BECOMING A CHRISTIAN
Quite "out of the blue" this Sunday afternoon (May 24th, 2009) I felt an urge to go back to tell that part of my life that changed my life so completely, it was as if I had become a new person. (Of course my wife could tell you that I am still far from perfect!)
During my years in high school, and in my first two years of college (I’ll fill in the gaps later) I was like a lot of young people--enthusiastic about the "fun" times in church and young peoples’ groups, but scarcely having a ‘deep’ thought about what it meant to be a Christian. We believed about Jesus and church and so on, but it was not a significant part of our lives. In 1938, unable to find work, I signed up for the Civilian Conservation Corps for about 14 months. Though I treasure my memories of that time spent in Glacier National Park (again, a separate story to come later) I had virtually no contact with anything of a religious nature.
By saving my money carefully, by the summer of 1939 I was ready to leave the CCC's and go back to school. I applied to Willamette University, a Methodist school in Salem, Oregon,, for help, or at least the promise of a job. But they refused to offer any help at all. I had about given up hope of getting back to school that year when out of the clear blue sky I received a letter from Linfield College, in McMinnville, Oregon, offering me a full scholarship and a job! That was due to the work of my friend from Havre, Al Mundhenk! He had gone there the year before, so was now a year ahead of me. He had told the school about me (and my grades at Havre had been right up at the top) and urged them to help me come there to school. I had never even heard of the school until that letter came, but it surely didn't take me long to accept their offer!
So I was back in contact with good Christian people again! We had mandatory chapel services in the morning two or three times a week, and I loved it. I went a few times to the Baptist Church in McMinnville, where Al went, but somehow decided not to attend there. I drifted back to the Methodist Church, began going with a girl who lived in the pastor's home, and again became active there, singing in the choir, and often eating Sunday dinner with the pastor's family and my new girl friend. On Wednesday evenings, my friend, Al, and a young woman from Billings, Mary Louise Tannehill, and I planned and conducted special chapel services, in the college auditorium. These were very sparsely attended, but I thought I was doing something great, I guess. I thought I was a Christian, but I wasn't!
Well, that school year went by all too quickly, and I was dead broke again--too broke to even get back to Montana and home. I found a job in an insurance office in Portland, and lived for a time in a boarding house. There were several young fellows boarding and living in the basement, and with one of them, Bob Brower, I began going to different churches around town. We visited many, but didn't settle on any. Bob, though he never talked to me much about his faith, I believe was a Christian. We visited his church one Sunday, a United Brethren church, and I sort of laughed to myself at all the women wearing those little white lace skull caps. I never went back there with him. Later he and I rented an apartment together, to get out of the boarding house where we had been living, and from there we sometimes visited downtown churches not too far from our apartment.
Then the war came! The day after Pearl Harbor I went down to enlist in the Air Force (I had been trying for over a year to get into the cadet flying program, but couldn't pass the physical), and went into the service in early January, 1942. During basic training I couldn't go to church anywhere, but when assigned to the Air Force clerical school at Fort Logan, Colorado, I used to go in to Denver to church with a young fellow from Tennessee-- Bill Adkisson. We had a great time, attending a small Methodist Church in Denver for several weeks. In those days men in uniform were very popular, and we seldom failed to have an invitation to dinner after the service. But no one talked to us about the Lord, and maybe it wouldn't have done any good if they had. I thought then that I knew just about everything! I've often wondered what happened to Bill, as we didn't keep in touch after we left the training school at Fort Logan. He had a beautiful voice, and probably the thickest southern accent I have ever heard. When we would be riding down to Denver on the street car, and talking back and forth, people would gather around and ask him to say something, anything, so they could hear his accent. He was a great pal.
After finishing clerical school, I was sent to Mobile, Alabama, ready to go overseas. While there in the early summer of 1942, I went down town in Mobile a few times to a big Baptist church with a fellow soldier. We weren't much interested, and were there only a short time. After that, I was sent to Officer Candidate School in Miami Beach, Florida, and believe me there was no time for church in that school! We were on the dead run nearly all the time, and could think of little else than survival!
So the years went by. Assigned in Wichita, Kansas, throughout most of the war, I went for a year or two to a small Presbyterian Church which met in a school. I became involved in their scouting program, and was assistant Scout master for a year or so. Also, I sang in the choir there. In June of 1945 Jane and I were married by a Methodist minister she knew (she went to the Methodist church quite faithfully), in a Presbyterian church chapel! Soon after we married I was sent to Dayton, Ohio, for a month or so, and then to Chicago. There we visited churches, a big Methodist Church in a tall building right in the heart of the Loop in downtown Chicago, and even went once to Moody Church. There surely we must have heard the Gospel preached, but didn't recognize it.
While we lived in Glasgow and Fort Peck in the early months of 1946, after I was released from the Air Force, we went some to the Methodist Church in Glasgow, where my parents attended. We had our son, David, baptized there, because it was the thing to do. Later that year I went back to school, at the University of Montana in Missoula, and while there I had nothing to do with any church. Jane went part of the time to the Methodist Church, but I didn't go.
At the end of 1948, after working for a time with the Bureau of Reclamation in Billings, Montana, I was tranferred (and promoted) to a job with the Bureau in western Nebraska, at a little town called Indianola. There we became very much interested in church again, helping at the Methodist Church. I directed the choir, taught the adult Sunday School class (not Bible teaching, just stuff from Methodist headquarters), and we both helped with others to completely clean up and redecorate the church, etc. I remember a guest speaker there one Sunday saying that what he liked about the Methodist Church was that one could believe anything he liked, and be a good Methodist! Something about that didn't sound right to me, but I didn't really question it.
Now I didn't know it, but God was using all this experience to bring me around to really knowing Him! In the spring of 1951 we moved back to Billings, again with a nice promotion, still with the Bureau of Reclamation. This time we started attending the big Methodist Church right away, and again I became involved, singing in the choir, and teaching a large adult Sunday School class, even teaching some from the Bible! I didn't know how blind I was!
About that time, my older sister, Jean, began writing long, long letters to us, telling us of the wonder of really trusting in Jesus, and that just going to church wasn't what we needed, and so on. She leaned so heavily on us in her letters I got to the point where I would ask Jane to read the letters, and only tell me the news of Jean's family; I didn't want to wade through all that stuff about Jesus. I was terribly arrogant at this point; I thought I knew the scientific answers to the Bible's miracles, and all that.
That was in 1951. At Christmas we went up to visit Jean and her husband, Wayne. While there, I came down really sick with stomach flu! While I was lying in bed, feeling miserable, Jean and Wayne sat on either side of the bed one afternoon and really got after me about knowing Jesus. I didn't really listen, I know, but I did respect their earnestness. Maybe I was beginning to be a little more open to the Gospel.
Back in Billings, soon after that one of my high school classmates, Marjorie Vogel Peterson, and her husband, Dave, came to Billings and joined the Methodist Church. At first I completely detested Dave Peterson--he was an insurance agent, and really acted the part (as I thought of insurance agents!), glad-handing everyone, bragging about breaking the fishing laws, and so on. Not long after that, Dave and Marge began attending a weekly home Bible study, in the spring of 1952, and began inviting us to go, too. I absolutely refused, and used as my excuse the idea that I would stay home and take care of the children; Jane could go, if she wished. And she did! The study was in the home of one Harold Tannehill--an older brother of the girl I had known at Linfield College years before! Jane evidently liked it--she often didn't get home until midnight or later. I couldn't imagine what would make Bible study so interesting!
Then she began working on me (she had become a real Christian sometime that summer of 1952) to go with her. The Bible study was held every Friday night. Finally--it was Labor Day week of 1952--I agreed early in the week that I would go just once. What I didn't know was that Jane right away called her friends from the Bible study, they called others, and all that week people all over town were praying for me, that I would come to know Jesus Christ! Friday came, we took the kids with us, and I went to the meeting.
And it was fun! We sang some old songs that I had known from my boyhood--those songs Mom taught us! We read something from the Bible that I remembered, too. Then they all got down on their knees to pray, and I did, too, though I don't think I had ever done that before in my whole life.
I listened to those prayers--everyone around the circle was praying--and I wanted to pray, but didn't know what to say. Then Harold Tannehill prayed something like this: "Lord, if there is anyone here tonight who has never really asked you to come into his life (he meant me, of course) let him pray and ask you in right now." I heard that, and thought I had never asked Jesus to do that. So I prayed silently and asked Jesus to come into my life; I knew I needed Him, or something.
When I stood up at the close of the prayer time, I was literally a new person! The next day the sky was bluer--it was as if everything was new! I can never thank the Lord enough for Harold, and for Jane and Marge and Dave, and all those who were so concerned for me. Now all those foundational teachings fell into place, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle! Mom's careful training had finally paid off! I thank God for her, too, and for all those faithful people in that little Sunday School, for the American Sunday School Union missionaries, the vacation Bible school teachers--all of them who had a part in helping me come to know Jesus as my Lord and Savior. I know that's a long story, but I wanted to tell it, and hope that you will read it with understanding. If you are a follower of Jesus, I am sure you will understand. If you are not--why don't you stop right here and simply ask Jesus to come into your life? If you will ask, he will come in! And if you do this, and thus discover what it means to be born again, please let me know. OK?
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
My First Job Away from Home
What happened after my operation and seeing President Roosevelt made the rest of the summer memorable for me. I was hired on my first job away from home! The wheat allotment program was started in that summer of 1934. Because of the poor prices of wheat, the government was paying farmers money to let part of their wheat land lie idle, thus reducing production, and driving up the price of wheat. Under the program, each farmer contracted with the government to grow only so many acres of wheat, that acreage being significantly less than that of the previous years. Not trusting the farmers, the government determined that the land each farmer had planted to wheat must be measured, to make certain there was no cheating, no planting of extra acres of wheat.
A man from Hinsdale, a stranger to us, came to our place one day in early July, when we were haying. He came down to the hayfield where we were working, and asked for me! His name was George Nelson. He explained that he had been awarded the contracts to measure the wheat lands in a large part of Valley County, and needed someone to help him with the work. He had inquired at the high school, and was told that I was good in mathematics, and would be good help. He offered me great wages, for a kid who had never had a job away from home before: 50 cents for each farm that we measured, plus board and room! I would stay with him and his wife and little boy, and we would be working for a month or more. It sounded good to me, and with my Dad's permission, I agreed to work for him. Right on the spot he gave me money for train fare to go to Glasgow. He would meet me there in two days, and we would get started!
Wow! I was excited! I had never gone on a train trip alone (I had never been on a train since I was an infant), and had never before worked or lived away from home. I carefully chose what clothing I would need, and caught the little local passenger-mail-freight train in Hinsdale on the appointed day. I was thrilled to be riding on the train, and looked out of the window at our place as we went by. It was great fun. When I arrived at Glasgow (only a 30-mile ride), sure enough, there was Mr. Nelson waiting for me.
We drove out to his place in his Model A Ford sedan, in which I was to ride many miles in the next few weeks. He was renting a farm house just five miles out of Glasgow at that time. He told me we would be moving back to his farm northeast of Hinsdale after the first couple of weeks of work. First we had to go to a training class the next day, to learn how to do the measuring, and keep the required records.
I surely remember that evening, as I was already homesick. After all, I was only fifteen years old! Mrs. Nelson served us a good supper (she was a very good cook!). Then I walked alone down to the river bank, and threw rocks for a while, then just sat and watched as it got dark. Nothing bad had happened, but I surely wished that I were back at home!
The training class was fun. I was the only youngster there--all the others were grown men. We were issued our equipment--a wheelbarrow contraption, with a big front wheel that gave a loud click each time the wheel made a complete revolution. That was George's tool; he had to count the revolutions of the wheel. Knowing the circumferance of the wheel, we could then calculate the length of each side of the fields we were to measure.
George would carry a bundle of stakes on the wheelbarrow, to mark the corners of the fields. He would go ahead around each field, writing down the length of each side of the field. He set a stake at each corner. My job was a bit more technical, and this was where my knowledge of geometry fitted in. My "instrument" was a crude transit, made without any lenses. It consisted of a sharply pointed piece of steel three-quarter inch pipe, with a flat little table set on top, at right angles to the pole. On the table was a metal device that could be rotated in a full circle. On the top of the table was a graduated circle, showing the degrees from 0 to 360.
In use, I would set the pole in the ground, as nearly vertical as I could judge simply by looking at it, and close to the stake George had left. Then I would sight through a narrow slot in the metal device back to the last stake we had left, sometimes as much as a mile away. Next I would set the compass to zero, then swing the metal device around and sight it on the stake at the next corner, which George would have left. Then I read and recorded the angle of the corner where I stood. It required good eyesight, which happily I had in those days. Though simple, it was really an accurate device.
When we had been completely around a field, I would draw a diagram of the field, showing the distances on each side, and the angles of the corners. Here was where my geometry helped a lot. Lots of fields were anything but square--some had five or six sides. Fortunately, none were round! With what I knew of geometry, I could make a quick check to see if our measurements and angles were within the degree of accuracy required for the work. This data, for each field we measured on each farm (often several fields), was sent in to the County Agent's office for checking of the actual acreage against that farmer's contract. If our data was not accurate, we would be required to go back and remeasure that particular field. I'm glad to say that of our contracts that summer, we had to go back and remeasure only two fields--and on one of those fields our previous measurements were proved to be correct!
George really appreciated my knowledge of math, for he was totally unable to handle the calculations. He used to brag about me to the other allotment people; I was pretty proud. George believed in putting in good long days. We would leave his place early in the morning, with a plan for the day, going from one farm to another with the least amount of wasted time and mileage. We would check in with the farmer, or, if no one was at home, leave a note and go to work. George was a wheat farmer himself, and we had few troubles.
Although we always carried sack lunches with us, George would try to work things out so that we could either arrive or just be finishing at a farm about noon. Often we were invited to eat with the farm family, and enjoyed some mighty nice meals! I can recall a few of those special days. One day we were at the farm of our old neighbor on the homestead, John Goodmanson. He was a bachelor, so no meal was expected there. To top it off, John wasn't at home! We were desperate for something cool and liquid, so we simply went into his house, found a can of tomatoes in his cupboard, and consumed that. George left a note and some small change to pay for the food. In those days almost no one had a lock on their house door, and, if they had, wouldn't leave the house locked. We trusted each other completely.
On another day, we arrived at the farm house at just the right time. The farmer was away, but his wife invited us to take "pot luck" with her and the family, a swarm of little kids. Neither George nor I had previously met this lady. We sat down to a simple meal of meat stew and bread and butter. It was without question one of the best stews I had ever eaten! We both had two or three helpings.
Then, when we were satisfied, and George and this lady were enjoying a cup of coffee (I was too young for coffee!), she mentioned casually: "We sure hated to lose that colt; it got tangled up in some barb wire, and my husband had to shoot it. No use wasting good meat, though!" We didn't miss the point: we had been enjoying horse stew! So far as I know, that was the first time I had ever eaten horse meat, or even heard of people eating it. It was good, and the fact that it was horse didn't bother me at all.
With good luck we could measure the fields on three, or sometimes four farms each day. Because we knew exactly how far it was around each field, we calculated that we were walking twenty-five to thirty miles most days! It was really interesting work, and I enjoyed it. For me, the earning of $1.00 or maybe $2.00 in a day was like being in clover!
There were some disadvantages of the whole set-up, though. After we moved back to George's farm, about six miles east and a bit north of Hinsdale, I found I had nothing to do evenings. There were lots of gophers around, but I didn't have my .22 there, so couldn't shoot them, as I would have liked. I hadn't brought any books with me, and thus had nothing to read except some old pulp magazines the Nelsons had in their attic, mostly Wild West and detective stories. I didn't much like such reading materal at first, but became interested after a short time. Before my working time was over, I became enthusiastic about westerns, and read stacks of them.
George and his wife liked to get away from home evenings, and pretty often I found myself riding herd on their little boy, Billy. He wasn't a bad youngster, but he required much attention. I would walk around the farm with him, then read to him until he got sleepy, and then put him to bed. After that I could have some time to read what I wanted to. I was usually too tired to sit up late, though.
One interesting thing about George's house--they had Aladdin lamps. At home we had always had simple old kerosene wick lamps, so I had never had any experience with the much better lighting that the Aladdin lamps produced. The lamps made a soft hissing sound, as they worked with air pressure, and produced light from a mantle, similar to the mantles of gasoline lanterns.
George believed in a six-day work week, so I didn't get to go home but once or twice during the five or six weeks I worked with him that summer. I felt quite grown up, I guess, and really wasn't very homesick after the first few days. Going from farm to farm I often saw young people with whom I had gone to school, and that helped. Some of them were girls, and George was always teasing me of having very wrong interests in those girls. That embarrassed me no end, because I was too shy to talk to a girl, and certainly didn't have any girl friends.
One thing I enjoyed on some of our work days was shooting sage hens (sage grouse) for the table. George, like most other folks in those days, paid no attention to game laws. He usually had his big old twelve guage shotgun tucked away in the back seat of the car, under our measuring devices and boxes of records. When we would spot a bunch of young sage hens, with their mother hen, George would stop, get the gun out, load it, and carefully use one shot to kill two or three of the young birds. He didn't want to shoot the old birds, which were too old and tough to eat, and he didn't do any fancy wing shooting, either. He shot for meat. He would wait until several young birds would be bunched together, with their necks stretched out, looking at us, and then shoot into the bunch. We would do a quick job of field dressing the birds, and take them home to eat. Mrs. Nelson was always glad to have them to cook.
Well, the day came when we finished all our contracts, took our equipment back to Glasgow to the County Extension Agent's office, and were done with wheat measurement for that year. George asked me to plan to work with him again the next year, and I said I would. I don't remember just what I did with the money he paid me, but it seemed to me to be a small fortune. I probably bought clothing, and saved the rest. Our parents always encouraged us to save as much as we possibly could. I went back to work with my Dad, doing chores, helping with the tending and irrigating of our large garden, and the late cutting of hay.
A man from Hinsdale, a stranger to us, came to our place one day in early July, when we were haying. He came down to the hayfield where we were working, and asked for me! His name was George Nelson. He explained that he had been awarded the contracts to measure the wheat lands in a large part of Valley County, and needed someone to help him with the work. He had inquired at the high school, and was told that I was good in mathematics, and would be good help. He offered me great wages, for a kid who had never had a job away from home before: 50 cents for each farm that we measured, plus board and room! I would stay with him and his wife and little boy, and we would be working for a month or more. It sounded good to me, and with my Dad's permission, I agreed to work for him. Right on the spot he gave me money for train fare to go to Glasgow. He would meet me there in two days, and we would get started!
Wow! I was excited! I had never gone on a train trip alone (I had never been on a train since I was an infant), and had never before worked or lived away from home. I carefully chose what clothing I would need, and caught the little local passenger-mail-freight train in Hinsdale on the appointed day. I was thrilled to be riding on the train, and looked out of the window at our place as we went by. It was great fun. When I arrived at Glasgow (only a 30-mile ride), sure enough, there was Mr. Nelson waiting for me.
We drove out to his place in his Model A Ford sedan, in which I was to ride many miles in the next few weeks. He was renting a farm house just five miles out of Glasgow at that time. He told me we would be moving back to his farm northeast of Hinsdale after the first couple of weeks of work. First we had to go to a training class the next day, to learn how to do the measuring, and keep the required records.
I surely remember that evening, as I was already homesick. After all, I was only fifteen years old! Mrs. Nelson served us a good supper (she was a very good cook!). Then I walked alone down to the river bank, and threw rocks for a while, then just sat and watched as it got dark. Nothing bad had happened, but I surely wished that I were back at home!
The training class was fun. I was the only youngster there--all the others were grown men. We were issued our equipment--a wheelbarrow contraption, with a big front wheel that gave a loud click each time the wheel made a complete revolution. That was George's tool; he had to count the revolutions of the wheel. Knowing the circumferance of the wheel, we could then calculate the length of each side of the fields we were to measure.
George would carry a bundle of stakes on the wheelbarrow, to mark the corners of the fields. He would go ahead around each field, writing down the length of each side of the field. He set a stake at each corner. My job was a bit more technical, and this was where my knowledge of geometry fitted in. My "instrument" was a crude transit, made without any lenses. It consisted of a sharply pointed piece of steel three-quarter inch pipe, with a flat little table set on top, at right angles to the pole. On the table was a metal device that could be rotated in a full circle. On the top of the table was a graduated circle, showing the degrees from 0 to 360.
In use, I would set the pole in the ground, as nearly vertical as I could judge simply by looking at it, and close to the stake George had left. Then I would sight through a narrow slot in the metal device back to the last stake we had left, sometimes as much as a mile away. Next I would set the compass to zero, then swing the metal device around and sight it on the stake at the next corner, which George would have left. Then I read and recorded the angle of the corner where I stood. It required good eyesight, which happily I had in those days. Though simple, it was really an accurate device.
When we had been completely around a field, I would draw a diagram of the field, showing the distances on each side, and the angles of the corners. Here was where my geometry helped a lot. Lots of fields were anything but square--some had five or six sides. Fortunately, none were round! With what I knew of geometry, I could make a quick check to see if our measurements and angles were within the degree of accuracy required for the work. This data, for each field we measured on each farm (often several fields), was sent in to the County Agent's office for checking of the actual acreage against that farmer's contract. If our data was not accurate, we would be required to go back and remeasure that particular field. I'm glad to say that of our contracts that summer, we had to go back and remeasure only two fields--and on one of those fields our previous measurements were proved to be correct!
George really appreciated my knowledge of math, for he was totally unable to handle the calculations. He used to brag about me to the other allotment people; I was pretty proud. George believed in putting in good long days. We would leave his place early in the morning, with a plan for the day, going from one farm to another with the least amount of wasted time and mileage. We would check in with the farmer, or, if no one was at home, leave a note and go to work. George was a wheat farmer himself, and we had few troubles.
Although we always carried sack lunches with us, George would try to work things out so that we could either arrive or just be finishing at a farm about noon. Often we were invited to eat with the farm family, and enjoyed some mighty nice meals! I can recall a few of those special days. One day we were at the farm of our old neighbor on the homestead, John Goodmanson. He was a bachelor, so no meal was expected there. To top it off, John wasn't at home! We were desperate for something cool and liquid, so we simply went into his house, found a can of tomatoes in his cupboard, and consumed that. George left a note and some small change to pay for the food. In those days almost no one had a lock on their house door, and, if they had, wouldn't leave the house locked. We trusted each other completely.
On another day, we arrived at the farm house at just the right time. The farmer was away, but his wife invited us to take "pot luck" with her and the family, a swarm of little kids. Neither George nor I had previously met this lady. We sat down to a simple meal of meat stew and bread and butter. It was without question one of the best stews I had ever eaten! We both had two or three helpings.
Then, when we were satisfied, and George and this lady were enjoying a cup of coffee (I was too young for coffee!), she mentioned casually: "We sure hated to lose that colt; it got tangled up in some barb wire, and my husband had to shoot it. No use wasting good meat, though!" We didn't miss the point: we had been enjoying horse stew! So far as I know, that was the first time I had ever eaten horse meat, or even heard of people eating it. It was good, and the fact that it was horse didn't bother me at all.
With good luck we could measure the fields on three, or sometimes four farms each day. Because we knew exactly how far it was around each field, we calculated that we were walking twenty-five to thirty miles most days! It was really interesting work, and I enjoyed it. For me, the earning of $1.00 or maybe $2.00 in a day was like being in clover!
There were some disadvantages of the whole set-up, though. After we moved back to George's farm, about six miles east and a bit north of Hinsdale, I found I had nothing to do evenings. There were lots of gophers around, but I didn't have my .22 there, so couldn't shoot them, as I would have liked. I hadn't brought any books with me, and thus had nothing to read except some old pulp magazines the Nelsons had in their attic, mostly Wild West and detective stories. I didn't much like such reading materal at first, but became interested after a short time. Before my working time was over, I became enthusiastic about westerns, and read stacks of them.
George and his wife liked to get away from home evenings, and pretty often I found myself riding herd on their little boy, Billy. He wasn't a bad youngster, but he required much attention. I would walk around the farm with him, then read to him until he got sleepy, and then put him to bed. After that I could have some time to read what I wanted to. I was usually too tired to sit up late, though.
One interesting thing about George's house--they had Aladdin lamps. At home we had always had simple old kerosene wick lamps, so I had never had any experience with the much better lighting that the Aladdin lamps produced. The lamps made a soft hissing sound, as they worked with air pressure, and produced light from a mantle, similar to the mantles of gasoline lanterns.
George believed in a six-day work week, so I didn't get to go home but once or twice during the five or six weeks I worked with him that summer. I felt quite grown up, I guess, and really wasn't very homesick after the first few days. Going from farm to farm I often saw young people with whom I had gone to school, and that helped. Some of them were girls, and George was always teasing me of having very wrong interests in those girls. That embarrassed me no end, because I was too shy to talk to a girl, and certainly didn't have any girl friends.
One thing I enjoyed on some of our work days was shooting sage hens (sage grouse) for the table. George, like most other folks in those days, paid no attention to game laws. He usually had his big old twelve guage shotgun tucked away in the back seat of the car, under our measuring devices and boxes of records. When we would spot a bunch of young sage hens, with their mother hen, George would stop, get the gun out, load it, and carefully use one shot to kill two or three of the young birds. He didn't want to shoot the old birds, which were too old and tough to eat, and he didn't do any fancy wing shooting, either. He shot for meat. He would wait until several young birds would be bunched together, with their necks stretched out, looking at us, and then shoot into the bunch. We would do a quick job of field dressing the birds, and take them home to eat. Mrs. Nelson was always glad to have them to cook.
Well, the day came when we finished all our contracts, took our equipment back to Glasgow to the County Extension Agent's office, and were done with wheat measurement for that year. George asked me to plan to work with him again the next year, and I said I would. I don't remember just what I did with the money he paid me, but it seemed to me to be a small fortune. I probably bought clothing, and saved the rest. Our parents always encouraged us to save as much as we possibly could. I went back to work with my Dad, doing chores, helping with the tending and irrigating of our large garden, and the late cutting of hay.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Tonsils out - new president in
TONSILS OUT AND A NEW PRESIDENT IN
This summer was to bring something new to me--my first job away from home, and also the loss of my tonsils. Let's talk about the bad news first! For years I had been troubled with a sore throat most of the time, or so it seemed to me. After we moved from the homestead down to the Burke place, the same trouble followed me. My throat would get awfully sore, I'd be sick for a few days, and then it would go away. I had been to see Doctor Cockrell a time or two about it, and he had recommended that my tonsils and adenoids be removed. I was what was called a "mouth breather" (I usually had my mouth hanging open!) because the adenoids nearly completely blocked the nasal passages. Dad used to tell me to keep my mouth shut, but I couldn't--I had to breathe through it most of the time.
That summer of 1934 was a tough one for many people. Work was hard to find, wages were low, and expensive operations just couldn't be considered. Then one day in June, 1934, the doctor told my folks that there was public money available to help. He wanted several of the neighborhood children to have our tonsils out, all on one day, at the hospital in Glasgow. While I surely wanted to be rid of my persistent sore throat, you have no idea how I dreaded the thought of an operation!
The day came, and we tonsillectomy victims, a whole carload, went to Glasgow and to the hospital. I had never been in a hospital before, and can still remember that "ether plus lysol" smell in the hallways. We boys (the three Grant boys were also there) were taken to one large ward, and told to get our clothes off, and to get into hospital gowns.
Now you should realize that I had just turned fifteen, in June, and was enjoying those changes that happen to boys at that age. My voice was changing, and hair was growing in new places. I was acutely modest, honestly! When I found out what a hospital gown was, I was ready to jump out of a window. They gave us children's gowns, and the silly one given to me to put on, tied in the back as they still do today, came down exactly to my navel! My whole lower area was exposed to the world! Well, in agony we boys got into those things, and then crawled under the sheets to hide our nakedness. I had never been so embarrassed in my life!
Soon our Doctor Cockrell, who was to do the surgeries, came cheerfully down the hall to our ward, and asked who would like to be first. As you can guess, there was total silence. Then, because I wanted badly to get the whole thing over, I volunteered. I had to walk down a long hall in that miniature gown, right past open doors of rooms occupied by various people. I was sure they all were looking at me, and enjoying my discomfort and embarrassment. I crawled up on the operating table on my own, accepted the ether mask, and was soon counting, as they did in those days, while the ether took effect.
The next thing I knew I was back in the ward, in bed, with the most terrible sore throat I had ever had. Next to me were a couple of other fellows, still under the anesthetic, drooling bloody stuff on their pillows, just as I had been doing. Oh, that was a long, terrible day! We could have CocaCola to drink, and were given a little ice cream to eat, but mostly we were so nauseated from the ether we didn't want anything. We didn't want to swallow, or to do the opposite, which was happening all too frequently. We all survived, of course, and after a restless night were allowed to go home the next day.
That operation took place in the latter part of June, and the weather was hot and dry. Because of my delicate condition, I didn't have to work for a few days, at least, and so had a good chance to recover. But I wasn't quite through with the effects of the operation yet!
Franklin Delano Roosevelt, our new President, was touring the West that summer to show himself to the people. He was scheduled to stop in Glasgow, our county seat, for a ceremony in which he would be made an honorary member of an Indian tribe from the reservation east of Glasgow, at Wolf Point. This was a big event in that part of the country, and almost the whole population of the county gathered in Glasgow for a chance to see the President.
This event took place just three days, I remember, after I had come home from the hospital. The weather was very hot, probably above a hundred degrees in the shade, and there was precious little shade. Nevertheless, we all went, and found fairly good spots to stand along the main street in Glasgow, though we were a rather long distance from the depot where the President's train was to stop. We had brought a chair for Mom to sit on, but the rest of us were standing as we waited.
It was a long wait, and the hot sun was beating down on my bare head. I was very thirsty, and my throat was still very sore, but there was no water available. I'd just have to wait, Dad said. Finally the train pulled in, and from a distance of maybe two hundred yards we saw our President! He was helped down out of the Pullman car, seated in a wheel chair, and wheeled to the platform where he met the Indians. More than that I don't remember! As we were standing there, craning our necks to see all we could, I noticed the man standing just to my right begin to sway back and forth. Then he crumpled down in a heap. I turned to Dad, and asked him,"Did you see that?"
I didn't hear his answer! After a while I came to! I, too, had passed out from standing in that hot sun! I have no idea how long I was unconscious, but I know it was long enough to draw a crowd of people, all standing around looking down at me as I opened my eyes. Someone offered me a glass of water, which I quickly gulped down despite my sore throat. I couldn't imagine what had happened, until I was told that I had fainted or something. Whatever it was (the doctor said later that I had been overcome by the heat), I had a terrible headache, and the whole episode really didn't please me very much! But I had seen the President of the United States!
This summer was to bring something new to me--my first job away from home, and also the loss of my tonsils. Let's talk about the bad news first! For years I had been troubled with a sore throat most of the time, or so it seemed to me. After we moved from the homestead down to the Burke place, the same trouble followed me. My throat would get awfully sore, I'd be sick for a few days, and then it would go away. I had been to see Doctor Cockrell a time or two about it, and he had recommended that my tonsils and adenoids be removed. I was what was called a "mouth breather" (I usually had my mouth hanging open!) because the adenoids nearly completely blocked the nasal passages. Dad used to tell me to keep my mouth shut, but I couldn't--I had to breathe through it most of the time.
That summer of 1934 was a tough one for many people. Work was hard to find, wages were low, and expensive operations just couldn't be considered. Then one day in June, 1934, the doctor told my folks that there was public money available to help. He wanted several of the neighborhood children to have our tonsils out, all on one day, at the hospital in Glasgow. While I surely wanted to be rid of my persistent sore throat, you have no idea how I dreaded the thought of an operation!
The day came, and we tonsillectomy victims, a whole carload, went to Glasgow and to the hospital. I had never been in a hospital before, and can still remember that "ether plus lysol" smell in the hallways. We boys (the three Grant boys were also there) were taken to one large ward, and told to get our clothes off, and to get into hospital gowns.
Now you should realize that I had just turned fifteen, in June, and was enjoying those changes that happen to boys at that age. My voice was changing, and hair was growing in new places. I was acutely modest, honestly! When I found out what a hospital gown was, I was ready to jump out of a window. They gave us children's gowns, and the silly one given to me to put on, tied in the back as they still do today, came down exactly to my navel! My whole lower area was exposed to the world! Well, in agony we boys got into those things, and then crawled under the sheets to hide our nakedness. I had never been so embarrassed in my life!
Soon our Doctor Cockrell, who was to do the surgeries, came cheerfully down the hall to our ward, and asked who would like to be first. As you can guess, there was total silence. Then, because I wanted badly to get the whole thing over, I volunteered. I had to walk down a long hall in that miniature gown, right past open doors of rooms occupied by various people. I was sure they all were looking at me, and enjoying my discomfort and embarrassment. I crawled up on the operating table on my own, accepted the ether mask, and was soon counting, as they did in those days, while the ether took effect.
The next thing I knew I was back in the ward, in bed, with the most terrible sore throat I had ever had. Next to me were a couple of other fellows, still under the anesthetic, drooling bloody stuff on their pillows, just as I had been doing. Oh, that was a long, terrible day! We could have CocaCola to drink, and were given a little ice cream to eat, but mostly we were so nauseated from the ether we didn't want anything. We didn't want to swallow, or to do the opposite, which was happening all too frequently. We all survived, of course, and after a restless night were allowed to go home the next day.
That operation took place in the latter part of June, and the weather was hot and dry. Because of my delicate condition, I didn't have to work for a few days, at least, and so had a good chance to recover. But I wasn't quite through with the effects of the operation yet!
Franklin Delano Roosevelt, our new President, was touring the West that summer to show himself to the people. He was scheduled to stop in Glasgow, our county seat, for a ceremony in which he would be made an honorary member of an Indian tribe from the reservation east of Glasgow, at Wolf Point. This was a big event in that part of the country, and almost the whole population of the county gathered in Glasgow for a chance to see the President.
This event took place just three days, I remember, after I had come home from the hospital. The weather was very hot, probably above a hundred degrees in the shade, and there was precious little shade. Nevertheless, we all went, and found fairly good spots to stand along the main street in Glasgow, though we were a rather long distance from the depot where the President's train was to stop. We had brought a chair for Mom to sit on, but the rest of us were standing as we waited.
It was a long wait, and the hot sun was beating down on my bare head. I was very thirsty, and my throat was still very sore, but there was no water available. I'd just have to wait, Dad said. Finally the train pulled in, and from a distance of maybe two hundred yards we saw our President! He was helped down out of the Pullman car, seated in a wheel chair, and wheeled to the platform where he met the Indians. More than that I don't remember! As we were standing there, craning our necks to see all we could, I noticed the man standing just to my right begin to sway back and forth. Then he crumpled down in a heap. I turned to Dad, and asked him,"Did you see that?"
I didn't hear his answer! After a while I came to! I, too, had passed out from standing in that hot sun! I have no idea how long I was unconscious, but I know it was long enough to draw a crowd of people, all standing around looking down at me as I opened my eyes. Someone offered me a glass of water, which I quickly gulped down despite my sore throat. I couldn't imagine what had happened, until I was told that I had fainted or something. Whatever it was (the doctor said later that I had been overcome by the heat), I had a terrible headache, and the whole episode really didn't please me very much! But I had seen the President of the United States!
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
SECOND YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL
SECOND YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL
What I am about to say may sound crazy to you! The highlight of my second year in high school was geometry! Having always liked arithmetic, and having gotten along well in algebra, I was looking forward to geometry, despite the fact that the fabled Miss Dutch would be my teacher. However, I had gotten along very well with Miss Dutch in algebra. My only concern was that geometry might be too difficult to master.
As so often happens, my fears turned out to be foolish. Geometry was not like other mathematics courses--it was a course in thinking! I was really delighted with it, learning how to prove one theorem, and then use that proven fact to help formulate other theorems and prove them. I literally ate it up! Also I learned a lot about the relationships of angles and tangents, and the sides of various figures--triangles and rectangles, and how to calculate the area of all sorts of circles, rectangles, etc. This was knowledge that would be helpful soon.
I had other new teachers that year, also, and learned something from each of them. We had a new basketball coach, and though I still couldn't (or didn't) "go out" for basketball, I was very enthusiastic about our team. We had a new English teacher, Miss Mary McGee, a lady maybe fifty years old, who was a fine teacher. And then there was a new science teacher, Mr. Shaw, who was my biology teacher that year. He and his wife lived in an apartment in the school dormitory. He had shelves and shelves of books, and encouraged me to borrow books from him, to supplement my reading from the school library. I think of all my teachers in high school, Mr. Shaw probably did the most to encourage me to learn everything I could, in whatever area my interests might run. We were good friends!
In those days there were no objections to having Christian ideas expressed in school. As Christmas approached, Miss McGee was in charge of developing the high school Christmas program. I remember that she had Wyatt Grant, Ernest Copenhaver, and me practice as a trio to sing "We Three Kings of Orient Are" in the program. Also, for some reason I don't remember, I helped her arrange a nativity scene on the stage. We had some cut-out animals, but didn't have either an ox or a donkey. One day when she and I were talking about the setting, I suggested that we should surely have an ox. Unfortunately, she misunderstood me, and thought I had said "ass," pronouncing the word carefully with a very broad "a"--like "ahse." I was too embarrassed to try to correct the misunderstanding, so agreed with her, and we found someone to cut out a donkey in cardboard. Thus we had an "ahse," but no ox, in our nativity scene!
Apart from my high school studies, the choir at the Methodist Church was also important to me. I think it was in this second winter there that I had opportunity to sing a solo! In those days the church had only a little thin red hymnal, with perhaps one hundred fifty different songs, old familiar favorites. We young folks knew those books backward and forward. I'm quite sure, though of course I can't prove it, my song was number 139, "Oh Soul Without a Savior." My voice was just changing, and I tried to sing it as a bass. It was not what you would call an outstanding success, I know. I didn't attempt another solo in church until years later! Once was more than enough!
I was still working during the winter months at trapping weasels. That winter I made two unusual catches. The first was a magpie, which must have seen the snowshoe rabbit meat I had used as bait, and become caught in the weasel trap. It was caught by one leg, and was very much alive as I approached the trap. The poor bird screamed at me, and it seemed to me that it was really calling "help!" Instead of killing it (as I usually did to magpies whenever I had a chance), I let it go!
The second catch, also not a weasel, I would gladly have let go if I could! I had set a trap very carefully in an old hollow cottonwood log, with some strong and supposedly attractive scent placed back in the log beyond the trap. I had already caught one weasel there, and thought that morning as I checked the trap, that maybe I would have another good weasel. Sure enough--something was in the trap! I couldn't see the trap, but the chain was pulled tight back into the hollow log.
Very casually, expecting to find a frozen weasel, I pulled on the chain, and then gave a harder pull when the trap didn't come out easily. On that second try, I found what I had captured--a fine, very much alive skunk! Naturally, he used the only defense he knew--sprayed his scent much too quickly for me to avoid his aim, and then crawled back into the log! Well, that was another learning experience. I went back to the house to ask Dad what to do. He had gained some experience with skunks when he was a boy in Wisconsin, and said he would help. We took a pole about twelve feet long, fastened a hook of wire on the end of it, and went back down to where the trapped skunk was. With the pole Dad pulled the trap far enough out of the hole to expose the skunk, so I could shoot it without getting sprayed any more. Of course, my clothes had to be taken off before I could come in the house, and I had one very odorous skunk to skin. It appeared to me to be a fine skin, when I finally got it off the carcass, and on a stretcher, though it was a bit smelly.
When the skin was finally dry enough to ship to a fur company, I had the problem of how to mail it. With my sister Jean helping, I got the skin wrapped up and placed in a cardboard tube, and covered with wrapping paper. On my way to school one morning I stopped by the postoffice to mail the package. Unfortunately, the postmaster said the smell was a bit too much, and refused to accept the package! Having no place to leave it, I took it to school with me, thinking I would take it home and wrap it up better for another try.
Would you believe it--someone in school objected to the presence of that package in the cloakroom! It ended, if I remember rightly, in my putting the package down in the furnace room at the school for the day. (The janitor sympathized with me to that extent.) Well, I took the thing home, rewrapped the package, got it accepted for mailing, and awaited the check. Finally the fur company, Beckman Brothers, in Great Falls, rejected the skin. Not only was it too smelly, they said, but it was past its prime, and worthless! So I got nothing for all my troubles! That was the last time I skinned a skunk!
The school year went by quickly, with the usual marble playing in the spring, when the weather warmed up. Again I was busy taking care of the cattle, helping get the garden started, and doing the usual farm chores. Almost before I knew it, summer had come, and I was out of school again. My brother, Robert, was now taking a home correspondence course in higher accounting, from LaSalle Extension University. He worked hard at it, in every spare minute he could find. My sister, Jean, was doing well in school, and would be a senior in the fall. She, too, was apparently going to be valedictorian of her class. I helped in the early part of the summer with our large garden, haying, and spent a lot of time swimming in the river.
A surprise was coming for me--geometry paid off!
What I am about to say may sound crazy to you! The highlight of my second year in high school was geometry! Having always liked arithmetic, and having gotten along well in algebra, I was looking forward to geometry, despite the fact that the fabled Miss Dutch would be my teacher. However, I had gotten along very well with Miss Dutch in algebra. My only concern was that geometry might be too difficult to master.
As so often happens, my fears turned out to be foolish. Geometry was not like other mathematics courses--it was a course in thinking! I was really delighted with it, learning how to prove one theorem, and then use that proven fact to help formulate other theorems and prove them. I literally ate it up! Also I learned a lot about the relationships of angles and tangents, and the sides of various figures--triangles and rectangles, and how to calculate the area of all sorts of circles, rectangles, etc. This was knowledge that would be helpful soon.
I had other new teachers that year, also, and learned something from each of them. We had a new basketball coach, and though I still couldn't (or didn't) "go out" for basketball, I was very enthusiastic about our team. We had a new English teacher, Miss Mary McGee, a lady maybe fifty years old, who was a fine teacher. And then there was a new science teacher, Mr. Shaw, who was my biology teacher that year. He and his wife lived in an apartment in the school dormitory. He had shelves and shelves of books, and encouraged me to borrow books from him, to supplement my reading from the school library. I think of all my teachers in high school, Mr. Shaw probably did the most to encourage me to learn everything I could, in whatever area my interests might run. We were good friends!
In those days there were no objections to having Christian ideas expressed in school. As Christmas approached, Miss McGee was in charge of developing the high school Christmas program. I remember that she had Wyatt Grant, Ernest Copenhaver, and me practice as a trio to sing "We Three Kings of Orient Are" in the program. Also, for some reason I don't remember, I helped her arrange a nativity scene on the stage. We had some cut-out animals, but didn't have either an ox or a donkey. One day when she and I were talking about the setting, I suggested that we should surely have an ox. Unfortunately, she misunderstood me, and thought I had said "ass," pronouncing the word carefully with a very broad "a"--like "ahse." I was too embarrassed to try to correct the misunderstanding, so agreed with her, and we found someone to cut out a donkey in cardboard. Thus we had an "ahse," but no ox, in our nativity scene!
Apart from my high school studies, the choir at the Methodist Church was also important to me. I think it was in this second winter there that I had opportunity to sing a solo! In those days the church had only a little thin red hymnal, with perhaps one hundred fifty different songs, old familiar favorites. We young folks knew those books backward and forward. I'm quite sure, though of course I can't prove it, my song was number 139, "Oh Soul Without a Savior." My voice was just changing, and I tried to sing it as a bass. It was not what you would call an outstanding success, I know. I didn't attempt another solo in church until years later! Once was more than enough!
I was still working during the winter months at trapping weasels. That winter I made two unusual catches. The first was a magpie, which must have seen the snowshoe rabbit meat I had used as bait, and become caught in the weasel trap. It was caught by one leg, and was very much alive as I approached the trap. The poor bird screamed at me, and it seemed to me that it was really calling "help!" Instead of killing it (as I usually did to magpies whenever I had a chance), I let it go!
The second catch, also not a weasel, I would gladly have let go if I could! I had set a trap very carefully in an old hollow cottonwood log, with some strong and supposedly attractive scent placed back in the log beyond the trap. I had already caught one weasel there, and thought that morning as I checked the trap, that maybe I would have another good weasel. Sure enough--something was in the trap! I couldn't see the trap, but the chain was pulled tight back into the hollow log.
Very casually, expecting to find a frozen weasel, I pulled on the chain, and then gave a harder pull when the trap didn't come out easily. On that second try, I found what I had captured--a fine, very much alive skunk! Naturally, he used the only defense he knew--sprayed his scent much too quickly for me to avoid his aim, and then crawled back into the log! Well, that was another learning experience. I went back to the house to ask Dad what to do. He had gained some experience with skunks when he was a boy in Wisconsin, and said he would help. We took a pole about twelve feet long, fastened a hook of wire on the end of it, and went back down to where the trapped skunk was. With the pole Dad pulled the trap far enough out of the hole to expose the skunk, so I could shoot it without getting sprayed any more. Of course, my clothes had to be taken off before I could come in the house, and I had one very odorous skunk to skin. It appeared to me to be a fine skin, when I finally got it off the carcass, and on a stretcher, though it was a bit smelly.
When the skin was finally dry enough to ship to a fur company, I had the problem of how to mail it. With my sister Jean helping, I got the skin wrapped up and placed in a cardboard tube, and covered with wrapping paper. On my way to school one morning I stopped by the postoffice to mail the package. Unfortunately, the postmaster said the smell was a bit too much, and refused to accept the package! Having no place to leave it, I took it to school with me, thinking I would take it home and wrap it up better for another try.
Would you believe it--someone in school objected to the presence of that package in the cloakroom! It ended, if I remember rightly, in my putting the package down in the furnace room at the school for the day. (The janitor sympathized with me to that extent.) Well, I took the thing home, rewrapped the package, got it accepted for mailing, and awaited the check. Finally the fur company, Beckman Brothers, in Great Falls, rejected the skin. Not only was it too smelly, they said, but it was past its prime, and worthless! So I got nothing for all my troubles! That was the last time I skinned a skunk!
The school year went by quickly, with the usual marble playing in the spring, when the weather warmed up. Again I was busy taking care of the cattle, helping get the garden started, and doing the usual farm chores. Almost before I knew it, summer had come, and I was out of school again. My brother, Robert, was now taking a home correspondence course in higher accounting, from LaSalle Extension University. He worked hard at it, in every spare minute he could find. My sister, Jean, was doing well in school, and would be a senior in the fall. She, too, was apparently going to be valedictorian of her class. I helped in the early part of the summer with our large garden, haying, and spent a lot of time swimming in the river.
A surprise was coming for me--geometry paid off!
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