#809 – Dick Bernard: The 1940 Census. An Advent Opportunity for Dialogue About Government and People Like Us and Relationships, generally.

UPDATE NOV. 3. NOTE COMMENT FOLLOWING THE POST
Today is Advent for many Christian churches of the western tradition. Some would call it the beginning of the Christmas season culminating with Christmas Day, recalling the birth of Jesus.
At Midnight Mass, December 25, Luke 1:14 will be the Gospel reading. Here is the first part of the text, from my Uncle’s 1941 Bible:
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St. Luke, beginning of Chapter 2, from "The New Testament" St. Anthony Guild Press, 1941

St. Luke, beginning of Chapter 2, from “The New Testament” St. Anthony Guild Press, 1941


This is one of the very few times that a “census” is mentioned in the Bible, accompanying the final days of Mary’s pregnancy and the birth of her son, Jesus.
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A Thanksgiving note from someone I know very well caused me to look back at the 1940 census of a tiny North Dakota town in which we lived for nine years in the 1940s and 1950s. I had printed out the census some months ago just to see who lived there, then.
This time, a sentence in the note caused me to look at this census in more detail. “It’s great to have been raised in the rural upper midwest in a nuclear family of modest means but rich in an extended family, deep faith and devoted to getting up in the morning and going to work during a time when if you didn’t work you didn’t eat.”
This is an example of the “good old days” narrative I often see in those “forwards” of one kind or another: life was so good, then. There is room for a great deal of dialogue within that single sentence.
Reality was much more complicated.
1940 in the United States came at the end of the Great Depression, and before Pearl Harbor forced our entrance into World War II a year later. It was a time between, which people born from about 1930 forward experienced in full, from the disastrous Depression to victory in War (with over 1,000,000 American casualties, over 400,000 of these deaths; 50,000,000 World casualties overall).
Before the Depression came the disastrous World War I, and the following false prosperity of the Roaring 20s; after WWII came the Baby Boom beginning 1946. The first “Baby Boomer” turned 65 in 2011.
In 1940, Social Security was a baby. The Act passed in 1935; the first Social Security check was issued to an American in 1940.
I was born a month after the census taker knocked on my parents door in April 1940, so I personally experienced the time and the values through the experiences of my family and extended family. But I didn’t take time, until now, to get a little better view of who we were, back then.
I think the little North Dakota town I spotlight in 1940 was really a pretty typical slice of the U.S. population, then. Here it is:
272 was the population of the town
There were:
78 households
39 residents had the occupation “housewife”, a very hard job.
113 were employed in “industries” including:
23 in assorted kinds of government sponsored and paid relief as:
14 in WPA*, and 4 more in WPA related NYA*
4 employed in CCC*
1 employed in AAA*
3 were U.S. postal workers (federal government).
9 were employed by the local public school
6 were listed in the separate and distinct enclave of the Catholic Priest and Nuns and Housekeeper. For some reason, the census taker felt a need to separate this group from the remainder of the town population! It was as if these six were part of a separate town within the town.
100 of the people of the town – more than a third – had not been born in the state of North Dakota. Of the population, 26 had been born in 11 different foreign countries; 74 had been born in 16 different states.
And, not to forget, most of the population were children unable to fend for themselves.
If you’re counting, about a third of the working age population was in government employment in 1940.
One of five were on some kind of Federal Relief work projects. Much evidence of these projects still survives everywhere in our country.
The federal involvement in the towns welfare (in a real sense) was essential to the towns survival and the countries recovery from Depression. Of course, even then, some, including relatives of mine, disliked these programs as make-work for “loafers” (as one relative described them); and some detested FDR – it was as it was, then.
And now.
The debate rages similarly today, I suppose.
Looking back, I would say that the biggest difference between then and now was that in 1940 in small towns and neighborhoods everywhere, people were forced to have a greater sense of community. There was not much choice about being isolated. You lived with who was there, unlike todays increasingly fragmented world where we think we can live in our little pods and avoid responsibility for others, or escape some how or other bad times.
So be it.
It is something to consider, and talk about, this Advent season.
Remants of a 1934 CCC tree planting project in rural North Dakota, photo Sep 2013

Remants of a 1934 CCC tree planting project in rural North Dakota, photo Sep 2013


*
There are numerous links to talk more about any of these projects.
WPA – Works Progress (later Projects) Administration, established 1935
NYA – National Youth Administration, established 1935, within WPA
CCC – Civilian Conservation Corps, established 1933
AAA – Agricultural Adjustment Administration, established 1933, helped farmers survive the Depression
COMMENT from Rick B, Dec 2: Interesting Read….But, I think one of the key components that Dick misses is he only focuses on the “town” residents relative to the region “residents”. Small towns were the hub for all the rural local farmers which numbers where significant relative to the “town” residents. It certainly was the case during the 1960’s and sure it was the case in the 1940’s.
In the small town school I attended, farm kids outnumbered town kids 2/1.
Our town was around 300 population.
Hence, if you break down the demography of a small rural town community, it should be the entire community. Government and social worker percentage was not what Dick portrays.
RESPONSE from Dick Dec 3: Of course, ’tis true what you say. I could have printed out the census for the surrounding rural townships, but enough was enough for this post!
I was small town North Dakotan for my first 21 years, then came back and taught one year in small town ND, and I’m often back and forth…including a not so simple day of driving yesterday from LaMoure to suburban St. Paul. In fact, in this little town (and all the others we lived in) my Dad was Superintendent of Schools, and often my mother taught elementary as well.
I try to keep my posts within somewhat manageable length, and shorthand always leaves something to be desired.
I got close to expanding on the single Agricultural Adjustment Act person who, of course, impacted on probably all of the local farmers in a positive way. And I thought about bringing in the County Seat of the town which was also an important part of the network bringing the feds to the locals. As was the state, assorted agencies, etc.
My most important point, personally, was to remind readers of the “good old days” school of thought that back-in-the-day lots and lots of common folk depended on programs such as I described during the Depression and War years . The tragic and difficult times seem ‘edited’ out in “good old days” narratives.
In addition, this little town had (in relative terms) a large Catholic school which, as noted in the blog, seemed to puzzle the census taker, and was set apart as something of a town unto its own self. I went to that particular Catholic school for my first five years. (One other year, in another town, I also went to Catholic School, and five of the other years had either my Mom or Dad as one of the public school teachers. So, I sometimes note, I’m a product of Home and Parochial schools.)
Relationships in little towns could be very complicated, indeed, but in the end, usually, if someone experienced a crisis, most would chip in to help.
It was an interesting exercise to look through those eight pages of census data for Sykeston!
POSTNOTE:
After writing the above, I happened across a fascinating television program about those olden days. It’s Jerry Apps Farm Story, and you can watch it on-line here. In my case, I saw it as part of a fundraiser for Minnesota Public Television. It was very interesting.
As I watched the storyteller remember his life on the farm, in context with my own life, and what I had just written, I came to think that these times, particularly the days of horse farming and World War II, were immensely difficult. Some would say they built “character”, but I doubt that even those hardy folks, the now elderly survivors, would recommend them to any one today, nor would many today accept those conditions for themselves. It is todays “illegals” and foreign sweat shop workers who bear the brunt of the backbreaking work and the risk so common in the “good old days”.
There is a pretty profound disconnect, I’d contend, in those who argue the “good old days”, but wouldn’t want to live in those same good old days again….
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Then, a little later the same evening came a marvelous video about “Worn Wear”, well worth the 28 minutes watching time. The friend who sent it on, Shirley from Chicago area, included this note:
“Dear Friends and kindred spirits alike….
I can’t recommend this video enough! It is impressive on so many levels. Please take the time to watch it.
I hope you are able to find a few moments to watch this profound mission statement from a most reliable enterprise, Patagonia.
For all of us who try to reduce, re-purpose, patch and move towards leaving LESS of a footprint on the planet, I am asking you to pause and reflect. How many of us actually look at a used article of clothing and think about the stories behind the stuff we wear?
To quote just one gentleman in this video: Well worn clothing is like a journal.
Let us take the time to think about creating a simpler life as we embark upon the season of consumption and gift giving.
Watch WORN WEAR. As soon as you can.”
(I wrote Shirley back: my favorite winter coat is now over 30 years old. People who know me will attest…!)

#808 – Dick Bernard: Some thoughts on "Black Friday"

Yesterday, Thanksgiving, was an especially good day. It included “An Interfaith Celebration of Thanksgiving” at Basilica of St. Mary co-officiated by Ministers of Westminster Presbyterian Church, Hennepin Avenue United Methodist Church, Plymouth Congregational Church, the First Unitarian Society of Minneapolis, the Imam of Masjid Al-Imam, the Rabbi of Temple Israel and, of course, Pastor of Basilica of St. Mary.
It was an inspirational hour. One of the officiating clergy read, early on, a brief but highly inspirational poem, Otherwise, by Jane Kenyon.
“Otherwise” is a very powerful reminder not to take what we have for granted…and not to expect it to be permanent. In particular, note the final sentence of the poem.
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Pastors at the Interfaith Celebration of Thanksgiving at Basiiica of St. Mary Nov. 28 2013

Pastors at the Interfaith Celebration of Thanksgiving at Basiiica of St. Mary Nov. 28 2013


At the Interfaith celebration.  500 programs were printed, and they ran out long before the service began.

At the Interfaith celebration. 500 programs were printed, and they ran out long before the service began.


Of course, shortly before this years American Thanksgiving, there were two other happenings of great significance:
1) a breakthrough in the years-long stalemate between the U.S. and Iran signals a chance for progress. Of course, those whose power depends on enemies and potential war are not pleased, but I think the beginnings of an agreement is very good news indeed.
2) and Pope Francis I issued his highly publicized teaching, putting ‘meat on the bones’ of changing the tone of power in the Catholic Church. I haven’t read the entire document as yet; a friend who has, recommends it highly. You can access it here.
Then there’s “Black Friday” that uniquely American Exhortation to Shop to Achieve Business Success (“Profit”) during the “Christmas Season”.
Many have answered the call….
In my corner of the universe, the business Christmas Season began at my local coffee shop about November 1, when Holiday napkins first appeared, and the background muzak began to include a sprinkling of Christmas songs.
Today begins all-Christmas all-the-time, I suppose.
We’ll put up the tree next weekend, Cathy tells me, and it will be, as usual, nice, though it forces me to relocate my favorite chair. Oh well.
But for me the best “Christmas presents” of all have already been received, as noted above.

#807 – Dick Bernard: A Happy Thanksgiving

Those who will take a moment to read this have a range of knowledge about who I am and what I’ve recently been about: from no knowledge at all onwards….
Two pieces of film sum up 2013 Thanksgiving for me.
Last year, about this time, a friend sent me a 10 minute clip of film entitled Gratitude, by the noted filmmaker Louie Schwartzberg. You can watch it here, wherever your life is, today.
Yesterday, another friend sent another clip of film, from CNN, about Pope Francis and the Disfigured Man. You can watch this clip as well, here, wherever your life is, today.
For me, this day, I recognize Uncle Vince whose life, is in transition, and his sister, Aunt Edith, who began the transition a year ago. All of us who know them can be thankful that we know them; as others can be thankful that they know each of us.
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April 10, 2013, at Rosewood

April 10, 2013, at Rosewood


Near sunrise outside the farmhouse, 8:30 a.m. Nov. 24, 2013

Near sunrise outside the farmhouse, 8:30 a.m. Nov. 24, 2013


Have a great day.
POSTNOTE:
Five of us worked together to clean Uncle Vince’s apartment a few days ago. He finally had to move down the hall to the nursing home in their North Dakota town, to the same wing as his sister, our Aunt Edith.
Before I left town, I made one last inspection to see if we’d missed anything, and indeed we had: a dreamcatcher and a stained glass cross that had hung for several years in the same place on their living room window. You can see them in the above photo.
I took them down. Here they are, to symbolize for you whatever you wish them to symbolize….
Nov. 24, 2013

Nov. 24, 2013

#801 – Dick Bernard: Obamascares. The Insanity of it all.

Last night, while watching the Daily Blathers (some call it “evening news”; a good friend, yesterday, referred to it more precisely and accurately: “CBSNBCABCFOXCNN”), I set to the task of sorting through the paper flotsam and jetsam from my Uncle’s apartment in rural ND.
Like tens of thousands of others, yesterday, and over time, I was trying to sift and sort through mail, receipts, records, etc., that some friend or relative was no longer able to deal with, due to death, disability, or otherwise.
As I sorted, the blather on the evening news programs was about President Obama’s contrition about the (insert your own words) continuing rollout computer problems of (insert your own descriptor), otherwise officially known as the Affordable Care Act.
Just three days earlier my Uncle had made an undesired but necessary move from assisted living, his home in town for the last six years, to the nursing home down the hall. His stuff stayed behind for someone else to deal with: an oft-repeated story everywhere in this country, every day.
In one box was the specific reminder of why he and his sister moved to town in the first place:
Heart Surgery001
It was a folder given to him after successful open heart surgery in April, 2006. The surgery was the only reason he’s still alive, but (in his opinion) that surgery is held as the reason he never fully recovered and could not return to his lifelong occupation of farming. Whether this is so or not can be argued forever. Nonetheless, he held off the grim reaper for what is now an additional seven years. While he couldn’t farm, his general quality of life was pretty good. And at near-89, why should he still want to farm?
Of course, the surgery, and virtually all of the other medical costs for other dilemmas since then, have come under the protective umbrella of Medicare and supplemental benefits of North Dakota Blue Cross/Blue Shield.
What gave him the wherewithal to financially survive, indeed thrive, as an independent farmer was the Medicare program signed into law in the summer of 1965 by President Lyndon Johnson. That earlier version of “Obamacare” was scorned then, too, as socialized medicine, and it was spared withering coverage by the “blathers” of the time by, likely, two main factors: 1) fewer and less technologically advanced news media outlets; and 2) media reporters who were more conscious of reporting news, as opposed to dispensing propaganda.
Now we are engaged in the great unCivil War of simply trying to implement a new imperfect insurance program (and even more imperfect computer program) that will cover more people more efficiently and effectively than the hodgepodge of legitimate and scam “insurance” that now faces America, and excludes from coverage tens millions of Americans, but not my only surviving Uncle and Aunt, who benefit from an assortment of programs which thankfully exist in their time of need.
We’ll get through this hysteria, I hope. For me, a survival strategy will be to quit watching the endless analysis, the faux news, about ACA, at least as portrayed on CBSNBCABCFOXCNN. It is all a bunch of dangerous nonsense.
POSTNOTE:
In the same ‘sifting and sorting’ session last night, we watched an excellent special of CNN on the approaching 50th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Familiar faces appeared there: Walter Cronkite, Lyndon Johnson, on and on…. Just a short while ago CBS celebrated the 50th anniversary of the 30 minute evening news program inaugurated on CBS by Walter Cronkite in the year 1963. Oh, how things have changed.
COMMENTS: one in the comment box below, and the following as well
from Corky: Just finished my 5 year repeat “internal flushing” of the colon yesterday and apparently good news. Now as to the news pundits who state that all these citizens really like their insurance . Or like the movie , the way we were or something like it.Is America brain dead? When you look at medicare billing and the significant reduced cost by medicare administration and the really miniscule and late payments by the insurance carriers . A $200 Dr. office billing and medicare reduces to $70 and medicare supplement F pays less than $20 (3 months after office visit), shows me the system is very busted and hooray for any proposed changes to health care. Michael Steele GOP guru even said this morning that constructive changes need to be proposed by GOP legislators! Did I hear that comment correctly or am I hearing impaired?
from Tref D: Just a lot of hot air on all sides. Eventually I hope it will work out for many folks.

#800 – Dick Bernard: Visiting home.

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

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

November 12, 2013


November 12, 2013

November 12, 2013


Nov. 11, 2013

Nov. 11, 2013


November 11, 2013, at the Nursing Home.

November 11, 2013, at the Nursing Home.

#793 – Dick Bernard: Revisiting VCSTC (Valley City (ND) State Teachers College, aka Valley City State University)

About a year ago I decided to translate my college years (1958-61) to a blogpost for posterity. The results can be seen here. Initially, my intent was to send my musings around to a few people I remembered from those long ago days, and certainly there was no intent for the post to be as long as it has become. A newly received college alumni Directory yielded over 300 e-mail addresses for persons who attended the college in my general time frame, and I decided to add them to the list as well. Most of them I didn’t know.
To anyone who has an interest, there is now a great plenty of information about those “olden days” of ca 1956-66 at “STC” within the boundaries of that single post for January 2, 2013.
Last Thursday, October 24, I happened to be in Valley City, and took some early morning photographs around campus. Most of these are in a Facebook album here. College was in session, but Thursday was a
lab day, and labs didn’t begin till 9 a.m., and by 9:30 I had left. So, while I didn’t avoid students, I didn’t see many either.
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“STC”, as we knew it, was still basically a “Normal School”, (“teacher’s college”), one of those underrated places of even less status than land grant “cow colleges”. I’ve always had pride in our small college, and the quality of people who went, and who taught, there, and I’m always looking for examples of success.
For instance, in the excellent history of the air war in Europe in WWII, “Fire and Fury” by Randall Hansen, one of the four most prominent American leaders cited was Ira C. Eaker, whose lack of pedigree was very clearly stated: “Eakers only education was at the undistinguished Southeastern Normal School in Durham, North Carolina” (p. 36)
Famed artist Georgia O’Keefe, began her rise to prominence as an art teacher in a west Texas Normal School in the 1920s. She was a farm girl from Sun Prairie WI. Recently, a guide at Frank Lloyd Wrights Taliesin, said that O’Keefe and Wright were friends, and he was the one who advised her to paint the red barns of Wisconsin, which she did, famously.
Her experience there is recounted in a fascinating book of letters about her relationship with photographer Alfred Stieglitz, “My Faraway One”.
In various ways, there are many people from STC who were (and will be) similar to Eaker and O’Keefe….
Even in a brief visit, such as mine was last Thursday morning, there are vignettes:
The lady in the coffee shop of the Student Center said she’d been there 26 years, and the place had been remodeled three times in her career. It was somewhat sobering to realize that when I left Valley City 52 years ago, that Student Center was still just an artist rendering, about to become reality. Time flies.
Where students used to gather in the previous “student center”, in the basement of old main, one now finds the technology offices for the college. VCSU has completely embraced technology.
Allen Library, which I remember for large study desks at which you looked at real books, is now mostly a lounge-looking kind of place, fully wired for the new generation of communications. The stacks are still there, but books, as books, for the time being at least, are almost novel.
The newest structure, just completed and occupied, is the very impressive L.D. Rhoades Science Building, very 21st century. Walking its halls, I came across a centerpiece display of Prof. Soren Kolstoe’s collection of bird eggs (see photos, caption and link below). Earlier this year one of Dr. Kolstoe’s kids wondered what had happened to his Dad’s egg collection. The answer was in front of me (see below).
There were few people around when I was on campus, but those I met were all welcoming. Yes, there was that student who met me, oblivious to my presence, with ear plugs and eyes focused on his smart phone…will this be a passing fad? One can hope, but not likely.
I was glad I stopped in.
Here are a few photographs from the most recent trip. There are a number more in the Facebook album for those who can access them.

Vangstad Auditorium Oct 24, 2013.  The stained glass windows are blocked by sound panels used at a choir concert.  The dome is shown in the following photo.

Vangstad Auditorium Oct 24, 2013. The stained glass windows are blocked by sound panels used at a choir concert. The dome is shown in the following photo.


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Vangstad Auditorium, known to many generations of students as a place for convocations, programs, etc, is being closed for major renovation in January 2013. The historic integrity of the facility will be retained.
The L.D. (Dusty) Rhoades Science Center

The L.D. (Dusty) Rhoades Science Center


A sneak peak at a Lab Session in progress.

A sneak peak at a Lab Session in progress.


"Dusty" Rhoades, for whom the Science Building is named.

“Dusty” Rhoades, for whom the Science Building is named.


The old Science Building, sans the second floor entrance bridge removed many years ago.

The old Science Building, sans the second floor entrance bridge removed many years ago.


Dusty Rhoades was a legendary science teacher at ‘STC, holding forth in the old Science Building. He would likely have a hard time imagining that a major and very well equipped Science Building would be constructed at his old school in 2013. He’d probably be surprised that an actual building was named for him.
A portion of Psychology Professor Soren O. Kolstoe's legendary bird egg collections has a prominent place in the Science Building

A portion of Psychology Professor Soren O. Kolstoe’s legendary bird egg collections has a prominent place in the Science Building


Some of the many eggs from Dr. Kolstoe's collection.  Most of the collection remains on display at the State Capitol in Bismarck.

Some of the many eggs from Dr. Kolstoe’s collection. Most of the collection remains on display at the State Capitol in Bismarck.


While Dr. Kolstoe was a Psychology professor, he had a great interest in the outdoors, and gained much regional prominence in his work with and for the North Dakota Outdoors. A previous post about Dr. Kolstoe, including his book of nature poetry, is here.
Plaque to Navy V-12 program conducted at VCSTC during WWII, on front lawn at the University.

Plaque to Navy V-12 program conducted at VCSTC during WWII, on front lawn at the University.


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A relatively recent addition to the campus is the above plaque to several hundred students trained in the Navy’s V-12 program during WWII. Following the war, including into the 1960s, many students attended with help from the GI Bill.

#792 – Dick Bernard: The Gospel of the Soprano

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

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

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"

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.
(click to enlarge)
Brunch at Bernie's, with Tom, October 6, 2013.

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

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


Sunrise over Woodbury MN Oct 7, 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

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

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

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.

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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

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

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

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.

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

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.
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How about having your organization become a Peace Site?
A women's drum group brought gentle resonance to the Peace Day celebration Sep 23

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

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


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