Family History – Page 13 – Thoughts Towards a Better World

#800 – Dick Bernard: Visiting home.

November 12, 2013/4 Comments/in Environment, Family History, North Dakota /by dickbernard

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7:30 a.m. November 12, 2013, between Berlin and Grand Rapids ND

Early this morning I made a solitary drive out to the farm where my mother was born in 1909.
I’d been up and down this driveway hundreds of times over the years, but this trip was different.
The sky in the east was pink and I knew sunrise was close, but as I drove the lane to the farmstead, when I reached the top of that small hill, I was greeted by an intense rising sun. I immediately stopped the car, got out, and took the single photo you see above.
It was 7:30 a.m., and the thermometer showed 11 degrees.
Just a few hours before, and ten miles away, I’d been dealing with the stress of admitting Mom’s brother to the local nursing home. It was the reason for this trip.
He’s near 89, and finally reached the point where he could no longer independently cope, even, with assisted living. So down the hall he and I and an attendant went, to a new room a couple of doors down from where his 93 year old sister has lived for the past year.
It was not easy. I’ve participated in this ritual before, with others, as have many people I know. For the elderly, nursing home beds are not preferred destinations. It was Veterans Day (Armistice Day) when Uncle was admitted. While his room is pleasant, and private, it may as well have been the Hanoi Hilton. He knows what it means. But he needs to be there.
He and his sister lived for 81 and 87 years perhaps 50 feet to the left of where I took my photo of the sunrise.
In 1904 his Dad, my Grandpa, purchased the quarter section of never-plowed ground, and stood where I was; a few months later, Grandpa and his new bride, Grandma, took the train the 600 or so miles from rural Wisconsin to the bustling new farm country to build a life.
The building you see to the left in the photo was a grain bin, the first building constructed on the property. The next was the farm house, built just to my left, and the first ground tilled was to my right. It had to be an exhausting but fulfilling year, even though they were young, 25 and 21, respectively.
At right in the photo is the long vacant barn. The roof blew off that barn in 1949, and Uncle, Grandpa and my Dad did lots of the building of the trusses for the roof. The local pastor, an expert carpenter, looked at their work and said, “it’ll never last”. That was 63 years ago. Uncle was 24 and Dad was 41 and Grandpa 69. I think in that kind of context quite often these days.
When Grandma and Grandpa died, my Uncle took over operation of the farm. He was always a small farmer, but a good one. He was the kind of person who built the midwest and fed the country. This lasted until 2006 when health issues made farming impossible for him, and they moved to town, ten miles away. Even then, driving out to this driveway, tending flowers, and the garden and such, were frequent occurrences.
We talk now in the past tense.
Sunday, two days earlier, he and I had driven the countryside and were on the road that goes past the Berning place, and just a quarter miles or so west, Uncle noticed something hanging from a telephone pole. We stopped there, and took a look.
It appeared to be a hawk who by some circumstance found itself entangled in some way, and had died there, fluttering in the wind. I took several photos, and came back the next day and took some more, including turning 180 degrees and taking one final photo of the family farm.
For all of us, “there is a season”, as that oft-quoted text from Ecclesiastes says.
We do the best we can.
For sure my Uncle and Aunt did just that, and however long they both have, they earned our respect.

November 12, 2013

Nov. 11, 2013

November 11, 2013, at the Nursing Home.

#792 – Dick Bernard: The Gospel of the Soprano

October 27, 2013/0 Comments/in Community, Family History, Minnesota, North Dakota, Peace & Justice, Quietings /by dickbernard

Friday evening my 88 year old Uncle and I went down the hall to visit his sister and my aunt in the Memory Care unit at the Nursing Home/Assisted Living facility in a small rural North Dakota community. It was a short trip, under a single roof. My Aunt, at 93, is most likely not suffering from severe dimentia, but nonetheless the placement is appropriate. She’s been in the unit for about a year.
My Uncle and I just went to visit. My Aunt was working on a puzzle. (photo at end.)
It was supper time, and two other ladies were at the same table, one familiar to me, the other not, perhaps a recent resident.
“Emma” was attempting to engage, but not succeeding. The second lady was easily understood but not allowing for much visiting.
We may have looked or sounded annoyed: at some point you don’t know what to do. Those knowing someone with any variation of dimentia understand.
The man assigned to evening duty came around. I’d talked with him during an earlier visit. He’s a retired teacher in the town, and as I recall, he willingly took his job more as a service than as a job. He had a relative – perhaps his Mom? – who was or had been a patient in this very facility. Maybe, it has since occurred to me, she was Emma….
For whatever reason, he entered the conversation: “Emma stood in front of me for 20 years in our Church choir”, he said. “She had a wonderful Soprano voice.” He mentioned one particular piece which required a phrase one octave higher than the usual, and it was Emma who would sing it, beautifully.
As I recall, Emma had nodded off.
Off he went to other duties, and our visit continued, helping my Aunt finish a puzzle (she’s good with puzzles) and then we left.
And all the next day, driving 300 miles back home, I kept thinking of that brief but powerful encounter in the Memory Care section of the Nursing Home.
This morning Cathy and I went to 9:30 Mass at Minneapolis’ Basilica of St. Mary as usual.
Fr. Greg Welch was celebrant and homilist, and today’s Gospel was Luke 18:9-14, the well known passage about the righteous Rich Man and the repentant Tax Collector (I knew is as the Pharissee and the Publican story).
Fr. Welch, in his own comments, chose to focus on the Pharisee, and drew us into the Pharisee’s circle, as it were, with a simple parable of his own.
He opened with a simple comment: when he was young, he grew up in a family that assumed the kids would go to college. There was no need to discuss this reality. For many other families, college is not even a dream, he said. It is not part of their reality for financial or other reasons.
Those of us in those pews are mostly pretty privileged, and Fr. Greg wondered aloud about the wisdom of a country criticizing “Obamacare” while 32 million people are without health care, and no alternative being offered; about cutting food stamps while considering military expenses to be essential; about people, including the homeless holding those cardboard signs on street corners, needing a job not being able to find one in which they can earn a living.
The open question, not directly addressed, was to each one of us: “where do YOU fit into this picture?”
It was an applause worthy homily; we in the pews were very, very quiet.
I’ll let the Memory Care attendant know about this blog post, and perhaps he will tell me what motivated him, on Friday night, to tell us about Emma, the lady whose grasp of what we take for granted is very limited.
At any rate, he sang a magnificent Soprano for us on Friday afternoon. It is a message that will stick with me.
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My Aunt and Uncle with the completed Puzzle, October 25, 2013

UPDATE Nov. 3, 2013:
Today’s Gospel was the story of “Zacchaeus, who was a chief tax collector and also a wealthy man” (Luke 19:1-10). Our Pastor, Father Bauer, gave an excellent homily interpreting the Bible story.
As with the previous Sundays text and interpretation, this Gospel fit into todays news, which included, this past week, the mandatory cut in “snap” funds at the federal level – I think they’re called food stamps.
There is a lot to talk about….
Also, this past week, came a review of what is likely a very forgettable book, by Bill O’Reilly, which essentially attaches the crucifixion of Jesus to taxes, and another “Christian” who labored mightily to prove that “government” is not “people”, when that is all that government ever is or has been….
It takes all manners of tortured interpretation. But the reality is, there are those of us who have, and we have an obligation those who have less.
Some day we may find ourselves in the same position of needing help.

#785 – Dick Bernard: Three fellow travellers; three examples of Amazing Grace

October 7, 2013/0 Comments/in Community, Family History, Health, Minnesota, North Dakota, Quietings /by dickbernard

September 21 I stopped for a few minutes in New London, MN, enroute to visit a retired colleague and friend in home hospice a few miles away.
I hadn’t seen Mary in a long while – I’m long retired, and she lives a two hour drive away, off my normal “beaten path”.
But there are times for such visits, and enroute back from a short trip to North Dakota, I decided to drop in. Earlier, I had called Mary to schedule the visit, and was about an hour early.
Sitting in the small park in New London I looked for some photo object to remember my visit with Mary. I fixed on a nearby tree, well into preparation for Fall, and simply took this snapshot:
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New London MN Sep 21, 2013. “Mary’s Tree”

In my mind I’ve dubbed it “Mary’s Tree”.
Thence on to visit Mary and her sister. We had a most delightful 45 minutes. Earlier I’d sent her a copy of Tuesdays with Morrie, and forever I’ll remember my “Saturday with Mary”!.
Then off again for the cities.
Last week, mid-week, came an unexpected knock at our door.
There was Cliff, a retired barber – one of those one-man shop old-time barbers I prefer – and his wife Val. Cliff and Cathy were part of the high school ‘gang’ years ago. Cliff and Val had stopped by to drop off several of his CDs*.
And brought along some muffins for us.
Cliff is a very spritual guy – always has been – and the two CDS, “How Can I Fail” and “Cry Out”, vocal and guitar by Cliff, and piano by his friend, Mark, reflect his Lutheran Faith, and his personal witness. He and Mark did a fine job.
Did I mention Cliff has inoperable cancer?
He, too, is walking his last miles on earth.
He’s decided to live his life while he can.
It’s not easy: chemo is no walk in the park.
But we had a great visit. Later the same afternoon he called Cathy to say that the medical visit showed cancer in the lead, once again.
Then came yesterday, and a long scheduled brunch at Bernie’s home in northeast Minneapolis.
Bernie is a colleague usher at Basilica of St. Mary, and some weeks ago invited a bunch of us to a brunch for fellow usher Tom who’s retired from his duties, also “walking the walk” with cancer.
The time was delightful.
Those who know me, know me as always with a camera, and at some point, yesterday, Greg asked if I’d get my camera and take some pictures. I like this one, and you can find Tom, and Greg, and me, in there, and the other guests, just friends enjoying a fall afternoon.
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Brunch at Bernie’s, with Tom, October 6, 2013.

As I say, I’m always with my camera, people who know me, know that.
But in none of these three scenarios did I bring the camera into the scene. Why?
I’d asked Mary if I could take some photos for her in ND (she’s a daughter of ND), and she said “no”. Afterward I sent her several, anyway, including of “Mary’s Tree”.
For Cliff, the image of last Wednesday in our living room will have to be a memory in the mind’s eye.
And as for Tom, it was Greg who asked me to bring in the camera yesterday.
We deal with illness and death – our own and others – in our own ways. For all of us, it’s coming somewhere sooner or later, usually unexpected and uninvited, but nonetheless certain.
Mary, Cliff, Tom and so many others are teachers, worth a listen….
As for communication…and taking pictures…I’m suggesting that the risk is one worth taking.
* – re Cliff’s CDs, I’m sure I can get them for you, $10 each. If you want information, e-mail dick_bernardATmsnDOTcom.

A single vigil light for Mary at St. John the Evangelist in Wahpeton ND Sep. 19. 2013

Sunrise over Woodbury MN Oct 7, 2013

ON TAKING A RISK
Saturday I had occasion to revisit something I’d seen in the Church Bulletin of Riverside Methodist Church in Park Rapids MN October 17, 1982. It seems to fit this topic:
“To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out for another is to risk involvement.
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self.
To place your ideas, your dreams before a crowd is to risk their loss.
To love is to risk being loved in return.
To live is to risk dying.
To hope is to risk despair.
To try is to risk failure.
To serve God is to risk danger and martyrdom.
But risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing and is nothing. They may avoid suffering and sorrow, but they cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love, live. Chained by their certitudes they are a slave, they have forfeited their freedom.
Only a person who risks is free.”

Moonset, at Sunrise, over Wahpeton ND Sep 2, 2013

#778 – Dick Bernard: The Affordable Care Act, President Obama Cares

September 25, 2013/0 Comments/in Community, Economics, Family History, Health, History, North Dakota, Peace & Justice, Politics, President Obama /by dickbernard

Today at the gym I was treated to Sen. Ted Cruz doing his filibuster to supposedly protect Americans from the evil Affordable Care Act (called “Obamacare” by some).
Recently, a majority of the U.S. House of Representatives, for the 42nd time, I believe, voted to repeal Obamacare.
Those who follow this issue know the rest of the story behind these two symbolic – and very sad – actions, where ideologic rigidity and scarcely hidden hatred for the President drive decision making to attempt to destroy programs which will impact positively on everyone in this country.
Sen. Cruz, during his filibuster, spent time reading Dr. Seuss’ “Green Eggs and Ham” to his daughters, and expounding on the symbolism of Star Wars.
I know Cruz is young, but didn’t know how young (I decided to look him up): I have two children older than Cruz is. Dr. Seuss was a household staple in our house; when Star Wars came out in 1977, it was an instant addiction for my oldest son, and I took him to the first showing, and didn’t discourage him from attending the movie many times.
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being young – years ago I was his age, too. But….
Up against the negative fantasies of Cruz et al, abuts a far more positive reality for the tens of millions of people of this United States who are about to have access to affordable health care. Apparently, this is seen as a threat to freedom: creeping socialism, which rhymes with communism, and is a synonym for evil amongst people who should know better, including those who have long reaped the benefits of Medicare and Social Security, or even of corporate and large employer medical care plans, and just don’t get it…and if the Tea Party has its way, will never get it.
So be it.
The people I don’t understand – well, I do understand, but it stretches credulity – are the young people (my oldest childs age – near 50 and down), who feel they don’t need health care, and don’t want to pay for somebody else’s medical problem.
Fools.
Just a couple of hours ago a friend came up to me to tell me about another mutual friend, Tom, who’s healthy as can be, a professional tennis coach, and was doing his daily 20+ mile solitary bike ride yesterday. He stopped at a fast food place for a snack, and choked on the food. Long story short, he had no ID on him, an ambulance picked him up and took him to hospital. He’s in a coma, and the prospects of any kind of recovery at all are dim. It took some hours for his wife to find out why he was so late, or where he was. Likely she used another society institution, 911, or a call to the police department, another civic institution we hope never to have to encounter. They were her safety net in this metropolitan area of 3 million.
When this unknown man was picked up yesterday, there was no question about paying a bill. Our country doesn’t allow people to die on the street.
Maybe that’s why the cynical young say “I don’t have to pay for insurance; they’ll pay for me if I need it”.
Maybe they’re (very sadly) right.
But what if everyone had this selfish attitude?
I learned my lesson about insurance very early, two weeks after I got out of the Army in 1963.
My wife was a new teacher, then, and coincident with my return home she had to quit teaching due to an undiagnosed kidney disease which would ultimately take her life two years later.
I could have gotten hospitalization insurance before she was diagnosed, but “couldn’t afford it”. As it turned out, she was uninsurable even then. Her condition was, it turned out, almost life-long pre-existing. Back then, I learned about things like public welfare, and the role of the greater community as a protective umbrella.
Yes, there are people so selfish and cynical that it doesn’t occur to them to consider themselves part of society. Rather, they prefer to cling to the fantasy that they, and only they, are in charge of their destiny, and everyone else should have the same responsibility.
Fools.
That’s how I see Ted Cruz Inc.

#777 – Dick Bernard: War as Hell; and the International Day of Peace.

September 22, 2013/0 Comments/in Community, Family History, History, International Relations, Minnesota, North Dakota, Peace & Justice, War /by dickbernard

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Zander, on his Dad’s shoulders, expertly expounds on the importance of protecting the environment (see below) at the Peace Site rededication September 22, 2013

These Five Peace Actions were focus of the Peace Site Rededication Sep 22, 2013

“Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?”
― Abraham Lincoln
remembered by Minneapolis Park Commissioner Brad Bourn on Sunday, September 22, at Lyndale Peace Park.
Saturday, September 21, was the Annual United Nations International Day of Peace. In Minneapolis, I attended the observance of the day on Sunday, September 22, at the beautiful Lyndale Park Peace Garden (See Lynn Elling, below). An organization in which I’m involved, World Citizen, rededicated the Garden as a Peace Site. The ceremony and attendant activities were most impressive and meaningful. The Peace Garden was first dedicated as a Peace Site in 1999.
Sunday’s event, and other recent happenings bring to mind the subject line of this post.
Three days earlier, I had reason to make a brief stop at St. John the Evangelist Church in Wahpeton ND.
I arrived there about noon, and as I parked the car, I noted a U.S. flag-draped casket being taken from the church to a waiting hearse. I was not there for the funeral, so I didn’t know who had died, but I rather hurriedly took this photo (click to enlarge)

After a funeral, at Wahpeton ND, September 19, 2013

Entering the Church, I found the person in the casket was an 89 year old man, Dale Svingen, and on the table was one of those “please take one” handouts entitled “The Australian Soldier”, a recollection of World War II. The recollection can be read here: Australian Soldier001. It speaks well for itself.
War is Hell, but it builds camaraderie and team spirit and solidarity. War destroys, but connects….
The experience led me to thinking of a recent visit with my friend, Padre Johnson, a man with many gifts.
Recently, I met with Padre and he gave me a copy of a remarkable sketch he’d done from a photograph from one of the deadliest battles of the Vietnam War (below). Padre mentioned that he’s the guy in the helmet in the foreground, and in an accompanying note to me said that Adm. Elmo Zumwalt – a name very familiar to military of the day – said, a dozen years ago, that this sketch was “the most powerful artists rendition of the Face of War that he has ever seen.” Padre Johnson’s text accompanying the sketch is here: Padre J Viet Combat003

photo copy of Padre Johnson sketch from 1968, used with permission of the artist.

War is Hell, but it builds camaraderie and team spirit and solidarity.
War destroys, but connects. Padre was enroute to the same convention of Special Forces he’d been keynote speaker for when Adm. Zumwalt made his comments. Padre’s mission is Peace, has been so for many years, including in Vietnam where as a Medic he didn’t differentiate between friend and enemy when it came to treating casualties of war. They were all persons to him.
Which leads to the gentle observance of International Day of Peace September 22, 2013.

I took my friend, Lynn Elling, to this observance. Lynn is, among other things, founder of World Citizen, the organization rededicating the Peace Site at the Peace Garden.
A Navy officer in both WWII and Korea, Mr. Elling, 92, has been a lion for peace ever since he saw in person the horrible remnants of war at Tarawa Beach, and later at the Museum remembering the bombing of Hiroshima.
Mr. Ellings role this pleasant Sunday afternoon was simply to relate his story to whomever wished to stop by. He also gave his comments on the importance of everyone being, truly, world citizens. We are, as he likes to say, all travelers on the spaceship earth….

Lynn Elling, at right, visits with folks about his experiences and beliefs, Sep 22, 2013

I could add many more stories about veterans I have known. Some I’ve written about: Frank Kroncke went to prison for his actions against the Vietnam War. In my mind, he’s a combat veteran, no different than those folks in Padre Johnsons picture. Bob Heberle, who recently died, was also a veteran.
They, too, saw War as Hell. And they, too, made connections with people.
I note that all of those listed above are men. In relevant part, they come from a time when combatants – warriors – were men. They come from the era of the Draft, where military was not voluntary; where disagreeing with the Draft was a punishable offense. I was one of them: U.S. Army 1962-63; today a member of the American Legion.
At the International Day of Peace, Sunday, most of the participants and organizers were, I noted, women. But by no means exclusively.
With the possible exception of Mr. Svingen, who I don’t know except for the writing included above, all the other veterans were and are staunchly for peace in all of its manifestations.
I see lots of hope for peace, if we all work together towards that objective.
As I said after Bob Heberle’s funeral, “let’s talk, all of us who are interested in peace and justice.”
We need to. Let’s work for a more peaceful world.

How about having your organization become a Peace Site?

A women’s drum group brought gentle resonance to the Peace Day celebration Sep 23

Two scenes at the Lyndale Peace Park, Minneapolis, September 22, 2013

#763 – Dick Bernard: Congratulations, Tom and Jennifer, at your 25th Anniversary. "For everything, there is a season."

August 23, 2013/0 Comments/in Community, Family History, Health, Minnesota, North Dakota, Quietings /by dickbernard

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Rick, Joan and Ron reminisce, August 21, 2013

Today is son Tom and Jennifers 25th wedding anniversary.
Congratulations to you both.
Achieving 25 years together is one of those significant accomplishments, not easy to attain. That’s long enough to experience both the unknown and unknowable. For a couple to reach 25 years together is a significant achievement, as anyone who has ever been in any relationship can attest.
For just a single example, Tom’s Mom, Barbara, and I married 50 years ago this year: June 8, 1963. Neither of us were expecting that she’d spend almost all of our very short marriage ill, dying little over two years later, July 24, 1965.
Roughly half-way through that brief marriage, Tom was born. He will turn 50 in a few months.
I became a single parent early.
Just two days ago I was out to Anoka, our first home after Barbara died, part of a reunion of fellow staff members of Roosevelt Junior High School in Blaine MN. I had signed a contract to teach there three days before Barbara, died, and I began teaching there scarce a month later, doing my best to cope, with the substantial help of new friends in my new home, far from ND, where we had lived the earlier years of our lives. I was there seven years, moving on in an unexpected direction which occupied my next 27 years.

Roosevelt Jr. High School, Blaine MN, Summer, 1968. Photo by Dick Bernard

I told a colleague, Wednesday, that I still have not pieced together the events of that month of August, 1965…I guess it’s like living through a disaster: you remember it happened, but not exactly what. Survival trumps memory.
The picture which leads this post, was taken at that reunion two days ago: three of my colleagues from those early years. The photo started life as a mistake, but under the circumstances it is an ideal representation of times past. I taught with these folks. They are about my age. They can represent everyone I’ve ever known on the path of life thus far.
Earlier that same day, August 21, I received an e-mail from someone in Maryland, whose Mom remembers my parents, most likely in 1939-40, when they lived in Valley City, North Dakota, essentially next door to her then-young Mom and Dad. It caused me to dig out the earliest photo I have of myself, with my parents, 73 years ago in Valley City:

Henry and Esther Bernard with newborn son, Richard, May, 1940, Valley City ND

Her Mom has to be somewhere near 100 now.
(It’s odd what such pictures sometimes bring to the surface. For those of a certain age, who can forget the coal chute, whose door is visible behind the crib.)
We all know, as we age, priorities begin to change, often due to circumstances we couldn’t anticipate; often because our perspectives change.
Anybody whose life begins to approach old age is reminded of this when more and more frequently we attend someone’s funeral, or visit someone we know in a Nursing Home. To paraphrase the Bible phrase Ecclesiastes 3: 1-15, Weddings are replaced by Baptisms are replaced by Graduations are replaced by Weddings…. For everything there is a season. Fall is as certain as Winter, as is Spring and then Summer.
Last Saturday, at another reunion of former colleagues from the ever-more distant olden days of work with the Minnesota Education Association (1972-2000), an early must-do was to read a partial list of colleagues who had departed this life. It is an ever longer list. Each name, as read, brought back memories to all of us in attendance.

John reads the roll of departed colleagues, August 17, 2013

We were all young, once.
Enroute home on Wednesday, an unexpected detour on the freeway gave me an opportunity to stop in and visit a retired minister I’ve known and been good friends with for the last ten or so years.
Till very recently he, another friend and I have had a long-standing date, once a month, to meet for coffee and conversation.
Earlier this summer, William collapsed in Church, ending up in a convalescent facility.
Yesterday, I stopped to visit him there, and he’d been transferred to an assisted living facility, so I traveled a few more miles to visit him there. Returning home seems not an option for him any more.
Three short months ago, William and his wife had certain routines. He’s well into his 80s, now, so they knew the odds of change increased every day.
But we never like to anticipate the winter of our lives, whose evidence I increasingly see at funerals and memorials for people that I know.
Had Barbara lived, earlier this summer we might have celebrated our 50th anniversary. Such possibility was not to be.
“Lord willing”, as Dad would say, my 75th birthday is not far in the future. Wednesday night came a call that my once-young Uncle Vince is hospitalized once again. He’s made it to 88, but the slope is ever more slippery. At some point, reality becomes undeniable.
The family script mitigates against he or I or anyone within seeing 100, but that’s okay.
Contribute in some way to others lives today.
There may not be a tomorrow.
Happy anniversary, Tom and Jennifer.
We’re proud of you. We love you.

Barbara Sunde Bernard, June 8, 1963 – July 24, 1965

Dick Bernard and Barbara Sunde Wedding June 8, 1963, Valley City ND, with families.

#747 – Anne Dunn: I have been told

July 18, 2013/0 Comments/in Anne M. Dunn, Community, Family History, History, Minnesota, Native American, Peace & Justice /by dickbernard

Anne M. Dunn is a long-time and wonderful friend, an Anishinabe-Ojibwe grandmother storyteller and published author. She makes her home in rural Deer River, MN, on the Leech Lake Reservation. She can be reached at twigfigsATyahooDOTcom. She has three previous posts at Outside the Walls. You can read them all here.
If you have an interest in publishing something at this space, contact dick_bernardATmsnDOTcom.
Feed The Dog
It happened during the Fish War*, on April 24, 1993, that I found myself at the East Lake Community Center, Mille Lacs. David Aubid, of Rice Lake, had brought out the drum. Several men joined hands across it as though they sealed a sacred trust.
Slowly… quietly… the circle around the drum enlarged and the heartbeat rhythm called us to unity.
Of course, there was a feast. Of course, walleye was served. Of course, Esther Nahgahnaub prepared an excellent road-kill beaver roast. Of course, I wrapped a piece in fried bread and enjoyed an outstanding sandwich.
Then after a long day of rain, the sky cleared and the stars came out. Later we would see a feather moon rise cardinal.
But first… the caravan formed.
We followed a procession of red lights through the dark night. As we crested the hills we looked back at a hundred headlights strung like beads on a serpentine string.
The first part of this Ride-For-Rights took us to Malmo. I was surprised at the extent of media coverage this event had attracted and I tried to ignore the cameras as the drum quietly called us to gather. The media lights were blistering bright and seemed to lacerate the friendly darkness.
Shoulder to shoulder we stood, engulfed in the sacredness of the moment, encouraged by singers of ancient songs.
But having just attended a non-violence witness training session, I grew a bit uneasy. We had been warned that there could be trouble. So I decided to check out the person standing behind me.
This is when I saw that which is now imprinted on my mind like a favorite photograph from an old album.
The drum, the singers, and ‘the first people’ were surrounded by the Witnesses for Peace. They formed a wide circle around us. Their white arm bands shone like emblems of valor. Their shoulders pressed back like brave defenders. The ring of young, pale, flint-like faces reflected their corporate determination.
Turning back to my own circle… I felt my heart rise into my throat and a comfortable old smile settled into the familiar lines that time had etched upon my aging face.
When I heard the old ones talking, when I heard them telling of the past and wondering what will be. They said, “The young ones must soon take up the battle.” They say, “We are ready to hand the struggle over to the next generation.”
Sometimes they are concerned that the young ones are not prepared to fight, that they have become apathetic. Sometimes they fear that supportive elements of the larger society will grow weary of our efforts to find justice in our own land.
But we have stood within the circle of healing. I have seen a microcosm of all nations standing together. I have seen them gathering under a feather moon rising cardinal over dark waters against a black night. Therefore, I know we are not alone on our journey toward justice, peace, freedom and human dignity.
Many who stood in that circle that night are gone now. But they left us with instructions. “Do not forsake the future. Our children rely on you to continue our good fight for a better world. Not only is it too soon to quit… it is also too late.”
Some of you are thinking, “How can it be too soon and too late at the same time?”
I leave that for you to ponder. But believe me, if you give this question deep consideration you will have secured a universal truth that will serve you well from this day forth.
We are born innocent but over time we may find ourselves entangled in the mesh of social and behavioral disorders. These influence our path and determine our destination. But a timely word in a waiting ear can set us free.
When I was 19 years old a Lakota elder named Charlie Stryker told me something that set me free and changed my life.
“We enter the world with two companions. One urges us to do good, the other to do what is bad. These tendencies are like hungry dogs. Remember this, my girl. The dog you feed is the one that grows strong.”
Charlie gave me a universal truth that day. It continues to influence my path and determine my destination.
I guess all I really did during the Fish War was try to feed the right dog. Today and tomorrow I will continue to perform this small but meaningful ritual. That is how you help change the world. You keep planting seeds, the sky sends the rain and earth gives the increase. You scatter good seeds of worthy ideals on fertile ground and wait for an abundant harvest. Of course, there is the possibility that you will not live to see the results of your efforts.
Several years ago my grandson Brandon and I planted a small community of red cedar. Afterwards I told him I probably would not live to see them grown.
“I’ll come and check on them,” he promised. “I’ll remember how we did this together.”
However, he was murdered when he was 17 so I return alone to appraise their growth. Those trees are already much taller than I and still growing.
Bye-bye now. Don’t forget to feed the dog.

Anne Dunn at right, with daughter Annie and grandson Justice Oct 94

* – The “Fish War” to which Anne refers was a contest over Treaty Rights to fish in MN Mille Lacs Lake. Here is a copy of the Treaty as reprinted in the April Minneapolis Star Tribune: 1837 Chippewa Treaty001.

#745 – Dick Bernard: A quick visit to Valley City, Sykeston and rural LaMoure, North Dakota

July 10, 2013/2 Comments/in Community, Family History, Quietings /by dickbernard

I just spent four days and nearly 900 miles revisiting places of my roots in North Dakota. It seemed like a long trip, and it was, but then, last night, I watched the first part of the Ken Burns program on the Lewis and Clark Expedition of 1803-05.
Piece of cake.
This trip happened when I learned that tiny Sykeston High School, where I graduated in 1958, and where my Dad taught for ten years, and my mother for four, was having its Centennial, I decided I wanted to be there. I wrote a blog post about Sykeston on my birthday, May 4, and this morphed into six others, and now this one, eighth in the series.

Tom Richter, grad ca 1960, gets his photo by the iconic 1913 at Sykes High School July 6, 2013

Associated, was another history centered blog post about Valley City State Teachers College, which I attended, and graduated from, in 1961. This led to another blog post on January 2, 2013, which has itself had many followup posts.

Old Main – McFarland Hall at Valley City (ND) State University July 5, 2013

So, there’s little reason to write more. Mostly, this post consists of photographs with captions I took at Valley City on July 5, and at Sykeston on July 6, 2013.
2013 Sykeston here *. (See note at end of this post.)
Valley City here.
There is an additional Facebook album from another larger Sykeston reunion in the summer of 2008, here.
And readers familiar with either place can add to with additional photos or comments at their leisure.
Sykeston is 400 miles one way from home in suburban St. Paul; in between, some 310 miles from home, is Valley City. So it was not “out of the way” to stop at one enroute to the other. Between Sykeston and Valley City is Jamestown – always “Jimtown” to my Grandpa.
When I began college in 1958, the first ten-mile section of Interstate 94 was being constructed in North Dakota, between Valley City and Jamestown. It was probably one of the first true pieces of Interstate in the United States. I remember it was said to cost “a million dollars a mile”. So it makes sense, with this piece of history, to note that endless ribbon of concrete called I-94 in North Dakota:

I-94 between Valley City and Jamestown ND July 6, 2013

This trip I drove 550 miles on I-94, lickedy-split. Kids today cannot imagine what it was like in the years before the Freeways, even on U.S. highways, all of which went through the middle of every town, large and small. It was not the good old days: no air-conditioning in the car, no cruise control, no seat belts….
At Jamestown, in 1959, along I-94 was built what has become something of an iconic tourist attraction, “The World’s Largest Buffalo”. That buffalo was constructed during the time I was in college, and I decided I needed to stop there after leaving Sykeston on July 6. The buffalo is, the plaque says, 46 feet long, 26 feet high, 14 feet wide and it weighs 60 tons. More about the buffalo here.
It’s not going anywhere. It has aged well.

The World’s largest buffalo at Jamestown ND July 6, 2013

We had been at that very spot in 1960, and here’s photo “evidence” (I wasn’t in this particular photo, and probably wasn’t photographer either, but all of my siblings and my Mom are in this photo):

Bernards Worlds Largest Buffalo Jamestown ND ca 1960001

Yes, it is just your basic tourist attraction, but impressive nonetheless.
Completing the trip, on July 7, my Uncle and I were driving out to the family “Century Farm” 10 miles from LaMoure and I asked him to stop at the corner of Highway 13 and their county road. There, as they have been for years, was a nest of wild prairies roses that somehow or other have escaped being plowed under for all these years.
The wild prairie rose is North Dakota’s state flower.
A photo of this flower is an appropriate way to end this post.

Wild Prairie Roses between LaMoure and Berlin ND July 7, 2013

* – This is a letter to those who attended Sykeston High School – an idea for future consideration: Sykes High Future001

#743 – Dick Bernard: Remembering Donald Koller, and a kid memory of The Lone Ranger….

July 3, 2013/0 Comments/in Community, Family History, History, North Dakota /by dickbernard

UPDATE July 12, 2013: In memory of Don Koller, and granddaughter Samantha, and Donald’s parents Alma and Michael Koller. (See note from Rosella Koller below the photo; received July 11, 2013.)
(click on photos to enlarge)

Don Koller and Sam

I asked Rosella for more information about the photos. Rosella: That was our Granddaughter, Samantha. When she was 10 she had a double lung transplant. She got married in our home, in July of 2012. Passed in October in our home. We knew she was getting sick again, but surprised she died so suddenly. Don died Dec. 12, 2012. We have two other grandchildren, Danille, she came with us when we met [you] at the Mall of America. And we have one grandson Brenton. Rosella

Graves of Alma and Michael Koller, St. Elizabeth’s Cemetery Sykeston ND July 6, 2013

*
I began this series about Sykeston ND, intending to write only a single post. This is the 7th, and I won’t guarantee it’s the last….
Note: There are six other posts about Sykeston:
Feb 11, 2013: “Sykes High, oh Sykes High School”
May 4 (the main article): Thoughts on Sykeston High School at its Centennial
May 9 A 1957 Social Studies Test
June 12 Remembering Sykeston in late 1940s
June 28 Snapshots in History of Sykeston
June 29 Sports in 1950s small towns in North Dakota
Two of the certainties of life for all of us are that our life will end, and we don’t know when, or how. That we don’t know the answer to the “when or how” question is, in my opinion, a blessing.
So, it was a surprise to learn, in a June 28 e-mail, of the death of Sykeston kid friend Don Koller. Donald was one of about a dozen people I was trying to be in touch with about Sykeston memories in anticipation of this weekends Centennial of the Sykeston School.
His wife, Rosella, wrote: “I thought you would like to know Donald passed Dec 12 of last year 2012”.
We are all familiar with these kinds of messages. I had lost track of Donald for many years until a few years ago when somehow or other one of his daughters located me with a question. Some years later – I have a photo somewhere – Donald, Rosella and some of their family met me at Mall of America and we had a delightful visit. Obviously, I had a working e-mail address.
I looked up Donald’s name on the internet to see if there was an obit. There was one, it is here. They had lived for years in Armada, which is a village about 50 miles north of Detroit, and 50 miles east of Flint. I recall Donald mentioning that he had been in the military for quite a number of years, and then in the automobile industry for a career. (His brother, Robert, says it was the Army, and Chrysler Corporation respectively – Robert was a 27 year Army veteran.)
For some reason, I remember Donald’s affection for gardening.
I asked Rosella about cause of death: “He had quadruple bypass in 2008, they put pace maker at that time, and he was diabetic, in beginning of last year they put him on Coumadin, and got worse, in and out of hospital every month of last year. He was falling a lot, in Dec he fell and must of hurt his head, had a brain bleed, he had surgery of the head. He never recovered died December 12th, thank you for asking.”
Robert Koller, July 1: “I was a student of Sykeston High 1944 thru 1948. Your Dad was the Principle at that time. My brother Donald told me that he had been in contact with you. That was quite a while ago for sure. I have always enjoyed the history of Sykeston. Mr Huss was the janitor/caretaker while I was there and he and my father both came from the same place in Austria…(July 2) “Once when I was home I took Donald with me back to Ft. Gordon, Georgia where I was stationed. I was in the Army for 27 years and retired from it at Ft Lewis, Washington in 1976…After awhile Donald joined the U,S, Army and I took him to South Carolina where he had to report. After that he was in the Detroit area where he met Rosella. After they were married they went to Germany.”
Such is how personal history happens and starts to come together.
The 1940 census of Sykeston, which I have only recently accessed, shows Martin Huss, 57, to be from Austria; and Michael Koller, 56, from Hungary…. Donald apparently was almost exactly my age, as he doesn’t appear in the census, which was taken in early April, 1940. Neither was I.
His siblings, Jane (15), Robert (9) and Mary (2) are all listed. The census lists his Dad as employed by the WPA – the Depression was still on. His mother, born in Wisconsin, was 40. Jane had been born in Montana.
Donald and I likely met in First Grade at St. Elizabeth’s School in 1946. As I recall, Grades 1 and 2 were together; and Grades 3, 4 an 5; and 6, 7 and 8. I had completed 5th grade when we moved. I recall being in their small house only once, and meeting his Mom and his sister. I never met Robert or his Dad or his older sisters, to my knowledge.
As kids can be, we boys tended to be found at the same places, doing the same things. I recall nothing dramatic – when I had to make my First Confession I recall really struggling to figure out some sin to confess! I just knew I had to confess something. Best I could come up with, that first time, was saying “darn”….
But, kids being kids, I would suppose that at one time or another we qualified individually or collectively for one of my favorite old-time words, “rapscallion” (rascal).
I have been developing a list of kid memories, perhaps for another column sometime, but there is one specific personal memory of Donald Koller (he would have been “Donald”, as I was “Richard”, then).
The 1940s were radio days – there was no such thing as television out in North Dakota. And there were books, and comic books, if you could afford one, occasionally.
A favorite, back in those days, was the Lone Ranger, and his faithful sidekick, Tonto.
Here’s a piece of recreated radio from back in the day….
For some reason, Donald was always the Lone Ranger, and at least on some occasions I was enlisted as his Tonto. We’d “gallop” – we knew how horses ran – a few blocks, hitting ourselves on the rear-end (we were, after all, also the horse on which we were riding), me dutifully a bit behind him. At some point it’d be “whoaaaa, big fella” and we’d take on some imaginary adversary behind some bush or tree, and then be off again.
Why I remember that, and why with Donald, specifically, I have no idea.
But I do.
Six years away from Sykeston, and we came back for my senior year in 1957-58.
Don was in my class, and he is listed as “President”, but there is no picture of him. I don’t recall re-engaging with him as in the Lone Ranger days. At about mid-year he dropped out and to my recollection joined the Army, and the rest is history.
But I’ve never forgotten him.
I think we all wonder, once in awhile, if our having been around has made any difference to anyone…. It does, Donald did.
Thanks for the memories, Donald.
Rosella Koller can be reached at rosekollerATyahooDOTcom; Robert Koller at robertDOTkollerATcomcastDOTnet

#742 – Dick Bernard: Gay Pride outside the Basilica of St. Mary

June 30, 2013/0 Comments/in Community, Education, Family History, History, Minnesota, Peace & Justice, Politics /by dickbernard

Today was a most interesting day at Basilica, my home for Sunday Mass almost every Sunday.
Inside, it was business as usual. Outside, a short block away in Loring Park was the Gay Pride Festival, and shortly after 9:30 Mass concluded, the Gay Pride Parade would literally pass by the street corner next to the Church. This was an exultant day for the Gay Community, understating the obvious, days after the Supreme Court rulings, and only about a month since Gay Marriage was legislated in Minnesota.
I’m not sure that “Gay” is a proper “one-size-fits-all term in this situation. Nonetheless, I’m happy for the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender (LGBT) community this day. I’m straight. The issue has never bothered me.
The guy at Archdiocesan headquarters – the local Archbishop here – is probably not in a celebratory mood. He has spent years and loads of anonymously donated money to make sure Gays could never marry, including a massive and expensive campaign back in 2010 – a DVD in every Catholics mailbox.
But the LGBT community can celebrate, and (I believe) largely because the Gays have come out of the shadows and made themselves known in families everywhere, there is now no going back. Living anonymously didn’t work. They won’t be anonymous again, thankfully.
(Someone in our family called our attention this morning to this video in the Minneapolis Star Tribune. One of the two in the video is a relative of ours; her Dad is seen momentarily as well. A wonderful man in one of the groups I belong to announced the wedding of he and his partner on Sep 21. “Sorry you can’t expect an invitation – it will be a big wedding”, he said. The nephew of my daily coffee buddy came out a couple of years ago…and on and on.)
As Catholic parishes go, my Church is a welcoming place for the LGBT community. Indeed, one of the intercessions this day was “for respect for all people [including their] sexuality.”
Still there are and will continue to be discomforts. Coming in, today, I met two friends in my age group. There were a couple of “wink and nod” kinds of comments about what was going on in Loring Park and would be, later, on Hennepin Avenue. I didn’t nod. There are ways to send messages without making a scene.
Going out of Church I took a photo towards Hennepin Avenue outside:
(click to enlarge)

From Basilica of St. Mary towards Hennepin Avenue June 30, 2013

I was thinking back to a day a few years ago when I took another photo from the other side of the street, and wrote a blog about what I was experiencing that particular day, October 3, 2010.
The blog speaks for itself.
Lucinda’s project, along with others efforts, was immensely successful, but the wounds remain to this day.
Leaving the Church I had some free ice cream, and passed on the opportunity to write a postcard to my lawmakers supporting the euphemistically named initiative for “religious freedom”, which is a major campaign of the hierarchy of my Catholic Church, and has no useful effect other than to work towards increasing the power of the Catholic Church in the public square. NOT a good idea.
Back home, I took a photo of a reminder of Lucinda’s project back in 2010. It has remained prominently displayed in our house ever since we purchased it, a constant reminder about one of the ways a supposedly powerful ad campaign can be turned on its head. There are 15 of those DVDs in the sculpture, all of them once featuring the Archbishop of St. Paul-Minneapolis campaigning to prevent what the LGBT community is celebrating this day.
There is a message for advocates in that, and not just advocates for the Gay community….

June 30, 2013, from Fall, 2010

COMMENTS:
Greg, June 30: Very well done. I didn’t have the opportunity to mention why I chose the shirt I was wearing this morning. It was red and white striped. I picked it out because it was the one shirt in my closet that comes closest to reflecting the rainbow. As I explained to others, I was wearing it in Solidarity!
Bonnie, June 30: Thanks, Dick. Again, well said, as usual . . . .
Angela, June 30: I’ve been exercising ‘summer hours’ for my Mass attendance at the Cathedral which means, I attend the Sat evening anticipatory mass. I didn’t attend yesterday because I knew Nienstedt would be the celebrant for the so called ‘Fortnight for Freedom’ mass. So I stayed away. As a matter of fact, I make a point not to attend a mass when I know he will be the celebrant. I did however participate in Eucharistic Adoration and prayer the rosary Saturday afternoon.
Keep up the good work on the blog.
Joyce, relayed from her friend, Dan, June 30: I read about the DVD, and effots to turn them into money for support through art. Great idea. I think I’ve even seen some of the stuff on the DVD on the TV… Gay USA perhaps but I can’t do video, and don’t really need to see it. I think I’ve seen all their talking points by now.
A minor point… he wonders if Gay is a proper substitute for LGBT, and I would say absolutely. But gay works better as a descriptive term than as a noun. Gays, and “the gays”, is less desirable than “gay people” or even ” LGBT people.” (one of the problems with breaking down gay into LGBT, is that then others want to add Q, A, I, P, and some other letters I can’t remember, resulting in something that becomes difficult to say as well as write. This is also on it’s face, divisive, while gay can include everyone who doesn’t identify as strictly heterosexual or straight. But Gays or the gays, almost implies a different species. (It can be cute if used in the proper context, but not so advisable in serious discussions.)
Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate his support, and realize he isn’t intending to stigmatize or marginalize, but for someone who supports equal treatment for all people, he may find it helpful to stress that those previously marginalized and dehumanized, are in fact human, and people. That’s why “gay people”, black people”, etc, works better than “the blacks” or “the gays”.
But a very good, needed, and welcome article.
Dick, responding to above: There is this matter of ‘dancing around’ this issue, as there is with a White talking about race with an African-American, to this day. You don’t know what to say, and consequently the tendency is to say nothing, and the risk is to say something that might be interpreted wrongly. I encountered this ‘tip-toeing’ as recently as last evening.
This also happened in the 1960s and 1970s during the times of aggressive advocacy for women’s rights. For a male, even one who cared, it was a bit like walking through a minefield, particularly if you didn’t know the woman well.
It is as it is.
My college roommate for three years is Gay and in a long-term relationship – I think. He has never told me directly that he is gay, and I have not pushed the issue. Of course, he would have been gay then, too and I didn’t know it, and there was not the tiniest bit of the issue and we were active in the same college groups. But the stigma of the label hangs on, now, for over 50 years.
So, I do the little bit that i can.
I appreciate the last sentence.