Dick Bernard: Thoughts on Sykeston High School at its Centennial

UPDATE: June 2, 2013: In this post, reference is made to a 100 question state-wide test on North Dakota taken by the author at Sykeston High School in 1957. A post specifically about the test, including an answer key and more related information is here. The May 9 post also includes two assessments of the future of North Dakota which were included in textbooks published in 1957 and 1963. They are interesting to read.
NOTE: This is a very long post which may be of interest to residents of Sykeston ND, or those interested in rural education in ND and elsewhere 50 and more years ago.
Other posts in the series about Sykeston ND:
Feb 11, 2013: “Sykes High, oh Sykes High School”
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
July 3: Remembering Don Koller and the Lone Ranger
July 10: After a visit to Sykeston and Valley City, July 5 and 6, 2013
A postcard brought news of a July 4-6 2013 celebration in Sykeston ND, celebrating the Centennial of Sykeston High School, from which I graduated in 1958.
While I attended the high school only the single year of 1957-58, it is of far more than routine importance to my family. My Dad, Henry, was Superintendent of the School from 1945-51 and again from 1957-61. Mom, Esther, taught in one of the two elementary classrooms there from 1957-61. When the school year began in September, 1945, Dad was 37, Mom had just turned 36. When they left Sykeston in 1961 they were 53 and 51.
Today I’m 73. It is hard to imagine my parents as that young, back then….
Sykes High was a central and crucial part of my life from age five till eighteen, never more than a block or two away from where we lived – home.
I have all of Mom and Dad’s teaching contracts, which are all basically identical to the three sample contracts from the Sykeston years which you can view here: Contracts 45-57-60001
Every contract, in their long careers, was for one year: when you signed the contract, you agreed you were fired at the end of the year. So we kids migrated with them from town to town throughout North Dakota.
But Sykeston held a different status. It was very much our “hometown”.
Right after my graduation in 1958, I went around the town taking (I would guess) ten color photographs with a new camera. Nine of them survive, including this one of the high school, below. (The other eight are at the end of this post. Anyone from Sykeston in that era will recognize them all.)
(click on all photos to enlarge them)

Sykeston High School 1958 by Dick Bernard

Sykeston High School 1958 by Dick Bernard


When Dad came to Sykeston for the 1945-46 school year, Mom was expecting child #4, Frank, who was born in November. She stayed in the tiny town of Eldridge west of Jamestown. Her sister Edith stayed with her for the last months.
Frank was named for Dad’s brother, our Uncle Frank, who had been killed on the Arizona at Pearl Harbor, Dec. 7, 1941.
Sometime in the summer of 1945, the family came to Sykeston and Doc and Liz Dummer showed them around. The Germans had just surrendered, beginning the end of WWII, in May 1945 (some of our cousins were Germans, conscripts in the German Army – War is not abstract, “us” vs “them”). Mom’s brother, George Busch, had been hired to teach at Sykeston in the Fall, but was an officer on the Destroyer Woodworth DD460 in the Pacific and his wife, my Aunt Jean, filled in for him till he was discharged in early November, 1945. His ship and many others docked in Tokyo Bay September 10, 1945. As Grandma Rosa wrote about that time: “Hurrah, the old war is over”.
Jean, then George, taught at Sykeston High School for two or three years. Their first child, Mary Kay, was born in the Sykeston years.
Here are a couple of period photos from early our beginnings at Sykeston ND:
Jean and Gloria Dummer and Mary Ann, Florence and Dick Bernard, probably summer of 1945 at Arrowhead Lake.

Jean and Gloria Dummer and Mary Ann, Florence and Dick Bernard, probably summer of 1945 at Arrowwood Lake.


Bernards at the Hafner House on the High School Block, probably January, 1946.  Esther and Henry with Frank, and Richard, Mary Ann and Florence.

Bernards at the Hafner House on the High School Block, probably January, 1946. Esther and Henry with Frank, and Richard, Mary Ann and Florence.


Dad succeeded Everett Woiwode as Superintendent; some years later, Everett rejoined the Sykeston staff while Dad was Superintendent. Both were graduates of Valley City State Teachers College.
Among the local ‘gang’ of kids in the 1940s was Everett’s son, Larry, who at one point was a student at Sykes High, and who is one of North Dakota’s notable citizens, among the recipients of the North Dakota Theodore Roosevelt Rough Rider Awards. For awhile I roamed the Sykeston streets with Larry and the gang!
Writing this brings back many memories of the school* and the town. Two of the most prominent are these:
I vividly remember what had to be Memorial Day in May of 1946. There were crosses on the high school lawn, and an honor guard. It was less than a year after the horrors of World War II.
On another occasion, I’m guessing it was about 1950, a bunch of we boys were playing basketball in the little gym in the basement of the school – I remember the low ceiling and gray painted concrete floor. Dad came down stairs for some reason and fell down the last few steps. Being kids, we didn’t pay much attention, but I remember his fall to this day. He was in his early 40s then, so he probably recovered quickly. We kids were basically clueless and useless.
In April 1948, Dad took this picture of the school:
Sykeston High School April 1948

Sykeston High School April 1948


Like all small town schools in ND, Sykeston never had many students. The 1983 Centennial History of the town gives a good description of education, including the below photo of the High School at its opening in 1913. Here are the relevant pages of the 1983 History: Sykeston ND Schools001. At the July 2013 Reunion, a single page supplement to the 1983 book was made available, including the graduates from 1984-2005. If you have the book, this is worth printing to complete the history: Sykes Grads 1984-2005001
Sykeston High Sch 1913 001
The 1983 History list the names of the graduating seniors from 1916 to 1983. Perhaps still in the hall between the old and new school are the high school senior graduation photos from 1944-2005, the year the school closed.
In 2008 I took photos of all of these, and they are available on an open Facebook album page, including some other photos I added to the display. There was no graduation photo for 1945, possibly reflecting the turmoil around WWII, winding down in Europe, but still intense in the Pacific region. The 1944 photo includes several in military uniform.
Here is a list of the number of graduates in each year from 1916 to 2005: Sykeston Seniors 1916-2005. In all there were about 1050 high school graduates over the schools 92 years. The average class was about 11. The largest high school graduating classes were in 1927, 1936, 1965 and 1967. There were 31 graduates in 1927.
The smallest classes were post baby-boom years. In 2001 and 2002 there were only two graduates, and in 2005, the last year of the school, there were three graduates.
Sykeston’s data gives an interesting look at the ebbs and flows of population (and birth rate) in rural North Dakota, and is probably generally representative of other similar tiny towns in the Midwest.
Probably the proudest year for the town and the High School was 1950 when the Boys Basketball team won Third Place in the State Class C tournament in Valley City. I recall being there, but I was not yet 10, and I was not properly fixed on watching the games!
Much later, Travis Hafner (class of 1995) made a name for Sykeston as Designated Hitter for the Cleveland Indians.
Sykeston Welcome Sr 08001
Luckily, some years ago, I learned that Jean Dummer (Sister Jean) had the 1950 school annual, and I borrowed and copied it. The entire annual is available here: Sykes Hiawatha 50001 You can read, there, the exploits of the 1950 Boys Basketball team.
And I kept the 1958 Hiawatha, which Duffy Sondag and I co-edited. Here is that Yearbook: Sykes Hiawatha 58001 Even back then I wondered why the publisher, Intercollegiate Press of Kansas City, chose the mountain-scape for the inside front and back covers of the Annual. It didn’t quite match with the Sykeston I knew!
Here’s the high school Boys Basketball team for 1958-59, the year after I graduated:
1959 A Team: Jim Bierdeman Bob Miller, Duane Zwinger, Jim Merck and Lowell Fruhwirth

1959 A Team: Jim Bierdeman Bob Miller, Duane Zwinger, Jim Merck and Lowell Fruhwirth


And here’s a portion of the 1968 school newspaper, (reduced from the original legal size), apparently run on the same cantankerous old mimeograph machine that we’d used in 1958: Sykes High news May 68001 The news sheet would win no awards, I’d guess, but nonetheless it was news.
The newspaper says it is Vol. 34; the 1950 Annual was Vol. V, and 1958 was Vol. VIII. What if any meaning those numbers have is unknown.
In 1974, here’s what Sykeston’s Main Street looked like, through my Massachusetts brother-in-laws eyes.
Main Street, Sykeston, 1974, by Hank Maher

Main Street, Sykeston, 1974, by Hank Maher


For little towns, the public schools were an essential part of the very life of the community. When they closed, as Sykeston High School did at age 92, an important part of the town was lost with them: there remained fewer reasons to come to town.
PERSONAL
I’m old enough now (I’m 73 on this very day, May 4, 2013) and far enough away from those Sykeston years so I can reveal how I was (not) as a scholar at Sykes High!
As my 1957-58 Report Card indicates, I was not an especially diligent scholar. I was, in a four-letter word, l-a-z-y…. I only took those few courses, likely, because there were no other classes to take that I had not already completed somewhere else.
Sykeston Rept Card 57-58001
I had no inclination to make mischief, then. That natural kid impulse was never active. Dad was in the Superintendents office, or teaching Problems of Democracy (“Probs”); Mom was a floor below, teaching elementary. They were good teachers and gentle people, but not inclined to let us run free. Somebody from Sykeston said that it seemed I was “afraid of my Dad”. I won’t disagree. I had nothing to be especially afraid of, but he commanded respect. I didn’t test the boundaries.
Sometimes there is a suspicion that teachers kids get some sort of break. Not so, in my family. Best as I can tell, we were treated like everybody else. But neither was I one to overly attend to book-learning, then.
In the last Sykeston year, I did win the County “Know Your State” competition, and in December went to Grand Forks for the finals. In my memory, I finished second, behind Ron Lokken, the son of the President of Valley City State Teachers College.
Here is the test that we all took that November: ND Hist Govt Ctzn 1957001 It is interesting to note what knowledge they emphasized, then.
You can take it yourself, and see how you do.
Here is the list of the ND County finalists who went to Grand Forks December of 1957: ND Hist Co. Winners 1957001 Maybe you’ll see someone who became famous for some reason or another. Not I!
In the spring of 1958, my sister, Florence, was confirmed at St. Elizabeth’s, and we took a family photo at our house just east of the St. Elizabeth Town Hall.
I’m very much aware, at 73, that my parents, in that photo, were only 48 and 50 years old. My oldest child, son Tom, is 49….
1958 - Sykeston.  Back: Esther, Richard, Florence, Mary Ann and Henry; front John and Frank Bernard

1958 – Sykeston. Back: Esther, Richard, Florence, Mary Ann and Henry; front John and Frank Bernard


After graduation, I finally got the motivation to go to college. The motivator was unusual….
My first job was moving dirt, etc. by the wheelbarrow full at the under-construction St. Elizabeth Church across the street from the school. It was somewhere close to where the bell tower of the Church would be constructed that I made the decision that maybe going to college was a pretty good idea, and I then went straight through, summers and all, at Valley City State Teachers College, graduating in December, 1961.
In retrospect, I remember meeting Mr. Lou Bruhn at Valley City State Teachers College sometime earlier. He was Dean of Men there, and he’d been at the college when Mom and Dad were there. Maybe that helped soften me up?!
Ah the memories.
Here’s a 1960 photo of that then-brand new Church where I got education “religion”, plus the other photographs I took in May of 1958 in Sykeston.
Postcard of new St. Elizabeths Catholic Church, Sykeston ND ca 1960

Postcard of new St. Elizabeths Catholic Church, Sykeston ND ca 1960


Lake Hiawatha Spring 1958

Lake Hiawatha Spring 1958


Bridge to the Park, Spring 1958

Bridge to the Park, Spring 1958


Kids on the bridge, Spring 1958, the middle one my brother John, I think

Kids on the bridge, Spring 1958, the middle one my brother John, I think


From Cletus Fruhwirth: I was reading your thoughts on Sykeston, May 4. That colored picture – Kids on the bridge 1958. The tall skinny kid is my brother
Larry Fruhwirth, he would be 18yrs. The little boy is Johnny, I’m sure. and the little girl may be Patty Neumiller, who lived a mile west of us south of Sykeston. In case you didn’t know it, we lived 21/2 miles so. and a 1/4 mile east along highway # 30 which is straight south of Sykeston, and goes down to Medina, N.Dak.. Clete F.
The Swimming beach at Hiawatha Spring 1958

The Swimming beach at Hiawatha Spring 1958


The Water Tower, Spring 1958

The Water Tower, Spring 1958


Our new car, out by the dam, Spring 1958

Our new car, out by the dam, Spring 1958


Lilacs beside the lake, Spring 1958

Lilacs beside the lake, Spring 1958


St. Elizabeth School Spring 1958

St. Elizabeth School Spring 1958


* – Some of the other memories associated with Sykes High School
Being introduced to the evils of cigarettes (at least, cigarette butts) inside the merry-go-round on the school grounds (it had something of a wooden frame inside, and some slats were missing and we could get inside). Dad almost caught we hoodlums once. My career as a smoker was very short. He caught me later that same summer. Thanks, Dad!
Waiting for mandatory shots for athletics in the fall of 1957. Somebody suggested that the doctor inside had a square needle. Of course, that was crazy, but the suggestion was persuasive.
In 1957-58 there were huge surpluses of dairy products and entire pounds of butter were often on the lunchroom table. One of us had a prodigious appetite for butter. Either he got over it, or he has major defenses against cholesterol!
Seeing in a closet in the third floor west classroom a bunch of bound volumes of the early history newspapers from Sykeston. I hope they were given to the North Dakota Historical Society.
Trying to do printing on the mimeograph machine in the office. It was hideous. I empathize with those young scholars who tried to do the 1968 school newspaper that is linked earlier in this post.
“Zoo period” – the big study hall every afternoon, which Mr. Hanson tried to supervise. To my recollection, I never participated (fear, mostly). Some of the guilty will remember. I’ve come to have admiration for Mr. Hanson (who you’ll see pictured on the last page of the 1958 Hiawatha). I often wonder about him.
Henry and Esther Bernard
by Dick Bernard, May 4, 2013
I knew Henry and Esther as Dad and Mom, and from grades 8-12, as my “teacher”. Other readers of this piece who knew them will have a different context: teacher, neighbor, St. Elizabeth’s….. Together, they had 14 annual contracts teaching in the Sykeston High School from 1945-51 and again 1957-61.
Dad (1907-97) was his adult height, 6’3″, when he was in 8th grade in Grafton ND. That was near giant size about 1920. But to my knowledge, he never participated in sports. Likely reason was flat feet. At times, including Sykeston, he had to coach, probably solely because nobody else would or could. He always enjoyed sports. But coaching sports wasn’t his thing.
He was always religious – his best childhood friend became a Monsignor, and he’d likely have become a Priest if Latin hadn’t been so difficult. I never knew he – or Mom – to be pushy about religious beliefs with others, or with us after we left home. But back then, religion could be serious business, whatever your “brand”. One brand of “Christian” was not always very “Christian” with other brands. Then it was socially respectable, a usual practice, for one Christian religion to have not much to do with another.
Today it still happens, but is more covert, but in some ways far more dangerous than the intolerance was, then. Whenever one labels a group as being the problem (“Jews”, “Japs”, “Muslims”, etc.) there is potential for trouble.
To the end of his long life, Dad was bookish. He had both a Masters in Education and an Administrative Credential from University of North Dakota. He was a lifelong learner.
I seem to recall that during 1957-58 in Sykeston he was on a multi-year project to read the biographies of all the U.S. Presidents (Eisenhower was President, then). He’d get the books from the State Library in Bismarck. I never asked if he’d finished his project, but my guess is that he did. He was disciplined that way.
When at the end of July, 1949, the barn roof blew down at Mom’s parents farm near LaMoure – we were there at the time, a couple of hundred feet away – Dad stayed and helped rebuild the roof – a huge task. This was during our Sykeston years. My uncle Vince, now 88, still remembers Dad’s help.
Particularly after Mom died (1981), Dad became a very active volunteer, tutoring Hispanic kids in English at the school across the street from their home in San Benito TX. He did many other volunteer things as well.
Mom (1909-81) was my teacher in 8th grade, out at Ross in 1953-54 (Ross is in the midst of todays oil fields, and was then as well). She taught grades 7 and 8 and I have good memories of her as a teacher. Brother John, then of Kindergarten age in the time before Kindergarten was common, spent the day in the classroom with the rest of us.
She once recalled that as a youngster she had something of a dream to be a salesman. Yes salesMAN. She was enthusiastic. Her cheers stood out at basketball games.
She, too, was religious. They came to Sykeston in large part because St. Elizabeth school was there. In 1946 I started First Grade. All of we kids spent several grades at St. Elizabeth.
All in all, I thought Mom and Dad were pretty good partners. We were kept on a short leash and had our home chores. In my day, a 9:00 curfew was the norm.
Moving on: To be a teacher in those “good old days” was to be insecure. Between my birth and youngest brother John’s graduation from high school – 26 years – we made ten moves, two of them to Sykeston, two away from Sykeston.
We kids were accustomed to unanticipated moves. For our parents, sometimes the move was an undesired reality; at others, there seemed to be a better opportunity in another town. Available and adequate housing was often an issue. More than once, housing was far less than adequate.
I’ve done a great deal of family history over the years, and in some papers I found a letter from my Dad dated early April, 1990, responding to a question I had asked about the first move from Sykeston (1945-51) to Karlsruhe (1951-53). In relevant part he said this: “When I was not rehired in Sykeston, I did not know what to do. Apparently Father Sommerfeld [Sykeston pastor and immigrant from Germany] and Father Zimmerman [another native German Priest in nearly 100% German-Russian Karlsruhe] were good friends and Father Sommerfeld suggested that I apply for the school in Karlsruhe. One Saturday morning I drove to Karlsruhe to inquire. I was filled with doubts. When I got to the road that led to Karsruhe, north of Drake, I stopped the car, got out and wondered, should I go on or turn back home? I did go on. Don’t know whether I talked to Father Zimmerman first or a school board member, but apparently things worked out all right. I remember that on the way back to Sykeston that I picked up a couple of discarded automobile tires as we were still in need of the furnace at Sykeston….”
(Our Sykeston home, then, was the most northern house in town. Later Gartners lived there. The house has since burned down.)
After six years in three other places (Karlsruhe, Ross and Antelope Consolidated near Mooreton), we returned to Sykeston in 1957. I graduated from Sykes High in 1958; Mary Ann graduated in 1960.
Dad was again non-renewed in Sykeston at the end of the 1960-61 year, and the family moved to Tolley, where Florence and Frank graduated (1962 and 1963); thence to Tolna, where John graduated in 1966.
The early 1960s seems to have been a stressful community time in Sykeston and this seems to have had some impact on Dad’s employment. I was in college the last three years of their teaching in Sykeston, and almost never came home, so I don’t recall any talk about why the next non-renewal took place.
The Sykeston 1983 Centennial History says the addition to the high school was built in 1959 during Dad’s second four years at Sykeston. This apparently is in error. The addition was built after Bernard’s left in 1961. Assorted stresses may have related to changes at St. Elizabeth’s (the Centennial History says that “the only lay [non-Nun] teacher in the school’s history, was employed in 1961-62″ – a really big deal).
Growth of high school age population due to the post WWII Baby Boom, resulting in the need for a bond referendum to build an addition to the public school was doubtless a major factor as well. Even by then, likely, some elders knew that behind the baby boom was decline. Why build a new school that won’t be necessary in a few years? It would be a reasonable question, just like, these days, a reasonable debate in Sykeston may well be how to treat this venerable old building, essentially unused for the last eight years? It is a difficult question.
One of my siblings recalls that about 1961 the issue of religious tensions loomed a little more important than usual in Sykeston. I don’t know that. Mom and Dad apparently chose to move on rather than challenge the dismissal, as some community members had encouraged.
I spent an entire career in public education and I know that schools are more than anything else cauldrons of relationships, positive and not so positive, and things do happen as school boards change, etc.
It takes a thick skin and luck and lots of political savvy to survive very long as a Superintendent of Schools, given changes in school boards, etc. There are, annually, unpopular decisions to be made. And mistakes are made, too.
In addition to my parents, I had two uncles and three aunts who were teachers, a number of them career, all beginning in North Dakota. The stories of employment instability were all similar. If the annual contract was not renewed for whatever reason, the only choice was to move on. I have said frequently over the years that teachers were truly public Servants (with a capital S). It was just how it was. I don’t think that many community members, anywhere, gave this much of of a thought.
Nonetheless, of all the places that we lived, I think all of we Bernard’s, including our parents, would agree that Sykeston was as close to a home town as we ever had, and we remember it as such.
And that is good!
Have a great reunion and remembering!

Favorite photo of Henry Bernard visiting Sykeston August, 1970

Favorite photo of Henry Bernard visiting Sykeston August, 1970


Related: My story about Sykeston days written in June, 2008 can be viewed here. Also, a post published Friday, May 3, here; and another published Sunday, May 5, which is here. All are related very directly to reminiscing about Sykeston days.
I’m sure the Sykeston Committee would like to hear from you. Here’s the contact page.
Dick with son-in-law and two of nine grandkids, Orlando, March 23, 2013

Dick with son-in-law and two of nine grandkids, Orlando, March 23, 2013

#714 – Dick Bernard: The Youngers restore my hope.

Today was the 10th annual Diversity Day at Jefferson High School in Bloomington MN. I’ve been to the last six. Today did not have the annual outdoor fun-run between Jefferson and rival Kennedy due to inclement weather. Snow in May is not impossible here, but it is unusual. It was unpleasant enough to force most activities indoors, but not enough to dampen spirits.
Being in the presence of enthusiastic kids is like an elixir.
It is nice to see a society of kids at their functional best.
(click on all photos to enlarge)

Rededicating Thomas Jefferson High School as a Peace Site May 3, 2013

Rededicating Thomas Jefferson High School as a Peace Site May 3, 2013


Inside, there was an alternative run around Jefferson’s ample indoor track. Everyone could participate. You can see my the smile on the young lady’s face, that she was glad she could make the rounds with the rest of the students who wished.
A special abilities student participating in the May 3 indoor run.

A special abilities student participating in the May 3 indoor run.


Out in the commons area, 42 student groups sponsored and staffed tables about their particular special interest. Damon Cermak (below) did a more than capable job of representing his Mdewakanton Sioux Indian heritage. Like most young Americans Damon has multiple ethnic heritages. His include Czech and French-Canadian, along with Native American.
Down the commons, another group of students were doing some kind of dance improv, and having a great time, a real credit to their school.
Damon Cermak tells the story of his roots.

Damon Knight tells the story of his roots.


A group of students dance in the commons area.

A group of students dance in the commons area.


Students of French display about things French.

Students of French display about things French.


World Citizen display table.  (peacesites.org)

World Citizen display table. (peacesites.org)


Walking around I came across a table I had not seen in previous years.
White American table

White American table


The table was staffed by a couple of boys, and attracted a fair amount of interest from, as best as I could tell, only other boys who were curious. It was a simple table: an NRA hat, some pictures like Iwo Jima and Ronald Reagan, that sort of thing.
One of the boys had a guitar.
There was a certain irony in this new entry into this years Diversity Days conversation, I thought. Best as I could determine, the table was by and about White American Men, or at least a subset of those men who are angry and terrified of losing control to various “others”, like “minorities”, or “women” or such.
White American Men (I’m one of these) have controlled things so long, that it is hard for some of them to become part of the entire fabric that is contemporary America. This year at Jefferson they seem to have joined the other “minorities” that make up the rich American “stew” – though my guess is they didn’t perceive their new position that way.
But that “White American” table, along with the others representing other cultures and beliefs, was totally in keeping with the rich diversity that is America. White American Men are part of, not dominant over, the rest.
Before leaving I decided to go to the all-school assembly program for Diversity Day.
The speaker was Jane Elliott, 58 years married, wearing a T-shirt she says she always wears while speaking “Prejudice is an emotional commitment to ignorance.”
She’s very well known, for many years, and is a spell-binding and powerful speaker. The assassination of Martin Luther King April 4, 1968, changed her life as a third grade teacher.
A tall white man, school administrator, and a female student of African descent were her “props”, and she used them extremely effectively.
In only a few minutes she powerfully took on and effectively many stereotypes and prejudices we hold dear.
Walking out the door to the parking lot I went past the Peace Pole I had photographed earlier in the day.
The side I photo’ed had “May Peace Prevail on Earth” in Vietnamese.
It all seemed to fit.
Just a couple of days earlier, my friend Lynn Elling, who had earlier talked at the rededication at Jefferson, had returned from a two week trip to Vietnam with the Vietnamese son, Tod, who the Ellings adopted 43 years ago.
Tod is as American as any of us.
Diversity is all of us.
IMG_1130

#711 – Dick Bernard: Disabling the Winning Formula, working to change the usual conversation

Last Friday my second post about the aftermath of the Boston Marathon came shortly after the identity of the suspects in the bombings were given faces and names.
Subsequent there have been tens of thousands of words about, especially, the one surviving suspect in the case, a true-blue young “Caucasian” (white, in other words), from the very region which gives Caucasian its name. The indicted young man has a funny name. While a naturalized citizen he’s an immigrant, a Moslem from a Moslem country. And his brother, now deceased, went to Russia at some point for reasons as yet unknown, but feverishly speculated about.
The tragedy is no longer the story. The alleged perpetrators provide endless spin especially for earnest sounding politicians and the media. The blather is constant.
The Boston Marathon tragedy has been reduced to digestible sound bites, depending on the desired message and audience: “MOSLEM”, “MOTHERS SONS”, “IMMIGRANT”, “FRIEND”, “CHECHEN”, U.S. CITIZEN, etc.
Words are dispensed to humanize, or de-humanize, persons. Are they of our “tribe” or theirs?
So, while the brothers are white, there is a desire to taint them by geography, by possible association, and on and on.
What is happening in this case is not new, of course.
However dangerous, “us vs them” is politically useful and has a very long history. The reach of all forms of media now makes it more dangerous than ever.
Sunday, at Catholic Mass, the first reading (which is required in every Catholic Church) was from ACTS 13:14, 43-52, in which “The Jews…stirred up a persecution against Paul and Barnabas, and expelled them from their territory.” The reading is here: 1 Acts 13001
It bothered me to hear that Epistle (it comes once every three years) since I thought my Catholic Church was getting past labeling the Jews in its official narrative.
The Bible is a big book, and there are plenty of choices of readings. Why this one?
Fourteen years ago, April 26, 2000, we were among 40 Jews and Christians on a “Millennium Pilgrimage of Hope” which led us to places where Christianity truly went off the rails: places like Auschwitz-Birkenau and Terezin and Plaskow (the locale of the film “Shindler’s List.)
To say ours was an intense two weeks was an understatement: Christian and Jews together at the very places of some of the worst horrors of the Holocaust.
Back home, some months later, one of the Jews on the trip sent a review of a book on Oberammergau Passion Play (“Hitler’s favorite passion play…” which had its own impact. You can read the review here: Oberammergau001
Some years earlier, on the 60th anniversary of the first Atom bomb at Hiroshima, I had occasion to write a column for the Minneapolis Star Tribune about my grandmother Rosa’s reaction to the bombing of Hiroshima and then Nagasaki.
Rosa was a saintly kind of woman, and her reaction to the bombs was “Hurrah, the old war is over!” At the time, she had a son on a Destroyer in the Pacific theatre; a son-in-law who’d been killed at Pearl Harbor; a nephew next farm over who was a Marine officer in the Pacific; and a neighbor who had been killed in combat “over there”.
For her, the war had become very personal.
I wrote in the column that to Grandma, and most of our American “tribe” I would guess, “the war was very personal, in the person of their brother, their son, their nephew, their neighbor; those on the other side were simply “the Japs”.” (The column can be read here: Atomic Bomb 1945001
If we care about the future of our “kind”, which is humanity itself, wherever these humans live, we best learn to become a world community and reject the attempts to blanket label others and threaten war at every real or imagined time of crisis.
We need to deal with criminal behavior as just that: criminal behavior.
There was never a good time for war; today, the time for war is truly past.

#709 – Dick Bernard: The Boston Marathon

Yesterday morning, before 9 a.m., I was at the gym exercising at my usual place. Behind me, visible in the mirror, were two women, exercising beside each other and quite loudly chatting.
One of them mentioned to the other that her husband was in Boston, running the Marathon, checking in from time to time.
A few hours later I heard the news of the bombs at the finish line at the Marathon. This probably changed the woman’s conversation. Perhaps I’ll read in the Woodbury MN news something about this today or maybe next week…. Such is how communication goes these days. Instant and worldwide.
I got to thinking about two happenings in my own life.
Back on April 20, 1999, I was in the car on the freeway in north Minneapolis when I heard that there had been shooting at a school in Littleton, Colorado.
Littleton. That was where my son and family lived.
Soon enough, I learned my granddaughter, then 13 and in Middle School, was safe. No cell phones then. It was via e-mail.
I tried to find where Columbine high school was on the then-version of Mapquest. The school location on the map was misplaced, I soon learned. My son and family, it turned out, lived only a mile from the high school, and later he said he probably had seen the two killers the previous day in a local McDonalds restaurant – just three of the customers at that time, that day.
But in those days, communications was not quite so convenient or instant (though it was pretty good.) There were cell phones of a sort, but not ubiquitous like now. There was cable, but not hundreds of stations vying on the competitive edge for news. I don’t think I was thinking, then, about what has since become something of a mantra for me: “too many news people, too little news.”
Then I thought back further, to December 7, 1941, when my Uncle – Dad’s brother – went down with the USS Arizona at Pearl Harbor.
I was alive then, just 1 1/2, so I didn’t pay much attention.
Dad told me about his memories of that awful time years later. They didn’t know for certain that his brother, Frank Bernard, had died until some weeks later. The time was so chaotic that I don’t think there was even an organized Memorial Service for Frank. His parent were in Long Beach for the winter and had no car (they traveled by train, then), his sister in Los Angeles, and his brother in rural North Dakota. Making even a phone call was not a routine matter. No television. Less radio. The news coming via newspaper – I have the clippings.
We tend to forget that.
And now we are besieged for hours upon hours by repetitive images of the same exact thing; by speculation by experts about who done it, and why it was done. Everybody with their own agenda for communicating whatever it is they choose to communicate.
We’re a big country, and such incidents will happen from time to time.
We used to worry about the Russians bombing our school in central North Dakota in the 1950s; now, well you know….
We need to get a grip and keep things in a bit better perspective.
It was bad, what happened in Boston, yesterday.
As a city and as a nation and as a world we’ll survive it.
We really have it pretty good, here.

#706 – Dick Bernard: Meeting the Space Age, up close

I suppose the space age began for me sometime in late October or November, 1957.
We were visiting my grandparents at their farm in south central North Dakota, and the Fargo Forum had published the expected track of the Russian satellite Sputnik, which had been launched October 4, 1957, igniting the space race and intensifying the Cold War of those good old days.
Right on schedule, and on the exact predicted course, Sputnik appeared to all of us gathered on the lawn of the farm house under the dark star-laden country sky – at least you could tell it from the stars as it “blinked” on and off as it tumbled across the heavens, reflecting the sun earthward.
The rest is, as they say, history.
And what started as Cape Canaveral and became Cape Kennedy, and then again became Cape Canaveral on which stood Kennedy Space Center, became famous for generations of ever bigger and more impressive rockets, triumphs and disasters.
I’d visited there with my then-13 year old son, Tom, in June, 1977.
And on March 13, 2013, I went back with 13 year old Grandson Ryan, and his friend Caleb, to once again do the tour of Kennedy Space Center. Here is a Facebook Snapshot Gallery taken on the day of our visit.
While there, I learned that there was to be a launch on April 19. I had never seen a launch, and as it evolved, I was visiting a relative perhaps 30 miles down the coast, and excused myself to go north for the launch of an Air Force Atlas, watching it from the Indian River-side property of my friends the Brady’s. They’ve watched launches from their property since the early 1980s.
March 20, 2013, was my first.
I would like to say the launch was an amazingly impressive sight – the launch I saw – but it was not very dramatic. We saw liftoff at 5:20 p.m., and my snapshot is essentially the view that those without binoculars had from the Brady’s.
You had to be attentive for the telltale speck of light off on the horizon. My host knew about where it would launch, which helped.
(click to enlarge – look for the orange dot near the horizon!)

Launch March 19, 2013

Launch March 19, 2013


We watched liftoff till the evidence of the vehicle disappeared, which seemed to be more or less the time that the first sound waves reached us, a minute later. This meant we were about 12 miles from the launch pad.
The last photo before the launch vehicle disappeared from sight.

The last photo before the launch vehicle disappeared from sight.


The more astute observers got a closer view, as reflected in the below photo on the front page of Florida Today Newspaper on March 20. You can see the video behind the photo on the Florida Today website, here.
There can be endless debate about the space program, and the purpose of this particular launch; whether it was a waste a money, or a vehicle for good…or for evil….
For me, it was rather exciting to actually see this one launch, probably the only launch I will ever actually see in person in my lifetime.
Photo from FloridaToday.com March 20, 2013

Photo from FloridaToday.com March 20, 2013


For more on the U.S. space program, a good “launching” place is the NASA website, here.
Equally interesting, in the same area and enviroment, is the Merritt Island Wildlife Refuge, one of America’s finest. In a sense, at least, wildlife and high technology seem to co-exist just fine.

#704 – Dick Bernard: "You oughta go tah, Nor Dakota…"*

* – Once upon a time, the North Dakota promotional anthem (at least as I remember it). I can hum it still. Wish it were on YouTube….
But the title “masks” a more serious message, today.
Recently, within a day or two of each other, came two links: one from a present day and lifelong North Dakotan; the other from a born and raised, but many years out-of-state North Dakota native.
Here is one, an article and photo album from The Atlantic magazine about the oil boom in western North Dakota.
I’ve seen quite a number of articles, photos and commentaries about the second boom in ND’s Williston Basin (I lived there, at Ross as an 8th grader, in 1953-54, so experienced mostly the down-side of it, then). I wonder, often, about the true “cost-benefit analysis” of the boom: there are big (money) benefits, yes, but what are the short and long-term and huge costs, not just in money terms….
The below photo is the other, following by a day the North Dakota legislature and Governors action outlawing abortion, deliberately pushing the envelope on the matter of State’s Rights (one would presume) 40 years after Roe v. Wade.
Image
Both the article and the photo come from fellow alumni of Valley City State Teachers College ca 1960-62.
Both the article and the photo, in my opinion, illustrate that all is not all that simple in the state of my birth, my home for all but 28 months (21 of those in the U.S. Army) of my first 25 years of life.
I’ve been absent from North Dakota for the last 48 years, but North Dakota is a very big part of me. The first family member saw the Missouri River at Bismarck with Gen. Sibley’s forces in 1863; my descendants have lived in what was to become North Dakota since 1878.
When I began this blog in 2009, I decided to include two photos on the home page. One is of a North Dakota country road between Berlin and Grand Rapids and my uncle and aunts beloved dog Sam (dec 1995).
The other (below), looking north from Hawk’s Nest west of Carrington ND, was taken at the time of the Sykeston community reunion in July, 2008, also the 50th anniversary of my high school graduation from Sykeston High School.
(click to enlarge)

From Hawk's Nest, July 2008

From Hawk’s Nest, July 2008


Photos, it is often said, speak thousands of words.
The landscape from Hawk’s Nest is the North Dakota I remember. The billboard above, likely a creation of photo shop technology, has a far more harsh message about North Dakota in this Easter week, 2013.
The billboard “photo” speaks its own volumes.
Early this week the North Dakota legislature passed, and the Governor signed, one of the most draconian anti-abortion measures ever passed anywhere in the country. There are thousands of words, including the Governors own, about the intention of these laws and the upcoming citizens initiative in the state of North Dakota. The months ahead will determine the wisdom – or stupidity – or unbridled arrogance – of North Dakota’s elected leadership.
The people will decide.
What the folks at the capitol building in Bismarck may not have adequately considered, however, is that most of we North Dakotans by birth and upbringing, no longer live in North Dakota, and may have our own stories, and our own ability to impact on the decision making in the state that we may not, now, physically live; but whose geography and history lives on in each of us.
This goes for me as well.

I left North Dakota in May, 1965, for a very simple reason: my wife was dying. In fact, she died at the University of Minnesota Hospital two months after we crossed the North Dakota-Minnesota line. Three days before she died I had signed a contract for a new job in the Twin Cities, and except for visits, I have not gone back to my “home state”.
But I do go back every year, and will, again, go back in May.
My heart is always there, in North Dakota.
But, back in 1965, only two months before I left North Dakota, the possibility of abortion needed to cross the minds of Barbara and I. I wrote about how this came to be in one of my early blog posts, which has a simple heading “Abortion”, and was filed in October, 2009. You can read it here.
Even then, we had no available legal options.
Today, I can add a small financial “voice” to the upcoming struggle in ND, and will do so; and I am still deciding what to convey to the ND Governor and Legislators representing the many towns that I lived in back then, including Elgin, from which my wife left in an ambulance near the end of May, 1965.
Gov. Dalrymple and the prevailing legislators may consider themselves to be clothed with great authority.
The people will speak….

I’d ask you to consider passing this commentary along to others.

#696 – Dick Bernard: Pope's remembered

Today, Pope Benedict XVI officially resigns, the first Pope to do so in hundreds of years. It was a wise decision, and hopefully a good precedent to be followed in future years. The official (church approved) story of Benedict XVI was this handout, which was available at Basilica of St. Mary last Sunday: Pope Benedict XVI001
I won’t make any predictions about Benedict XVI’s successor. I understand that all of the electors – the current College of Cardinals – were appointed either by Pope John Paul II or Benedict XVI, so anyone wishing for dramatic change, even minor change, will probably be disappointed.
John Paul II‘s Poland was overrun by both Germany and Russia, and his boyhood home, Wadowice, which we drove past in early May 2000, was less than an hour from Oswiecim (Auschwitz-Birkenau), so his political imprinting was very strong; Benedict XVI came of age in Adolf Hitler’s Germany, and the Catholic Church was at its authoritarian best then and there. The emergence of a new John XXIII from amongst the current Cardinals is not very likely. Indeed, John XXIII surprised the world after his election in 1958.
One thing is sure: the Chair of Peter, the fisherman who was the first Pope, could not have imagined the world of 2013. I’ve been at the supposed spot on the Sea of Galilee where the mantle was passed to him. Then was a simple time. Even today, looking out over the large lake-size “Sea”, you can imagine what it might have been like, then, over 2000 years ago.
Now, we’re about seven billion humans; one billion of those who are called “Catholic” by some criteria or other, probably 10% of those Catholics, at best, much care what the Pope decrees. The Papacy is a complex institution, at best. But it still has a very big microphone, and proclaims to speak with authority.
I’m lifelong Catholic, active. Even at age 72, the succession of Popes I’ve experienced is a short list:
Pius XII (1939-58) was Pope during the entirety of my growing up years. It was his face that was on the wall of the Catholic Churches and Schools I attended.
John XXIII (1958-63) was Pope during my college years. Vatican II was on his watch, beginning officially after I completed college (1961). But even in college times, the ecumenical breezes were blowing. I noticed recently in the 1961 College Annual at Valley City State Teachers College, that I was one of ten on the Inter-Religious Council. A few years earlier, such rapprochement would have been unacceptable, regardless of denomination. Catholics, Methodists, Lutherans…all in the same room? Astonishing!
Paul VI (1963-78) doesn’t excite any particular memories, though it was in his time that birth control was rendered sinful, even though his advisors advised that there were no theological problems with birth control. We’re still struggling with that teaching. Basically, Catholics have ignored it ever since. I recall watching portions of his funeral while at my brother’s home in Salt Lake City in August, 1978.
John Paul I (1978) died after only one month as Pope. The circumstances of his death remain controversial.
John Paul II, the Polish Pope, (1978-2005), had a long reign.
One time in my life, October 14, 1998, I saw John Paul II in person, in the Popemobile, at the Vatican in Rome. (Facebook album of seven photos here.) I can attest that even if in an ideal position, as I was, long before the Pope appeared, attempting to take a photograph of the Pontiff, even a poor one, is not an exercise in sacredness. You either photo, or pray, not both. The best potential photo was this one:
(click to enlarge)

John Paul II October 14, 1998, Vatican, Rome

John Paul II October 14, 1998, Vatican, Rome


In the Facebook album there is a second photo where you can actually see the Pope, but I don’t think the Pope would have selected it as one of his favorites.
Benedict XVI (2005-13) now ends his time in the Papacy.
I wish him well.
Those of us who are Catholics – really we are the “Church” not the Pope or the Vatican – will carry on, regardless of who the White Smoke announces, shortly.

#695 – Dick Bernard: Mike, VCSTC's Mr. Moore and a lesson in Civics and Freedom of Speech; and the problem of "Judging a book by its cover".

I met Mike when he was about 14 years old. He was my new girlfriend, Barbara’s, brother, 4 years younger than she. I don’t remember much about him then. Their younger brother, David, then 4 or so, more sticks in my mind. He was a really nice little kid.
This would have been about 1961, in Valley City, at their little house just south of Mercy Hospital.
Forty-six years later I was with Mike when he had his last meal at the hospital in Fargo. A few hours later he died, last survivor from his immediate family. I was his brother-in-law and had become the “go-to” guy and friend. At that last meeting I was able to show him what I still feel was the death certificate for his Dad, and where his Dad was buried. It seemed a very important deal for Mike. He knew nothing about his father, who’d left when he was two years old and there had been no contact at all after his parents divorced.
(click on photos to enlarge)

Mike, May 2007.  His last few years he was paraplegic as an effect of aneurysm surgery - a high risk of the needed procedure.

Mike, May 2007. His last few years he was paraplegic as an effect of aneurysm surgery – a high risk of the needed procedure.


In my memory, Mike always seemed “odd man out” in the family. In his last months, I made it my mission to try to find out, at least, who his Dad was. (The likely father died when Mike was about 9, turned out, and had been living about 150 miles from Valley City.)
From early on, Mike’d been on his own, so to speak. He probably reminded his Mom of his Dad; and his sister and brother were easier to be with. Mike could be mean.
Mike lived most of his final years a block from the walking bridge near the college in Valley City. Up the block was a funeral home; across the street was the Sheyenne River. Till she died in 1999, his Mom lived with him in the little house.
Mike would have been noticed in town, not necessarily in a positive way. He was a loner, sometimes odd looking, nocturnal. He seldom shopped, but seemed to tend to buy doubles of things: two pairs of the same kind of shoes, two identical coffee makers; two bottles of Coke…. He’d been mentally ill for many years, but was one of those who if they take their meds can get along. I gather he went through his own drug phase, sometime.
We all know people like Mike. People whose unattractive “cover” masks a “book” within. Often I see a woman pacing a small indoor mall near here. She is in her own world, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, pacing quickly, talking loudly to herself. Recently, I asked a friend who works there about the woman. “She drives her car here”, she said, shaking her head. The lady probably takes her meds and is no danger to anyone, including people on the road.
For Mike, inside his “book” was great intelligence, and a refusal to give up.
He graduated from Valley City High School in 1965. When the few of us buried him in 2007, one of his high school teachers, Annie Haugaard, legendary Valley City teacher, said that Mike had been a good boy, a good student. She felt it important to say that about Mike. She knew a bit about him, inside that cover….
To my knowledge, no one attended his high school graduation as his sister, my wife, had just been admitted to University Hospital in Minneapolis with what turned out to be a terminal illness. All attention was on her, deservedly so. If someone went to the graduation to honor him, I haven’t heard about it.
Mike went on, and got his teaching degree at Valley City State Teachers College. Sometime in 1966-67 he had Mr. Kenneth Moore as a history teacher.
After graduation, he got a teaching job in ND, quite a distance from Valley City, in a school large enough to have 17 seniors. He taught there 1 1/2 years until he was fired. Thence he was drafted into the Army, where he served for two years, was given a secret clearance (which he honored, believe me), and was discharged as a Specialist 5th Class – a high ranking for a two year enlisted man. He had wanted to be a career man, but someone(s) in the little town where he had taught sabotaged his chances to continue in the military. The general allegation was lack of patriotism.
Mike (at left) 1972

Mike (at left) 1972


*
I know all this, because when I was cleaning out his house, which he’d lost when he stopped making payments, I found among his meager belongings five copies of a 22 page statement from a military interrogatory at his base in Germany, dated 23 March 1972. The copies were almost unreadable (a one page sample is here:Mike transcript 3:1972001 ) For some reason, that interrogatory was important to him; as was his Army uniform, which I found crumpled in a dresser drawer. The uniform now resides in the Archives at the North Dakota History Center in Bismarck, with Sp5 affixed to the shoulder.
I’ve read through the interrogatory several times, and given the questions asked, and the persons cited by name, Mike ran afoul of someone(s) in his employing school district, basically for the sin of allowing kids to talk about their opposition to the Vietnam War, then raging. He was assigned to advise the school paper, and apparently kids wrote about maybe going to Canada to escape the draft, etc., and he wouldn’t censor them. Some of the complainants are named in the interrogatory. Into the mix came the name of Kenneth Moore of VCSTC whose teaching methods were, according to Mike, “to get people to think”. “It was through him that I probably got some of my teaching ideas specifically talking about current events, rather than by just lecturing….” (interrogatory)
The interrogatory goes on and on.
An allegation is made about how Mike himself may have threatened to go to Canada to escape the draft. In response to a question he says “When I first came in [the Army] I didn’t want to be in…But to tell you the truth, since I’ve gotten out of basic training I have nothing really of consequence against the Army. As a matter of fact, of all people, I even talked to the Sergeant Major a few days ago about going to Airborne School….” He had never even thought about resisting the draft or going to Canada; but he hadn’t prevented kids from expressing themselves, however.
The charges, however groundless, apparently created a quandary for the military, which gave him a security clearance and promoted him to a high enlisted rank given his short term of service. Sometime around or after the Munich Olympic Games (August-September, 1972) he separated from the service with an honorable discharge after two years of service.
He never talked about the military again, to my recollection. And until I found that uniform crumpled in a dresser drawer, I didn’t know he had any artifacts of that time in history.
I have tried to find out whatever happened to his VCSTC teacher Kenneth Moore, with no success: it’s too common a name and from long ago. Apparently, Mr. Moore was only at VCSTC that single year, 1966-67, a year when the Vietnam War was truly raging. It was not unusual for young instructors to have short tenures at VCSTC: they were continuing their education. But I’m pretty sure that Mr. Moore’s teaching was noticed, and perhaps not positively, in those tense days when free speech wasn’t particularly free.
When I think of judging people these days, I tend to think back to my brother-in-law Mike, who in our brief visits taught me more than he ever learned from me. I salute him.
You’ll find him lying at rest with his mother and brother at Valley City’s Woodbine Cemetery. His sister, Barbara, is up the hill at St. Catherine’s cemetery.
Postnote: Some years before he died, he left brief instructions with the funeral home which handled his arrangements: “As far as any funeral service, that would be nice. However, I doubt if I would have more than two or three people attending. I guess I am kind of a lone wolf.”
In the end, at graveside, there were 6 of us. And later at the assisted living facility in which he lived his last few months (the 2007 photo above was taken there), perhaps 40 or 50 residents gathered for a very nice memorial service.
He may have been a “lone wolf”, but he was not alone. If looking in on his goings-away, he was probably surprised, and you might have even seen a little smile.

Photo by Mike at 1972 Olympic Games, Munich

Photo by Mike at 1972 Olympic Games, Munich


Olympic Flame at 1972 Munich Olympics, photo by Mike.

Olympic Flame at 1972 Munich Olympics, photo by Mike.


Exercise Tip Sheet from Mike during a period of hospitalization in the late 1970s (Note to self: use it!): Mike exercise tip sheet002

#693 – Dick Bernard: Dan Moriarty, Substitute Teacher, and teacher in so many ways who "ate his Spinach"

UPDATE 7:00 p.m. February 22: Dan’s funeral was very fitting of his rich life. Here is the program for the funeral, on page four you’ll find Dan’s biography: Dan Moriarty Program 001. Here is a Facebook album of some photos taken at the Funeral today.
This morning I plan to attend the celebration of the life of Dan Moriarty at his funeral at St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church in St. Paul Park MN. Judging from the tributes in his published obituary, Dan’s life is one to celebrate. (I’ve just reread those tributes. They’re very worthy your time, particularly if you’re feeling down, today, for any reason.)
I first met Dan when I joined the staff of Minnesota Education Association (MEA) in 1972. Doing the math, he was then about 48 years old.
Next Tuesday, my oldest son is 49. How time does fly.
Back in 1972, Dan was a seasoned MEA staff person – one of the very few – and I was the greenest of greenhorns, 16 years his junior. When he died I was still 16 years his junior…the age gap doesn’t change…until one dies. Age is all relative. We’re all on a trip, with the same ultimate destination. Hopefully, we make the best of the journey and, as I once heard a minister eulogize another teacher who had died much too young, in a car accident enroute to Boys Nation: that we “live before we die, and die before we are finished….”

Dan surely did “live before he died”.
I’m now long retired from MEA, and what remains from my long career with MEA is a single box in our garage.
After learning of Dan’s death, I took down that box to see if there was anything that might mention Dan’s name, and much to my surprise I came across a 10 page publication of his, published in 1993, after he’d gotten involved in substitute teaching in several east metropolitan area school districts. Below is a photo of the cover of the booklet. Here is the booklet in its entirety: Dan Moriarty “Subbing”002. Many who knew Dan, including the former recipients of his “Grandpa stories”, will doubtless recognize Dan in his advice to other aspiring substitute (and, indeed, regular) teachers. At the top of page 5: “Grandma’s Law: If you don’t eat your spinach, you don’t get your dessert.” (Somewhere I have a copy of his Grandpa Stories too, though for the moment it remains in hiding.)
(click to enlarge)
Dan Moriarty "Subbing"001
Many of the tributes to Dan, readable in his obituary, came from students who knew him only as an occasional “substitute teacher” in South Washington County, S. St. Paul, Hastings or Inver Grove Heights.
Obviously, he was the very essence of teacher, in the most positive sense of the word. A son of Enderlin, ND, he made a difference.
We who were colleagues of his on the staff of the state teacher’s union also have many fond feelings about him, still retained many years after he left MEA staff ca mid-1980s. Here are 17 former colleagues, speaking about Dan: Dan Moriarty
I can’t say I knew Dan really well. On the other hand, I knew him plenty well enough to know that he was comfortable in his own skin, and he set out to be a contributor to whatever part of society he happened to be part of. This ranged from WWII service as a Marine, to working for his Church, to advocating for teachers, to teaching, to family history, his family, and on, and on, and on.
Every one of us, in one way or another, have made, and are making, our own contributions to the world in which we live. If we’re lucky, in somebody’s cardboard box, somewhere, lies a positive memory or two of us, probably one we think was no big deal.
Maybe our emotional mood right now is such that we don’t think we made a difference.
Trust me, everyone has, and will….

Dan would probably be surprised at the attention he’s gotten these last few days, and shrug all the compliments off.
But I think he’d smile, too.
He was just out to do his best.
And he did.
The world is a better place because he was with us.
Farewell, Dan.
And to the rest of us: if there’s someone out there who made a difference in your life, and is still living, now is a good time to say, as Dan would, a gentle “thank you”.
Related: The Bottom Line of Teaching, here.

Leila Whitinger: Remembering Valley City (ND) State Teachers College

Leila’s reminiscences are a part of a series of recollections about the place we called “STC” back in the late 1950s to early 1960s. The originating post is found here, at January 2, 2013.
(click on photos to enlarge)

STC Band Officers 1960-61, Leila 2nd from right

STC Band Officers 1960-61, Leila 2nd from right


Memories of Valley City State Teachers College
By Leila Whitinger, B.S. 1963
I attended VCSTC from the fall of 1959 until graduation in spring, 1963. By the time I finished, I completed majors in both Biology and physical education and a minor in German. Nearly all of the electives I completed were in music, and I was a member of the band for my first three years. I also sang in the choir. For fun, I took voice and piano lessons throughout my years in school. Because of the diversity of my classes, I had a lot of opportunities to become acquainted with students having many different interests.
Unlike most of my classmates, I was not from North Dakota. I was born and raised in Michigan, where my nuclear family still lived. I was in a unique situation, in that I moved into a totally new environment and nine hundred miles away from home to attend college at Valley City. Others repeatedly asked me why I chose to attend school there, and I had a ready answer for them. I told them that my grandmother was in the very first class at Valley City, my mother got her standard certificate there, and two of my aunts were also students there. I was just keeping up the family tradition.
My mother’s family homesteaded near Milnor, ND, while North Dakota was still a territory. My father’s family didn’t move to the Forman area until 1914, but they had a deep history in the area. Nora Mohberg, my mother’s sister, had just completed her Bachelor’s degree at Valley City when I graduated from high school. She was deeply involved in writing area historical articles and books, so I grew up reading about the challenges of pioneer life on the prairie. My grandmother still lived in Milnor not too far from Aunt Nora’s farm. One of Nora’s sons, Robert Mohberg, was a senior at Valley City during my freshman year.
To me, I didn’t feel as though I had left home. It felt more as though I was returning home. My parents and most of their brothers and sisters left North Dakota during the depression and dust bowl after losing their family farms. While Mother frequently reminisced with warm memories of her days at Valley City, she rarely had much good to say about their life on the farm. Because Mother’s mother was still living in Milnor, she and my father made annual trips to visit her. It wasn’t until my high school years that any of my five siblings or I could go with them, since they generally traveled with Mother’s sisters who also lived in our Michigan hometown.
When we were finally able to accompany our parents, we had a chance to meet mother’s “dozens of cousins” and get acquainted with our grandmother. I knew that I wouldn’t feel like a outsider, since I was related through my mother’s family to a whole lot of Andersons, Ankerfelts, Ericksons, Fladeboes, Toftleys and Johnsons. Her father was one of fifteen children, and most of them remained either in southeastern North Dakota or southwestern Minnesota. We visited many of them during our visits throughout the years, so I already knew what North Dakota women mean by, “A little lunch.”
Aunt Nora took us to Valley City during the summer between my junior and senior high school years. I fell in love with the place the minute I saw it, and I think that I may have even gotten an application on that same day. Mother was horrified at the idea of my moving so far from home, but it helped that my home would be with her sister and that Robert would be a student there. It definitely wasn’t an easy sell, except for the fact that it was so much less expensive than Michigan colleges.
Blowing Bubble Gum - Leila at right - one of her favorite pics in the 1960 annual.

Blowing Bubble Gum – Leila at right – one of her favorite pics in the 1960 annual.


I had been planning to go to college from the time I was a very small child. I visualized a college as a small cottage in the woods, and it sounded great to me! By the time I got older, I could see that it would take a miracle for me to go to college because we had no money. Our father was critically injured when I was eleven years old and out of work for over a year. Because of his injuries, he was unable to provide much for the family. I started working and saving for college at that time.
I baby-sat, worked for the school recreation and hot lunch programs, and taught dancing at my sister’s dance school. I saved every nickel I earned during that time. I baby-sat for our senior class advisor on prom night because I didn’t want to waste money on a dress I didn’t need and would never use again. Outside of band and Spanish club, I didn’t participate in any extra-curricular activities. By the time I moved to North Dakota before my freshman year, I was exhausted. My cousins wondered about me, since I slept for almost the entire six weeks I spent with them on the farm before the term started. The hypnotic wheat fields, bright blue skies and quiet farm life agreed with me, and I relaxed for the first time in a very long time.
Aunt Nora took me to Valley City before the beginning of the school year to help me set up my dance school. Charlotte Graichen was very helpful to us, and I was able to start teaching during the second week of classes. I lived in the dorm, of course, and I loved it. I was in a suite with five other girls, and we became good friends very quickly. Perhaps it was because I grew up in a small one-bathroom house with four sisters and a brother, but it didn’t feel crowded to me.
Leila dancing at EBC Hit Parade 1960

Leila dancing at EBC Hit Parade 1960


One of the benefits of living in the dorm was that my suite mates always brought “care packages” to me from their mothers. I learned about wonderful pfeffenusse cookies, krumkake, apfelkuchen and a myriad of other Swedish, Norwegian and German treats. On weekends, I was usually one of the few girls left in the dorm. Our housemother was a sweetheart to me. Mrs. Hedberg, AKA Hettie or Grendel, was also from Michigan. After my first week in the dorm, I requested a board to be placed under my mattress for support. I injured my back in a diving accident when I was fifteen, and was having problems with the mattress. In only a few days, she had a new firm mattress delivered to my room! I used it for the entire three years I lived there. When her sister sent Michigan cherries to her, she always invited me in to share them with her.
Marion Rieth mentioned something about wearing high heels to class. When I saw students going to class in high heels, I almost flipped. I remember asking myself, “Are they insane?” I started out wearing dress shoes, but quickly changed to tennis shoes. They had equally insane rules about wearing slacks, but nothing was written about shoes. By the end of the first term, most of the other girls from the dorm were also wearing tennis shoes.
The slacks issue was particularly galling to me, since it really was an outrageous rule. We weren’t allowed to wear slacks in any of the classroom buildings, cafeteria or library. I have no idea how many times I was kicked out of the library for breaking that rule, since I would often stop there after teaching my dance classes. It meant that I would have to go back to my dorm room, change clothes, and return to study. I quickly learned that logical arguments about subzero weather didn’t work, but it did motivate me to work towards getting rid of that rule. I also learned that I didn’t run into that kind of nonsense when I went to work in the biology labs in the evening. It took a couple of years for us to get rid of that rule.
I thoroughly enjoyed my experiences in band. Fred Koppleman was a senior during my freshman year, and he was an excellent percussionist. Before our very first practice, he showed me his award for being the national rudimentary champion of percussion instruments, along with a terrific photograph of him with his drums. As a percussionist myself, I had the distinction of being the only snare drum soloist earning a first place during the Michigan solo-ensemble festival during my senior year of high school. Art Froemke was still directing the band during my freshman year, and his eyesight was practically gone. He kept calling me Fred as we were practicing, so the rest of the band frequently called me Fred after that. I guess if someone is going to mistake me for a national champion, it isn’t so bad!
If I were to say that there were a lot of interesting people in that band, it would be an understatement. Because of my dance and choreography experience, I taught the chorus line for EBC Hit Parades, and that was a lot of fun. I learned that I would never be able to cut it as a straight man/woman to a comic after doing a sketch with Lynn Clancy. I was supposed to keep a straight face while I was asking him questions, but I couldn’t hold it together. I also learned that it is almost impossible to deliver lines when you are choking with laughter.
I especially liked Mr. Lade’s classes, since he gave me some of the best advice a science teacher would ever need. He told us not to waste our time memorizing science facts because they are constantly changing. He said that the most important skill we could develop is to learn where to find information when we needed it. He encouraged lifelong learning with that simple piece of advice.
For me, at least, my years at Valley City provided me with the experiences I missed during high school. I attended formal dances, and enjoyed them. I had time to sit around with girlfriends and be silly. My activities with my Delphi sisters are treasured memories. I became acquainted with countless terrific classmates and teachers who positively affected my experience at Valley City. All of that prepared me to teach, to advocate, and agitate throughout my career in education. I really don’t think that a large university could have done a better job.
Leila at right on trampoline in Girls Gymnasium.

Leila at right on trampoline in Girls Gymnasium.