 below and 40 mph winds. Walked seven blocks to the [Valley City State Teachers College] cafeteria (in the basement of one of the girl’s dorms) and did not care to walk eight.

from JP: Brought back a lot of memories growing up in the Red River Valley in Southern Manitoba in the 1940s & 1950s.

from Leo: The storm I remember was 4/5/6 of Feb. 1947. All the roads were blocked. The main roads were open in a few days but the side roads were blocked for about two weeks. Dad took us to school in a wagon with runners pulled by a team of horses. Many kids never got to school. My mother said that main street in Fingal looked just like it did when she was a child. Teams of horses in the street. There was a drift by the trees north of our farmhouse that was within three feet of the power lines. Dad drew a line in the snow and said if I went over that line toward the power lines I would get a licking. I used my sled to go off that huge drift for a least a couple of months. My memory was that the total run was about a hundred yards. I would pull my sled to the top and the dog would get on the front and I would kneel on the back of the sled and down we would go, My recollection is that about ten people in the region died. I think Dad had twine or small rope between the house and barn to follow so he would not get lost in the storm. That was the worst storm during my youth. After we moved to Valley City in 1956 the storms were less significant.

from Dick: Leo’s memory prompts me to include this story of a northeast ND blizzard of Nov. 1860, as recalled by the legendary Father Joseph Goiffon, who lost his leg as a result of the blizzard. Here is his story: Blizzard of Nov. 1860001

The French-Canadians; The Franco-Americans

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Years ago I signed up for a workshop – I think it was titled “Family of Origin” – and the first assignment was to find out what we could about our ancestors, something which I had never explored before.

I was 40 at the time.

My parents took the bait; I found that my Dad was 100% French-Canadian, with very deep roots in Quebec, though near lifelong North Dakotan.

There are millions upon millions of people with French-Canadian ancestry today; hundreds of thousands of them in my own state.

“Quebec” (name first established in 1608) long pre-dates use of the name “United States of America (1776)” and “Canada” (1867). Here’s a National Geographic map from my copy of the Historical Atlas of the United States, Centennial Edition, 1988 (p. 96). Note the extent of “Quebec”. This was before the naming of “Canada”

(click to enlarge)

My first French-Canadian ancestor was in North America in 1618, and French-Canadians have had a very rich subsequent history all across North America.

I stay active in the quest to keep this rich culture alive, and yesterday prepared a reintroduction to be sent to our local mailing list. The 9-page mailing is here: French-Canadian001

If you wish, open and just scroll through the link. I’d especially recommend the last four pages, a recent essay entitled “Why Are Franco-Americans So Invisible?” by David Vermette, which appears in the Winter (Hiver) 2017 edition of Le Forum from the state of Maine.

*

I dedicate this post to my great-grandparents, Clotilde Blondeau and Octave Collette, who married at what was then called St. Anthony, soon to become Minneapolis MN, in 1868; thence 1875 to the Dayton MN area, thence to Oakwood (near Grafton) North Dakota in 1878.

Below is the tintype photo of them about the time of their marriage. Clotilde would have been about 5 when they arrived in Minnesota Territory from eastern Ontario in the early 1850s; Octave was about 17 when most of the Collette family moved from St. Lambert QC to St. Anthony (later, Minneapolis) in about 1864.

(click to enlarge, double click for close-up)

Clotilde Blondeau and Octave Collette at St. Anthony MN ca July 1869

I also dedicate this to my grandparents: Henry Bernard, born 1872 and raised in rural Ste. Sylvestre Quebec, coming to North Dakota in the 1890s; and Josephine Collette, born 1881 at the now disappeared Red River town of St. Andrews, where the Park River enters the Red. They married in 1901 at Oakwood ND.

Henry Bernards of Grafton ND about 1920, with visitors from Winnipeg. Henry, Josephine, Henry Jr, Josie, and Frank Peter are center part of photo. Their home was on the bank of the Park River, then 115 Wakeman Avenue.

Dad. A Family Memory

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Prenote: My Dad died 20 years ago today. I had been planning to write a little piece about him for some weeks, and in fact had been at the place where he died, Our Lady of the Snows, Belleville IL, on October 22-23.

I digress for a moment: We were tiny town folks, and church was central to our lives, so my thoughts are occupied now with the folks of Sutherland Springs TX, where 26 people were killed inside the community church at Sunday service. Who will stop this insanity?

I think back to that chapel at Our Lady of the Snows, where I attended Mass Oct 23, as Dad would have. To my family: “I went to 7:30 Mass on Monday morning. There were about 30 of us.” There have been lots of wake up calls to deal with the crisis of guns in America. Sutherland Springs should be at the very top of our list: it can happen anywhere, to anyone….

(click to enlarge photos)

Chapel at Our Lady of the Snows Oct 23, 2017

*

Dad

My Dad was like most of us. He had a good run, of almost 90 years. He contributed more than he took. He earned compliments and (I’m sure) criticism. Those who knew Dad can fill in their own blanks.

He lived ten years at Our Lady of the Snows, on the bluff just east of St. Louis in Belleville IL, from age 79 till his death. To prepare for his upcoming 80th birthday (Dec 22, 1987), he walked 80 consecutive daily 15 minute miles. My sister, Flo, and I were there for the “birthday walk”. It took him 13 minutes…

Henry Bernard about to begin his 80th 15 minute mile December 22, 1987

Nine days after he died I was in Chicago at a conference at O’Hare, and in the Sunday Chicago Tribune I found this column, by Mary Schmich: Schmich My father died001. To this day, whenever I hear that the father of someone I know dies, I send this column on.

It spoke to me.

His kids left a permanent marker in memory of Dad at Our Lady of the Snows Apartment Community on Memorial Day, 1998. Here’s the marker for the flagpole, photo from Oct 23, 2017. (Neither Mom nor Dad have gravestones. They both donated their bodies to schools of medicine for medical research.)

Marker at the flagpole at Our Lady of the Snows Apartment Community, Belleville IL Oct 22, 2017

*

There are lots of things to remember about my Dad.

Today is election day in many places, including our town. Most certainly, Dad would vote. If he had a partisan preference, he never said it to me. He was interested in political topics. I recall a long term project of his was to read the biographies of all the Presidents of the U.S. I graduated from high school in the 6th year of Dwight Eisehower’s time, so Harry Truman would have been the most recent biography. In 1983 he and I visited the Eisenhower Library in Abilene KS, and on the same trip Lyndon Johnsons Johnson City TX.

His livelihood and job as a school teacher and small town school superintendent depended on “taxpayers”. He would muse about “NRFA” (pronounced nerfa, No Reelection For Anyone), but I highly doubt he ever practiced that philosophy – it was just his expression of disgust at politicians at all levels whose primary interest was to get reelected.

*

In 1981, his wife, my Mom, died too soon, at 72. He was 73. They lived year round in San Benito TX, 245 miles south of Sutherland Springs. I think he went through a personal crisis in this time…how to go on. A life-saver for him was to go back to teaching, volunteering to teach English as a Second Language across the street at the Berta Cabaza Junior High School.

I recall that when he traveled he often would send postcards to his students back home, reasoning that this may be the only mail they ever received.

*

He was born in 1907, as modern life was just beginning to bud. A couple of months ago I participated in a program in which I attempted to condense his first 18 years into seven minutes from his writings. Here is what I came up with: DAD STORIES told early 1980s– 2. My spoken rendition of these memories can be viewed here, beginning at about 8 minutes.

About 1920, Grafton ND. Henry Bernard is tall kid in white shirt. Other family members are his parents, Henry and Josephine, and siblings Frank and Josie, and two families visiting from Winnipeg Manitoba. The 1901 Oldsmobile still exists in an auto museum in Pennsylvania.

Those who know me, know I like to write. It seems to have followed some genetic trait inherited by my Dad from someone long ago.

After Mom, his wife Esther, died in 1981, Henry embarked on what became a regular routine.

He developed a two week cycle for letters to we kids. Monday was to his oldest (me); Tuesday for the second child, Mary Ann; Wednesday, Thursday, Friday for Florence, Frank and John. The other days he wrote to other family or friends, here there and everywhere. He was constantly intellectually active.

His tiny apartment (96A, which is now used for storage), was set up for his daily activities. Here’s his desk on Dec. 22, 1987.

Henry’s “home office”, 1987

For whatever reason I kept my set of letters and a few years ago donated them as part of the family archive to the University of North Dakota Chester Fritz library (his haunt in years of living in Grand Forks.)

I had, frankly, forgot about the donation of the letters till a surprise e-mail came on July 26, 2017: “Dick: Greetings. I wanted to let you know that the family history materials you donated in 2009 and 2010 have been processed. The materials are now formally part of the Initiatives in French Midwest Heritage Collection. Your materials are Series 29 and the finding aid for the collection can be viewed here:

I want to let you know that I very much enjoyed processing this material. Your father seemed like a really great guy and I am honored to help document not only his history, but that of your entire family. Please look at the finding aid and let me know if you have any corrections. Thank you.”

The writer was Curt Hanson, Head for Special Collections at the University of North Dakota. Dad was an interesting guy. Here’s a column about him in the Grand Forks (ND) Herald May 31, 1987: Henry Bernard by C Haga001

There ensued further conversation ‘back and forth’, including a later comment from Curt: “A funny story regarding the processing of your Dad’s papers. I have, truly, never come across someone as Catholic as your father. The fact that I am Lutheran may account for this! Your father would frequently date his letters by noting something similar to “17th day of Lent 1987.” This caused me to have to look up and determine when the 17th day of Lent was in 1987. I had to do this frequently!

While I was processing your father’s material, I had to spread out on a table here in Special Collections. One day last month, the Department was visited by an Orthodox Jew who was researching the history of the synagogue in town. He was dressed all in black, with both a payot and a yarmulke. He sat at the table right next to where I was processing. I found it ironic that an incredibly Jewish man was working next to the papers of a very Catholic man. Maybe it is just me, but I found that to be interesting.”

*

The last family reunion, including many of us, September, 1996, at Our Lady of the Snows.

I close with a few more photos, mostly from Dec. 22, 1987. Happy Birthday to my daughter, Heather, who is 42 today; and an early b-day to Henry’s daughter Mary Ann, whose birthday is Nov. 10, and his son Frank on Nov. 17.

Perhaps you can take some time for remembering your own Dad (or Mom, or whomever) stories….

Henry, Dec. 22, 1987

Henry at 80. He was a ceaseless walker, until almost the end of his life.

St. Louis from Our Lady of the Snows, Dec. 1987. Now the trees have grown and the skyline is visible only in the fall after the leaves have shed.

St. Louis, Oct 23, 2017, from Cahokia Mound IL, a few miles northwest of Our Lady of the Snows.

#1306 – Dick Bernard: The Avenue of the Saints

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About a week ago, I packed my bag and got on the road, destination an annual meeting of Citizens for Global Solutions near Lambert St. Louis Airport, St. Louis MO.

Over 500 miles later, I arrived at my destination, both exhausted and energized. It was good to see the open country between St. Paul and St. Louis, traveling I-494, U.S. 52, 63, I-380, IA 27, U.S. 61, and I-70 (to minimize confusion, the route is more or less a straight line from St. Paul to St. Louis). We are a very large and very diverse country, if one takes a moment to look.

Somewhere around Iowa City, on 27, I began to see a repetitive road sign:

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Somewhere in southern Iowa October 20, 2017

I could see the word “Saints” on the distinct road signs, but finally had to stop and read the rest of the story, and take the photo of Avenue of the Saints, unfortunately with the fleur de lis “impaled”. There oughta be a law!

There had to be a story. Back home I looked it up. You can read the fascinating story here. The “Saints” are St. Paul and St. Louis….

Such journeys have always fascinated me…49 states so far in life. Not much interested in the 50th – Alaska. Maybe I’ll still make it, but it’s not on my “bucket list”.

Even at highway speed, there is much to notice along the way. Friend Steve, hailing from Cedar Rapids, advised bypassing Waterloo due to road construction. His diversion allowed me to see the towns of Raymond and Dewar, and at least wonder about the town a few miles to the right on C66, Dunkerton.

The route took me to the outskirts of Hannibal, Tom Sawyer’s town. “Been there, done that” back in 1976 – stopped for coffee there, both enroute to and from.

After the conference in St. Louis, rendezoused with my brother in Belleville, at beautiful Our Lady of the Snows, where our Dad lived the last ten years of his life, dying there in 1997.

We took a trip to the nearby and very interesting Cahokia Mounds park, and I managed to get a good photo of downtown St. Louis a few miles away.

St. Louis from Cahokia Mounds IL Oct 23, 2017

On the 24th I headed home the same way I’d come, this time deciding to stop at a single point of interest I’d noted on the trip down, found east of Lourdes, Iowa.

Hwy 63, Iowa, south of Lourdes, Oct 24, 2017

The diversion six miles east was well worth the trip, even though there was no one there, and it was a chilly and very windy day.

At the farm site was the country school Dr. Borlaug attended (he was born in 1914). Also, some displays, one shown below.

Dr. Borlaug’s country school, opened in 1865.

Norman Borlaug Oct 24, 2017

Back home I wrote a note a good friend, born and raised on a farm, who I first met as an 8th grader in 1953-54, as follows:

“I made one stop enroute home which may interest you, as a farmer. One of the premier world agricultural experts – a Nobel Peace Prize winner – was Norman Borlaug of rural Cresco Iowa (perhaps six miles south of Cresco, about the same east of Lourdes, Iowa). I saw a sign pointing to the place where he grew up, and I drove the six miles off route 63 to see the place. It was chilly and windy and I was the only person there, but a fascinating stop. Here’s the web description of Dr. Borlaug.

His cousin was the country school teacher, and she recommended to his parents that he go to high school. She said he wasn’t the best student, but he had the attitude he needed to succeed. She called that one right!!!!

I once did a blog which referred to a chance meeting of my uncle and aunt with Borlaug, probably down in the Hankinson area of ND: You can read it here. The meeting with Dr. Borlaug was a vivid memory for Vince. It probably was sometime not long after he had won the Peace Prize. We all have our stories.”

In short order, my friend, a retired scientist, responded with his own message, which added to the learning experience of my week.

“Interesting article on Dr. Borlaug. There are a lot of people that have made great contributions to their respective fields, but as you know from my preoccupation with the forthcoming Ice Age and issues like that, what we need more of are folks that are big-picture thinkers. I was seeing on TV that the efforts of the Gates Foundation may completely eliminate polio. We spend much money on saving children from starvation and other preventable diseases, and yet, as per the population growth curve that I have shown you that I refer to as the “human stupidity index”, there will come a time when billions of people will be dying as nature reduces the earth’s human population back down to somewhere around 3 billion over the next millennium or two. As I have told you, my greatest charitable contributions are now focused on population reduction. I can’t do it by myself, and there are those that detest the idea of population control, but I will keep doing my bit to hopefully reduce the number of people that will lose their lives to natures forces as time goes on.”

In my life, I have found that there is lots to learn, and lots of richness in differences of opinion. Point of fact: I basically agree with my friends concern. What are we leaving those who come after us?

Returning home I did the periodic newsletter for my Minnesota Chapter of Citizens for Global Solutions. You are welcome to read it here: CGS News Nov 2017 Final-2. Of course, you can join an e-list for this five times a year newsletter if you wish. Just let me know: dick_bernardATmsnDOTcom.

Coming soon: Some thoughts a year after November 8, 2016.

“OldStuff”, Bingo, and the Travel Game.

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Monday, I took our 88 year old friend and neighbor, Don, to see the Fall leaves along the Mississippi River on the Wisconsin side of the river (across from Hastings and Red Wing, Prescott to Bay City WI). It was a fun afternoon, and we ended up at an antique shop in Bay City WI. It was a beautiful day.

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Bay City WI Oct 16, 2017

This was a nice shop, the proprietors a retired married couple. The man had a specialty: making bat houses. Yes, bat houses.

I’d never seen a bat house; if there is a “Parade of Bat Homes”, his would have been on the tour, a unique design, a work of art. Each house, he said, was a unique design, and there was a demand for his work.

When we were there, he also was completing a hand-carved wooden horse, which was a marvelous work of art.

I’m an antique, not an antiquer, but this was a most pleasant visit.

*

Saturday, my spouse convinced me to go to the semi-annual Bingo in the “Undercroft” at the Basilica of St. Mary. (Undercroft is a gussied up name for Church Basement.) There seemed to be about 100 of us. A good time was had by all.

How Bingo became a Catholic “tradition”, at least in the places I grew up, is a mystery to me. Wikipedia does have a history of Bingo, which dates Bingo back to 1929 in the U.S.

In the tiny towns of my growing up, Bingo was a social affair, using corn kernels for covering the numbers; with small prizes, like a can of soup, or sometimes a pie. It seemed a Catholic thing. No $100,000 prizes then!

I got to thinking about one of the curiosity things still saved from the junk on the ND farm: a set of Bingo cards from about 1936:

Bingo cards, etc., from a bingo game kit.

Here are the instructions for the game: Bingo 1936001

What intrigued me on Saturday was the large number of young adults in attendance, all enjoying themselves. Sitting next to me was a Dad and his teenage son, autistic and deaf from birth. Dad was signing the numbers for his son, and they were having a very good time.

BONUS: when I dug out the Bingo cards, I found in the same bag 83 playing cards which were an obvious part of a board game. Here are the variety of cards: Travel Game001 The set was incomplete. There was no board and no rules, just the somewhat bedraggled cards.

You can find most anything on the Internet. Here is a history of the game. Because the set includes a 30 miles card, it appears it would date from the 1937.

Trees, “junk”, and nostalgia…not all bad!

Have a great day.

Minneapolis Oct 15, 2017

#1301: The Medicine Wheel and The North Country Trail

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Monday I was in Valley City ND for an Alumni event at my alma mater, which I knew, back in 1958-61 as Valley City State Teachers College. The infrequent visits back are always nostalgic, this one more so than most.

My motel was a short walk from Medicine Wheel park, which I’ve known about since its first rough rendition back in 1992. It is a fascinating place, within sight of I-94, atop the “hill” which helps give Valley City its name. Here’s the park brochure: Medicine Wheel Brochure002The most recent Alumni Bulletin of the college tells the story of the Medicine Wheel, which you can read here: Medicine Wheel 001.

The current park is very impressive, a part of the American Scenic Byways. It is an interesting stop for travelers who know of it. At the park in early morning, just about sunrise, I met a person from Norway who was leading a bus tour through the area.

It happened, this trip, that I met the legendary Professor, Joe Stickler, who in sundry ways made the park possible. He was at the evening event, a soft-spoken but very friendly native of the Dayton OH area, who, I gather, made science come alive for generations of students. Prof. Stickler in turn gives the credit to generations of students who have brought the Medicine Wheel to its current state. Here’s what Joe says he’s been reading.

I asked if I could take his photo:

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Joe Stickler, Valley City ND October 2, 2017

This same day, I rendezvous’ed with my sister and brother-in-law at the Motel, and told them about the Medicine Wheel just down the street.

The Medicine Wheel was not new to them. They said that a number of years earlier, as new members of a group called the North Country Trail Association, they had attended a regional conference in Valley City. Medicine Wheel is part of the North Dakota Sheyenne River branch of the trail.

Carter at the North Country Trail marker at Medicine Wheel Park, Valley City ND October 2, 2017.

Flo and Carter are very active as stewards and volunteers of the Itasca Moraine (MN) portion of the trail, and I asked Carter how they happened to become involved. Carter remembered a day shortly after he’d retired: he decided to go for a solitary walk on an area trail. On the hike he met a solitary hiker coming in the opposite direction. The other man was a new volunteer for the North Country Trail. They chatted and the rest is history.

There is plenty of bad news in recent days.

My belief is that the positive stories above are replicated in thousands of ways, everywhere, every day, in our country and in the world itself.

What are your stories, where you live?

POSTNOTES:
1. I had planned, this day, to begin the retrospective on the recently completed Ken Burns/Lynn Novick series on Vietnam. The most recent post is here. I’ll add one or more posts perhaps beginning later this week. Check back.
2. While in Valley City I learned of the heinous massacre in Las Vegas.
Just weeks ago, I heard, in person, Gabby Giffords and Mark Kelly give a very powerful talk on guns and our society at the Augsburg University Nobel Peace Prize Forum. Hopefully it will end up accessible on the internet. For now, check their website: Americans for Responsible Solutions.

I ask myself, about being cause in the matter of solutions: “If not me, who? If not now, when?”. Every one of us has more influence than we think. We just need to get in action.