My Life Story

2009-10-14T19:43:00.001-07:00

MY FINAL WORKING YEARS- 1969 - 1982
Jesus' disciples went back to their old occupation of fishing when they didn't know what else to do. Similarly, after resigning at Minnehaha Covenant Church, I decided that I should go back to some sort of work with which I was familiar.
My last day at Minnehaha was to be August 10th. After announcing my resignation to the church board on June 16th, 1969, I immediately began to look for a job. I learned that the position of Personnel Director at Deaconness Hospital was open, and applied there. I got as far as an interview, but someone else got the job. I also explored possibilities in the state service, and took two examinations for which I qualified. I received good grades in both exams, and enjoyed the whole process--both the written and oral examinations. The oral questioning was especially interesting.
Meanwhile, I helped with the annual Bible camp, held that year at Silver Lake Campground. The camp wasn't as effective as I had hoped, but not a failure, either. I preached at Minnehaha every Sunday as best I could. I was very depressed, and felt that I had been a failure as a pastor. I prayed for some definite leading from the Lord, but couldn't see anything to do but take a job. This change was by far the most difficult thing that had ever happened to me.
The 10th of August came and went. The church gave us a final reception and a generous cash offering that helped a lot. We needed to move out of the parsonage by the end of the month. We found a suitable duplex apartment on the north side of town, and moved our household goods there on August 30th.
A friend of Jane at Whitworth College offered us the use of her family cabin on Marshall Lake, about sixty miles from Spokane. That was a real break, and we decided to take advantage of it. Then, just as we were ready to go to the lake for a rest, I received a call from Olympia. An office there asked me to come for an interview for a position as Budget Officer III.
We went up to the lake cabin, and I drove from there to Olympia for the interview. When I reported to the State Personnel Office, where the interview was to take place, I was asked if I would instead consider a position as Personnel Officer III. This position offered a higher salary, and was with the Department of Social and Health Services! So I quickly investigated that offer, and learned that I would be headquartered in Spokane. I would be doing the same sort of "field personnel" work I had done in the Air Force years ago! I accepted the job without question, and cancelled my appointment for the interview for the Budget Officer job.
Part of the arrangement for the new personnel job was that I begin by spending some six weeks in Olympia, learning the ropes of Washington State personnel work, the personnel rules and regulations, the organization and main people in the Department of Social and Health Services, etc. That was fine with me! I could start on the job right after Labor Day. So back to the lake I went, with all that good news. The starting salary was almost twice what I had received as pastor at Minnehaha. I really think the Lord had this position all ready for me!
After a week at the lake cabin, we moved back to town. We quickly got settled in at our apartment. The location, on Everett street just north of the North Town Shopping Center, was convenient. I could walk to the shopping center for shopping for light items, and groceries.
When the month of September came, I packed a suitcase or two and headed for Olympia. I found my new job very pleasant, with good people to work for and with. I found a place to live in a little travel trailer located in a motel parking lot in the small town of Tumwater, about three miles south of Olympia. The rent was low, and I had complete privacy. They even provided a little radio for me. I prepared my breakfasts, and packed a sack lunch some days, to eat at the office, as several others did. I found lunch time a great opportunity to get better acquainted with others. Often, though, I ate out at a restaurant with staff people. Usually I ate my evening meals at a nearby restaurant in Tumwater.
Learning the personnel rules and procedures for Washington state was not difficult, and soon I was feeling right at home. I can honestly say that I always got along well with the people in the Olympia offices of Social and Health Services. I made good friends, too, with many in the state department of personnel, with whom I had to work closely.
The four or five weeks of training and orientation (not six, as originally planned) went quickly, and I then set up an office in Spokane. This was in early October, 1969. Desk space was found for me in a large room already occupied by three minor agencies--Services for the Blind, Services for the Aged, and Support Enforcement. The other men all shared the services of one secretary. Secretarial help for me came from another office in the same building, in another room.The girls there were busy, but gave me good help.
My boss, Mike Baldwin, came over to Spokane to see me get settled. He took me to a scheduled Regional administrators' meeting, to get acquainted with the administrators of the Social and Health Services offices in the counties east of the Cascades. My territory was a very large one, and I was the first person appointed in the state to serve as a "field personnel officer," to help administrators and employees with all kinds of personnel matters right on the spot. It was very helpful service, if I do say so, and several other state agencies later copied the idea.
I met the Administrators of the two regions I would serve at that joint meeting in Spokane. Those two men, and some local office administrators, were suspicious of Personnel, and of me. It took several months to overcome their reserve. When they became convinced that I was there to help, and could get personnel matters handled efficiently and confidentially, I worked well with nearly all.
I had a personal phone line, as I did much of my work by telephone. In fact, in the first few months of my work, my boss became pretty excited over my phone bills. They were the highest of anyone in the agency, he said. He became convinced that it was necessary and efficient, as the personnel paperwork and problems were handled so much more quickly.
Right away I began extensive travelling, visiting all my offices monthly, and sometimes even more frequently, as necessary. There were five social and health services offices in Spokane alone, and about fifteen other offices located at county seats, in the eastern half of the state. In addition, I served as personnel officer for Adult Probation and Parole, Juvenile Probation and Parole, and the regional Vocational Rehabilitation office, to name a few. Visiting these offices took a large share of my "free" time--that is, when I wasn't on the phone!
I did enjoy the travelling around to the various offices, and enjoyed the travel so much I often wondered why I should get paid for such work. Some evenings I spent in driving on to the next town on my itinerary, thus reducing the loss of office hours while on the road. Often while visiting one office I would receive several phone calls from other offices, asking for advice and help of one kind or another.
I soon found I needed a newer, more economical car, and bought a new Datsun 10 sedan, probably the most satisfactory car I have ever owned. I travelled at high speed most of the time. I put 56,000 miles on that little car in the two years I drove it.
Our children were all in school that fall--David and Mary at Whitworth College, and Martha at Rogers High School. Mary became engaged in November, 1969, and was married early in 1970.
Working as a personnel officer took far less time than pastoring a church. I had much more time in those days for fishing, hunting, and other activities. This was pleasant, though at the same time it disturbed me. I constantly feltI should be more involved in the Lord's work. Early in the year 1970 a new Canoe Club was formed; Jane and I were charter members, and greatly enjoyed the several river trips the club took that year. Then late in the year, one evening when I was staying in a motel in Olympia, I received word that I was a grandfather! Mary had given birth to a baby girl, Christianne Noel.
Early in 1971, at Jane's urging, we began to look at houses for sale. I admit I was very reluctant; I have always hated to go into debt for any reason. In February we found a dandy house in our price range, at 4820 North Allen Place. We made an offer on it on February 27th, and were a bit surprised when the owners accepted our offer. The house was very comfortable, had a double garage, and a fine large yard with several fruit trees already established.
We moved into our new home on May 1st. That seemed to trigger a series of bad events. Early in the morning of May 4th, I had a serious accident with the little Datsun. I was able to drive the Datsun back home, but the Volkswagen I collided with was a bad wreck. Fortunately, no one received serious injury.
Then only a few days later, David accidently started a nasty fire in the basement of our new home! We all woke up with the house full of terrible smoke, and a lurid fire glow coming from the basement. We had wonderfully prompt help from the fire department, though there was much smoke damage throughout the house. The fire destroyed Jane's beautiful big braided rug. She had worked two years or more on that rug. It measured about twelve by fifteen feet! The insurance took care of everything just fine, but the rug could not be replaced.
Late in 1971 I began working at a new hobby--painting. The next fall I began a series of art classes at Whitworth College and Spokane Falls Community College. After driving the little Datsun for two years, and 56,000 miles, I decided early in 1972 that I should have a heavier car for road work. The Datsun was very light, and sometimes would swerve sharply in heavy winds. On March 4, after looking at several different autos, I drove home with a new Dodge Dart sedan, with the "slant six" engine. Jane approved, as she was also indulging in a project--new carpet for our living room. I'm sure our neighbors must have thought we had found a gold mine! (The new car, including the sales tax, cost less that $3000, though that was a lot of money in those days.) On May 10th my sister Jean called to tell us that our Dad had died that morning, in a nursing home in Great Falls! We drove to Great Falls on the 11th. The funeral was held in the Methodist Church in Glasgow on the 13th. Dad's body lies alongside our Mom's in the cemetary there. My brother Robert had flown out for the funeral, and rode back to Great Falls with us.
Now that we had that new, heavier car, my personnel assignment and territory were changed in May. With the addition of another personnel officer located in the Tri-cities, my field was reduced to only eleven counties, requiring considerably less travel.
A big blow to Jane that October of 1972 was the death of her sister, Margaret Hoxworth. Jane flew to Kansas for the funeral. Jane inherited a modest sum of money, a number of good stocks, and silverware and dishes, etc. She and Mary went to California to bring the things back.
In November we began to attend the First Free Methodist Church. They were very evangelical, which I liked. Invited to preach at the evening service there on December 3rd, I had a good response to my sermon on Mary, the mother of Jesus. I preached there again later. Then we changed churches again! This time we joined with the Baptists, at Central Baptist Church, whose former pastor had been a good friend of mine in the Evangelical Ministers' Association. This was in January, 1973. As you see, we were really browsing around. We worshipped there, taught the college age Sunday School class, and I led in the mid-week Bible study meetings for more than a year.
In April that year (1973) we bought a new 18-foot Grumman canoe, specially designed for running rapids and fast water. It was much larger and more stable than our former seventeen footer. The new canoe carried us on many wonderful trips and I used it a lot. for fishing. One notable river trip was with friends, Conn and Myrna Wittwer, a grand float trip down the Flathead River from near Ronan, Montana, to the little town of Paradise, on the Clark Fork River. We camped out three nights along the river.
During the fall I took a drawing class at Whitworth, with a fine teacher, Mrs. Haas. That drawing class greatly increased my little skill, and gave me new enthusiasm for art work. Another new interest was to come in 1973--we took up cross-country skiing! We had many, many good times on ski trips in the next several winters. It was not only good fun, but good exercise.
We were still busy at Central Baptist all this year. I preached once or twice when the pastor was away. I again led the mid-week Bible study all winter, with fair attendance and interest. January of 1975 brought lots of snow, demanding heavy shovelling of the driveway and walk. I even had to get up on the roof in late January, to keep the snow level down to reasonable levels. We enjoyed the snow, though, getting in much cross-country skiing.
In 1975-76 our daughter Martha was working on the wonderful Freedom Train, touring all around the United States. She was administrative assistant to the director, and really enjoyed her work.
During these years we moved from one church to another. 1976 found us visiting other churches. We just couldn't seem to settle down anywhere. I know that I was too critical of them. For me the biggest event of this year was my attending the reunion celebration at Hinsdale High School. Our class of 1936 enjoyed the spotlight--it had been forty years since we were graduated. I drove to Hinsdale alone, taking the little camper and the canoe. I arrived the day before the big events, and did some canoeing on the familiar old Milk River.
Next day I enjoyed visiting with many old friends--the Carter girls, Earl Britsch, and several members of my graduating class. I enjoyed every minute of the reunion. Also, having my own private living room, kitchen, and bedroom (in the camper) was great.
On my way back to Spokane I stopped for a visit with my sister, Jean. Then, despite a big electrical storm coming up in the west, I decided to drive on toward home. That night's driving was something else! At one point I had to stop, pull off the road and park the rig facing the wind, to avoid having the canoe blown right off the camper. When the wind went down a little, I started on. Brilliant, blinding lightning flashed all around me. I thought that at any moment I might attract a bolt, with that aluminum canoe on top of the camper acting as a lightning rod. Nothing happened, however, and I drove on over Roger's pass to camp at the city park in Lincoln.
In our spare time (!) that summer we were busy preparing for the opening of Jane's quilting shop, the Sampler. She had left her job at Whitworth, and with Mary's help, was going into business. The new business was exciting if not very profitable. I helped often with that, selling, putting up new fixtures, and making routine entries in the accounts, under Mary's supervision. When Jane took on selling a line of fine sewing machines (Elnas and Whites) I became a sewing machine mechanic, too. I took special training in Portland and Seattle over the years while the shop was operating, to keep up with the servicing of the new models coming out. Another big change took place at my office. My former secretary, who never was very satisfactory, decided to leave. I then asked Nancy Hijiya, a Japanese lady who worked in the big Spokane DSHS office, to transfer over. I had told her once before that if I ever had a vacancy, I would like to have her work for me. She turned out to be an excellent helper, very hard-working, efficient, and quick to learn the personnel rules and procedures. Before I retired she had become very skilled in personnel matters,and always seemed happy in the job. I still continued my regular visits to the offices assigned to me.
For some reason I made no entries in my office diary for January of 1980, so I can't recall at all what happened then. The record shows that in February we had switched churches, and were now attending Shadle Park Presbyterian. I was soon busy there. I was finding plenty of work to do at the rental place at North Standard. Changes in renters always involved cleaning, repairing, and repainting, especially after students left. Jane was very busy with her quilt shop, too.
Early Sunday morning, May 18th, David's birthday, I went outside for a few minutes. It was a quiet morning. Suddenly I felt something like a distant concussion, almost a "shudder," as if there had been a heavy explosion somewhere far away. I told Jane about it, but thought nothing more of it. We went to church as usual. Early in the afternoon I was down at the rental place working on something. A huge blue-black cloud was coming up in the west, like a big storm. Then Richard Stubbs, renter of one unit, came out and told me that Mt. St. Helens had erupted, and that the ash cloud was coming our way. The explosion I had felt (more than heard) in the early morning was the volcanic eruption!
The late afternoon and evening was one of the strangest times in my life. Instead of rain, we began to have a gentle shower of volcanic ash, fine light gray stuff, which settled everywhere. We all kept inside, as the health authorities were issuing warnings to everyone by radio to avoid breathing the ash, for fear of silicosis. No one really knew what was going on. We received only a quarter to a half inch of ash here in Spokane, while other areas received much larger quantities--up to three inches or even more.
It took us several days to get things going again. We were afraid to run our cars, lest the engines be ruined. After two quiet days, mostly staying indoors, I walked to work Wednesday morning. I spent most of the day cleaning up around the office, sweeping the ash into the street, and so on. All offices were closed. At home I hosed the ash from the roof, and gathered up one wheel barrow load after another of ash, placing it in the compost area. I had to shake the vegetable plants in the garden, to let the dust fall off them.
This summer of 1980 we began a new outdoor activity-- backpacking. Don and Marilyn encouraged us in that. After an initial trial trip over in Idaho, we invested in backpacks, light-weight stove, and other light weight gear. We used borrowed tents. It was great fun and wonderful, though heavy, exercise. There is something "freeing" about loading everything you need on your back, and leaving civilization (that is, the car) behind for a few days. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and would still undertake it if it were not for the doctor's warning of potential heart trouble while in some remote spot!
In late August I decided to take early retirement, with most generous help from John and Mary. I was to work until the end of September, 1981. I used my remaining time at the office in sorting and culling files, trying to leave things in good shape for the person who would succeed me in the job. My secretary, Nancy, well trained, would be of great help to my successor. The Regional DSHS Office, and the personnel and training office where I worked, gave me grand farewell parties, and fine gifts. I hated to leave, in a way, but was happy to know that I had done at least a decent job!

2009-10-07T16:09:00.001-07:00

FINAL YEARS AS A PASTOR
We arrived in Spokane late on a Monday afternoon, July 20th, 1964. We had been on the road several days, coming across Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota, Montana, and Idaho. Of course the area around Spokane looked different without the dirty snow I had seen in February. Now it appeared brown and dry, after a hot summer.
We drove to the home of Vic Anderson, where I had stayed when candidating. Vic took us all out to a good dinner at the Stock Yards Cafe, then back to the parsonage. Our household goods had already arrived. Several people from the church came in that evening to help us sort things out. With their help, we got our house fairly well organized by bedtime. The willing help and friendliness of the people encouraged us.
Although I wasn't yet officially installed, I had my first funeral the following Saturday--for a man in a family who were complete strangers to us. The Conference Superintendent and his wife also stayed at our house that Saturday night. He preached my official installation sermon the next morning. The congregation gave us a reception that Sunday evening; a very nice beginning. My salary at this church started at $500 per month, with the parsonage provided, though we paid the bills for heat and city utilities. The church also paid into my retirement account. The Social Security tax was my responsibility. They also provided a small allowance for car usage. We were a little better off financially!
The church building and parsonage were on a good- sized lot, land donated by Vic Anderson. Vic had a small dairy farm located just a few blocks east of the church property. He pastured his herd of Holstein cows in an eighty-acre pasture immediately south of the church. It was a rustic setting, though well within the city limits. To the north of the church rose Beacon Hill, named for the aircraft warning beacon located on it. Also, a public golf course lay only a half mile away, northwest of the church property.
Houses in the area were mostly small dwellings, of wood frame construction, built in the era following World War II. Many were vacant, and many occupied by renters, rather than owners. Cooper School, the local elementary school to which Martha would go, was only ten blocks away. Rogers High School, where Mary would be a Junior, was maybe two miles distant. Rogers was one of six or seven High Schools in the city, and served the poorest area of Spokane. Hillyard, the business area nearest to Rogers High School, and located about a mile and a half north of us, was familiarly called "dog town." The Great Northern Railroad, then negotiating with the Burlington for consolidation, had once had major locomotive building and repair shops in that area. The shops employed hundreds of men when at their busiest. When we arrived, the shops were closed and were being dismantled.
South of the church about a half mile ran the Spokane River, in a deep channel. The greater part of the city lay south and west of the church, though there was a growing unincorporated area stretching east along the valley for twenty miles. The population of Spokane at the time was about the same as that of Rockford--approximately 180,000.
The congregation of Minnehaha Covenant Church included about seventy members, and a very active Sunday School of about two hundred. The church membership grew but little in the next few years. The Sunday School declined slowly. The church had begun as a mission Sunday School held in Cooper School. People from First Covenant Church had started the work. After a few years, the people formally organized a church, and built the sanctuary. The chartered church organization was about eight years old when we arrived.
Here, as at my former churches, I found no adequate church records. I bought a good record book, and worked at bringing the membership and other records up to date. We also went through the usual necessary business of getting auto and drivers' licenses for ourselves. In the first few weeks I made many calls in the homes of church members and Sunday School families. The church had an adequate church office, and a good mimeograph for printing of bulletins. We had fine musicians available to play the organ and piano, and a very good choir director. Our daughter Mary played the piano for choir rehearsals that first winter.
We also found that the church people counted on using the parsonage basement for a Sunday School class each Sunday. There was no garage at the parsonage, instead there was a convenient breezeway to park our car and the church lawn mower. I used that mower to mow the parsonage lawn, too. The meeting schedule included regular Sunday morning worship, a less formal Sunday evening service, and a mid-week Bible study meeting Wednesday evening. During the school year, I led a Saturday morning confirmation class for 7th and 8th graders. We had a large class that first year, though there were fewer in attendance in successive years. I found plenty to keep me busy right from the beginning. I made calls in all the church member homes as quickly as I could, to get acquainted. Also, I made regular calls in the homes of Sunday School families, and at times went door to door, inviting people to attend services. During the years I pastored this church, the whole community called on me to conduct weddings and funerals, regardless of whether the people involved had any previous connection with the church. Soon after arriving in Spokane I joined the Spokane evangelical ministers' fellowship, and took an active part in the annual Sunday School convention. The group elected me president for 1968. More about that later! We also had many joint meetings and other activities with First Covenant Church, Minnehaha's "mother church." On occasion Pastor Otteson and I exchanged pulpits. That was interesting, as First Covenant was a much larger church, and had a fine big sanctuary and a real pipe organ. The congregation there always made me feel right at home. As in Rockford, the old-time Covenant people had probably too much respect for pastors, placing one on too high a pedestal. That always bothered me, as I knew I was certainly no better, and probably a poorer Christian than some of the lay people.
On that first Labor Day weekend in Spokane, Jane and the girls and I, and a friend of Mary's, went camping. We drove to the Indian Creek Campground on beautiful Priest Lake in Idaho, about ninety miles from Spokane. We had a fine camping spot on the beach, and really enjoyed ourselves. While there Jane and I walked one morning far up into the hills, and enjoyed picking the late huckleberries we found there. That was our introduction to huckleberry picking, which we enjoyed doing nearly every year after that. The berries are plentiful in many areas north and east of Spokane.
Our son David was then working at my sister Jean's place in north central Montana. He came to Spokane in late August, intending to go back to Illinois to college. Then we learned, to our dismay, that the University of Illinois had cancelled his earned honors scholarship because we had moved out of the state! We all were very sorry about that. So instead of going to Illinois to school, he took courses at the nearby Spokane Community College. He also found a part-time job at the Penney's store, selling shoes. He was good at that, and did well.
Mary got started in Rogers High School, and Martha at Cooper School. Martha had quickly adjusted to the change in location, and made friends quickly. Mary had a more difficult time, and didn't adjust well to the change of schools that first year in Spokane. That was another mark, in my mind, against the practice of hiring pastors to move from one church to another. I had begun to think the practice, so commonly accepted in most churches, was not Biblical. About this time the Falcon acted up again--we had to have the radiator core replaced. That car seldom went more than a few months without some major failure! Then to make a little more money to pay for such items as car repairs, Jane and I became Amway dealers. That was fun, but really a fiasco! We found a friend at First Covenant who bought our stock of supplies, with the exception of some things we could use. After several months of trying, we had netted something like $90 for all our time and effort!
As at Rockford, I rarely took a day off from work, and was busy many nights of each week. I know that I did not give enough time to the family.
Eugene Lowe, our Chinese friend from Pasadena, came for a visit in November. He spoke in a morning worship service, and did very well. He was then attending Fuller Seminary on a part-time basis. Among his many other skills, he had recently earned a pilot's license. The next day he took David and me for a great airplane ride over the city, and south over the Palouse hills. I got a few pictures from the plane. We always enjoyed visits from the Lowes.
Guess what? More trouble with the Falcon in December--starter and ignition system repairs, $36! Then again on Dec. 31, I had the brake lights repaired. There was always something wrong with that car!
A note from my diary of Dec. 21st, 1964, reads--"16 inches of new snow, went out calling anyway; got stuck 7 times!" That was the first of many heavy snows that winter! The year of 1965 went by much like 1964. Early in the spring Vic Anderson brought his tractor and plowed the garden spot I wanted, just east of the house. The soil was very rocky, but produced a good garden. I have always found that work in the garden is more fun than work. Hoeing is a good unwinding activity!
In the summer of 1965 our son David enlisted in the Marine Corps, and left for basic training in California. He did well there, and later attended the combat correspondents' school at the University of Indiana. He was home for Christmas, went back for more training, and then flew to Vietnam. He had a very good career there, and signed up for extended service. We enjoyed sending recorded letters on tape back and forth. Some of his letters had live artillery firing as background accompaniment! He earned the Bronze Star for bravery on one occasion, helping remove wounded men from an aircraft on fire, while under attack!
Mary did much better in her senior year at Rogers High School. She enjoyed singing with a madrigal group, very fine singing, a capella. She was popular, sufficiently so that some boy gave her a rabbit as an Easter gift. Lacking any other good place to keep it, we confined it in a room in the basement. After a few days we found that he had other food than that we had been giving him. He had eaten the insulation from an electric cord, laid the wires bare, without causing a short or killing himself! He had to go!
Our vacation trip that summer was to Mt. Lassen, in California. We were to meet the Lowes, our Chinese friends from California, and camp with them for a few days. We took a friend of Mary's along, a girl from the church. Driving down into central Oregon the Falcon seemed a bit noisy and sluggish. We camped out in the open, without a tent, that first night.
When I started the Falcon the next morning, to go on our way, it made a fearful racket. Something was definitely wrong in the engine. We drove into John Day, Oregon, and found the little Ford garage. Fortunately the Lord had been anticipating us, and the mechanic had on hand one set of valves for a Falcon! He replaced the whole upper valve assembly while we waited, and the cost was not unreasonable, though it was high enough. That was the second time we had had that valve assembly replaced. The poorly designed engine, the Ford people admitted, did not receive enough lubrication.
We went on and found the Lowes without difficulty, and had a good trip considering everything. One day I climbed to the summit of Mt. Lassen, with the whole tribe of children, Lowe's and ours. Actually it is an easy climb, on a well-tended trail. I found the beautiful crystals of sulphur at the openings of the vents in the crater most interesting. Later, on our way back to Spokane, we explored a lava tube, a fascinating feature found near some volcanos. We really enjoyed the desert country of eastern Oregon.
Things went on as usual at the church. I tried hard, and preached and taught as best I could. I enjoyed the various meetings with the other pastors in the North Pacific Conference. The church could not afford to send me to the annual meeting of the Covenant, in Chicago, so I had to miss that. In the spring of 1966, after a particularly bad time with the steering mechanism on the Falcon (it would turn to the right, but not to the left!) we decided we must change cars. After extensive looking around I found a 1964 Plymouth Fury Sedan, with high mileage, but in fine shape otherwise. It had the "slant six" engine, and burned no oil whatever. It also had an automatic transmission, which we much appreciated.
With that "new" car, we took a trip back to Rockford. A young couple at Evergreen Church had invited me to conduct their wedding, at the church. After the wedding, Jane and Martha went by bus to Kansas to visit relatives. I left Mary in Rockford, visiting with a school friend, and went to Chicago to attend the Covenant Annual Meeting. That was good! I then went back to Rockford for Mary, and we drove to Kansas to join Jane and Martha. The car handled perfectly on the entire trip, and for some years later.
On our return to Spokane, Jane found work at Whitworth college, as secretary in the alumni office. She did well, and moved in subsequent years to the development office, and finally became secretary to the academic vice president. Jane's working at Whitworth made it possible for Mary to attend there, with her tuition paid. That was a tremendous help for us all. Mary lived at home at first, then later lived on campus. Jane's employment was the only thing that made that possible.
I've already mentioned my joining and being active in the Spokane Evangelical Ministers Association. The local association belonged to the National Association of Evangelicals. Being a part of the local group surely helped me in the years I was a pastor in Spokane. The men were a great bunch, mostly pastors or associates, from evangelical churches. We all had a common goal or aim--the winning of the lost people all around us. We had lunch together about once a month, with some business, and much time spent in prayer.
From the start I helped with various committees. In 1967 they asked me to be chairman of the committee organizing the annual Sunday School Conference. That was a good experience. Then the next year, 1968, the association elected me president!
As president of the local group, I attended the annual meeting of the National Association of Evangelicals, held in Los Angeles. The group paid all my expenses. Jane went with me, and we stayed at the Los Angeles Hilton hotel, the meeting place for the convention. There I had opportunity to listen to and talk with some of the best-known evangelicals in theUnited States at the time. It was wonderful!
Jane spent only a day or so at the hotel, then went to visit the Lowes. When the convention was over, the Lowes loaned us a car to go to Forest Home, the big Christian campground near Redlands, California. There we visited the Jim Dyers, old friends from seminary days. Jim had worked at the campground for several years, in charge of their printing and publications shop.
But I didn't stay up there in the mountains. I had applied and been accepted to spend a week at a pastor's conference at the headquarters of Campus Crusade for Christ, at Arrowhead Springs, just outside of San Bernardino. So I buzzed off down there, and checked in at the huge hotel. That was a wonderful experience--hearing a series of lectures by Bill Bright and others, fellow-shipping with pastors from all over the United States and Canada. Early in the week I came down with a horrid cold, and had to have special medication.
On Thursday, we pastors planned to go out and work at door-to-door evangelism, sharing the message of the Gospel using the "4 Spiritual Laws" booklet devised by Campus Crusade. Despite my dripping nose, I decided to go. We were to go out by twos. My assigned partner was a big, roly-poly, jovial Salvation Army man, complete with skin-tight uniform! I thought, to my shame, this will never work out! People won't want to talk to us, when they see him coming up the walk. I was much mistaken. No one slammed their doors in our faces, and in the two hours spent that afternoon, we prayed with several people who accepted Christ as Savior! It was a great afternoon, and did a lot to encourage me. The next day I drove up the canyon to the Dyers to get Jane, and we went back together to stay with the Lowes a day or two longer. Then we flew home to Spokane.
Over the past years I had been becoming more and more discouraged in pastoral work, because few new people were coming to the church. Attendance at the mid-week Bible study and prayer meeting was dwindling down to only half a dozen people. About that time I decided to expand our efforts by having Bible study meetings in private homes. We had already been having one such study, in the home of a young couple. Soon we had another study going regularly, an afternoon meeting, with only women attending. Then one church member organized a group that met at the parsonage while the regular midweek meeting was going on at the church. Soon more people began attending there than at the church! Two or three Catholic nuns were among those who came to that study!
That encouraged me! However, others in the church didn't like it at all, though I didn't realize that at first. The resentment of some grew in that last year of 1968. I kept on teaching and preaching, and working with the Confirmation class. In the fall of 1968 Campus Crusade conducted city-wide evangelism training for people in Spokane and the surrounding area, and we took part in that. A few from Minnehaha church attended. In the neighborhood visitation done following the training, Jane and I had one man receive the Lord.
Each summer our church cooperated with First Covenant Church in conducting Bible camp for our young people. That was good experience, and we had fine times. I sometimes did the speaking in the evenings, and once conducted a baptismal service in the river near the camp. That was memorable to me.
During all the years at Minnehaha church I attended the regularly scheduled meetings of the North Pacific Conference, and the special retreats held for pastors. There were good times in those meetings, but I was growing increasingly discouraged. A couple of times I lead the prayer meetings with the other pastors, and enjoyed doing that.
Sometime in 1968 a fine couple in the church decided to leave to go to another church. Bud, the husband, had worked hard starting the work at Minnehaha. That was a serious loss to us, and a bitter pill for me to swallow. However, I decided not to try to hold them. Later they served as missionaries with International Students, in Colorado Springs, Colorado. We have personally helped support them for years.
I tried to be consistent in sometimes preaching the need for a new birth--which our Lord Jesus plainly stated is necessary to receive salvation. Some old line church members resented that message, perhaps because they could not tell of any such experience in their own lives. Some accused me of saying that everyone must have an experience like that of the Apostle Paul. That wasn't true, but I wouldn't argue with them. I could only point out the words of Jesus.
My preaching, plus the home Bible study program, was arousing increasing resentment in the fall and winter of 1968-69. Unknown to me for a time, two families in the church began calling special meetings of the congregation to discuss getting rid of me! The trouble makers never told me face to face of their objections. Word came back to me, finally, through friends, that I must either "shape up, or ship out!" as put in the navy words of one person. (Years later, when that man was dying of cancer, I went to see him several times, but he never mentioned the part he had played. Neither did I!) The objectors wanted me to stop all the Bible studies outside the church building. They said that if people wanted to study the Bible, they could come to the church!
Meanwhile, David returned safely from Vietnam, and received his discharge from the Marines. As soon as possible he entered Whitworth College, where Mary was already attending. He lived on campus, for a time, and had a part- time job or two, to help with expenses. He was receiving help from the GI education bill, too. We were very glad to have him home safely from Vietnam.
Another great problem for me was the realization that none of our three children were showing any interest in the Lord or in spiritual matters. That, too, increased my discouragement and sense of failure as a pastor. Things came to a head in early summer of 1969. Vic Anderson, the man who had donated the land for the church, announced that he would no longer stay in the church while I was pastor! He was also treasurer of the church; a fine problem! After consulting with Jane and with the conference superintendent, I announced my resignation as pastor, and my decision to leave the pastoral ministry.
I hoped that my leaving would heal the troubles in the church, and avoid a church split, the last thing in the world I wanted. There was no split, though a few good people did leave and go elsewhere to worship services. I still think leaving was the right thing for me to do. I believe the objections some had to my ministry were not altogether valid, as I had not neglected my duties at the church.
So on June 16th, 1969, I announced my resignation, with my last time in the pulpit to be August 10th. The church denied me any vacation for the past year. Though the Conference Superintendent urged me to go on to another church, I stuck with my decision to leave the ministry. I felt that I had been a failure in too many ways. Also, both Mary and David were then enrolled at Whitworth College, partially supported by Jane's working at the school. If we were to leave Spokane, the children would lose their tuition benefits. Jane felt that she couldn't face going to another church. Also, Martha was ready for her senior year in high school, and I knew that to force her to change to another school at that time might be disastrous for her. Although I did receive an invitation to candidate at a church on the west side of Washington, I refused it. The whole matter made me very depressed, believe me, and I still have times when I wonder if I made the right decision.
Thus ended my poor career as a pastor. Next began a long period in my life in which I have wondered why and how I had failed. Though no longer a pastor, I have tried to find other ways of serving the Lord. But that belongs in a later chapter.

2009-09-29T16:10:00.000-07:00

GOOD DAYS IN ROCKFORD, ILLINOIS
I've never heard of a faster move than ours when we changed our address from Houstonia, Missouri, to Rockford, Illinois on March 26, 1960! We had all our possessions well in shape to move, but had not anticipated the speed with which the men from Evergreen Covenant Church moved us. The men with the truck started an hour or so before we could leave.
We drove slowly out of town, taking a last look at the familiar church building and homes of friends. We saw one elderly lady hoeing in her garden, waving goodbye with her hoe. Only a few months before we had visited her in the hospital in Kansas City, finding her lying totally paralyzed from a severe stroke. Now she was out hoeing in the garden! That was a good feeling, and we thanked the Lord again that she was strong and able to tend her garden again.
Frank Johnson, the Rockford man assigned to ride with us, had the exact route marked on a map so there was no possibility of our becoming lost. We drove angling northeast across Missouri, and into Iowa. Somewhere near Des Moines we had a flat tire on our old Chevy. We quickly put the spare on, but had to stop in the city to buy a replacement tire at the Wards tire store. We had lunch there, too, and then were on our way again. The truck was well ahead of us, and arrived in Rockford some time before we did.
The church did not own a parsonage then, and had rented a large farmhouse for us, about three miles from the church. When the truck arrived, the wives of the men who were helping with the move, and others, joined in putting our furniture in what they thought were the appropriate places. Thus when we arrived there was hot food for all, and a great time of getting acquainted. Tired from the long drive, I remember, we really appreciated the thorough way in which our move had been done. Even the beds were made, all ready for our rest! The men of the church, who had worked together in the same way in building the church building, took real pride in their way of cooperating and getting involved in the work with their hands. That was the typical good spirit seen among the whole congregation. When we later had work days at the church we never lacked sufficient workers; everyone--men, women, and children--would turn out. That move was completed on Saturday, March 26, 1960. The next morning I preached my first regular sermon at Evergreen Church to a good audience. We had much "settling in" to do, so most of the following week was taken up with that.
First, David and Mary had to be enrolled in school. We found that the parsonage was located not in the Rockford school district but in that of Winnebago, a small town about fifteen miles from Rockford. We had to take them there, get them registered, and arrange for the school bus to stop for them. Then there was the problem of having a phone installed, so that we could be in touch with the people of the church. I found the daily 3 mile drive to the church, to my study, something of a nuisance. I began to spend my mornings at the study, in prayer, and preparation for the sermons and Bible study lessons for the week. Then I would go home for lunch, and spend most afternoons on necessary errands and making home visits to my parishioners. I tried to make "loop" trips, to reach as many as possible in the fewest possible miles of driving. Although our salary at Evergreen was considerably larger than we had enjoyed in Houstonia, there was no leeway for waste.
About half of the congregation consisted of people who worked in town, mostly in the hospitals (nurses) and factories (skilled machinists, tool and die finishers), and the other half those who farmed. It was an interesting group of skilled people. Of course, there were also several elderly retired people. I had a wide territory in which to make visits. While visiting members in the farming area, I often stopped to get acquainted with the people who lived on other farms. Some of these later began to attend the church services. Church membership was then about seventy-five, with morning worship attendance at around one hundred. Sunday School attendance was almost double that, around two hundred. Many children from the neighborhood came to Sunday School, though their parents seldom came. Those statistics increased a little in the next few years, but not a great deal.
I soon learned that there were seven Covenant churches in Rockford, with another in nearby Stillman Valley, 20 miles west. Pastor of the latter church was one of our old friends from seminary days, John Bergman. Pastor Swenson of First Covenant Church, that had planted most of the others in the Rockford area, felt some responsibility for us who were pastors of the smaller churches. We met frequently with him for talks and prayer together. The whole atmosphere in Rockford was wonderful, with many very committed Christians working hard in their churches.
My schedule was a busy one, with sermons to prepare for Sunday morning and evening services, and a Bible study for the mid-week prayer meeting. I also taught an adult Sunday School class most of the time while there at Rockford. Then, beginning in the fall each year, I had the Confirmation Class of Junior High age young people meeting with me each Saturday morning. This course of study ran about nine months. At least my hospital visits were nearby. Three women of the church were registered nurses, working in the Swedish American hospital in Rockford. When ill, most of our people went to that hospital, where the care was excellent.
At Jane's wise insistence, we started both David and Mary in piano lessons in Winnebago that spring. Their teacher was fine, and made them work hard. We enjoyed attending the little informal recitals she scheduled for all her pupils. They caught the school bus down at the road about one hundred yards from the house, so getting them to and from school was simple. On days when they had piano lessons after school, we drove to Winnebago to bring them home.
Living in that farm house was pleasant, with about 300 acres of land attached, mostly in timber. There were big oaks, some black walnut, cottonwood, and much just plain "brush." Each evening the continuous calling of the whippoorwills entertained us. They never seemed to pause for breath--it was fantastic! Also, we found deer were plentiful. We found a tiny fawn one day, only a few hundred yards from the house.
One day that summer a spectacular electrical storm came through the area. In the midst of the storm there was an exceptionally bright flash of lightning, and a tremendous crash of thunder. After the storm had passed, we found that a big cottonwood tree only about seventy- five yards from the house had been hit by lightning. The lightning bolt blew a strip of bark from the trunk of the tree from the top to the ground. We were glad the tree was there, to intercept that lightning. Otherwise the bolt might have struck the house!
Beside the longish daily drive from the parsonage to the church and back, there were a couple other disadvantages to our living in the country. We had a very large lawn, watered only by nature, to keep mowed. We were glad to have the power mower that we had brought from Missouri to use. We had to mow a wide strip of lawn from the house clear down to the road, about one hundred yards north of the house. Also, we had to clean up a mess of branches and other debris left there when someone had removed a row of lilacs along the driveway. That took many hours of hard work.
Another advantage of being in the country was enjoying the many different mushrooms found on the farm, and along the roads. We learned to eat eight or ten different varieties while living in Rockford.
There in Rockford I developed a plan for praying for all the church members. That was my first activity after arriving at the church in the morning. I walked around the sanctuary as I prayed thus getting some exercise. I prayed through the church membership list, about fifteen families each day,. I prayed for the people by name, including their children, and asked for God's help and blessing for each one. That practice helped me much when I made visits to their homes. We won't easily forget the first Easter we spent in Rockford. When I got up on Easter morning the house seemed unusually cold. A heavy rain had fallen during the night, and now for some reason the furnace wasn't running. I went down to the basement and discovered about a foot of water on the floor, and the furnace (a stoker) cold. There wasn't time to do anything about the problem before we had to leave for church.
I enjoyed my work, preparing sermons, preaching, the whole ministry. At first I designed the bulletins, typed them, and ran them off on the mimeograph myself. Later a young woman in the church volunteered to do that work each week; she was a big help to me.
While we lived in that farmhouse, my father came to visit us, after visiting relatives in Wisconsin. Dad enjoyed his visit with us, and we surely enjoyed having him see the church, the farm where we were living, and the city of Rockford.. Soon after he left, our friends Dave and Marge Peterson came by to visit. Dave was then serving as a public relations man for the Montana Institute of the Bible. That was the small Bible school in Billings where I had taken some classes.
In June of 1960 I attended the Evangelical Covenant Church annual meeting in Chicago, and met with the Ministerial Committee. They refused to even look at my previous simple ordination, and informed me of the requirements for ordination in the Covenant. For the first year I could only have a ministerial license; there was no difficulty in obtaining that. They said that if I were to continue to minister in a Covenant church, I must attend their seminary in Chicago, and take certain prescribed courses. Then, after passing their examination requirements, I could be ordained. It was a long and difficult assignment! I did have some trouble with the Committee. I told them straight out why I did not believe in the baptism of infants, and could not perform the rite. I agreed that I would invite another Covenant pastor to come in to conduct the service, if it were requested. As a matter of fact, while I was there at Evergreen Church in Rockford no one ever requested it. We had several services for the consecration or dedication of infants. I also agreed to take the courses at North Park Seminary, when I could arrange it.
Everything went quite well that first year at Evergreen. In the summer months we had Sunday evening services with three other churches in the area. We also invited one of my seminary classmates to conduct evangelistic services in the fall of 1961. The meetings resulted in several decisions for Jesus. Our children, and many from Evergreen church, attended a fine Covenant camp on Lake Geneva, in Wisconsin, each summer. There were frequent retreats and special meetings for pastors, too, and I loved to meet and share with the other men. I always felt that the Covenant had a real sense of mission, and promoted teamwork well.
In midsummer of 1960, the board of the church decided that the church should purchase a small house and bit of land just north of the church, to use as a parsonage. The house was old and very small, but we could manage in it all right, we thought. We moved into the house on August 7th, in plenty of time for the children to register for schools in Rockford. Both Mary and Martha attended an elementary school just "kitty-corner" across the street from the church. David enrolled that fall in the new large Auburn high school several miles away.
This new living arrangement saved hours of valuable time, and much driving and gasoline, for I needed only to walk a few yards to be at the study. David got the job of mowing the church lawn, which he appreciated (most of the time!). There were several large maple trees along the driveway of the new place, and we came to love those great trees, except for the piles of leaves they produced. In the early spring each year, when the sap began to flow, I enjoyed the sweet little icicles that formed where the sap dripped from broken twigs. There was also a large fir tree immediately in front of the house. Martha promptly climbed it, clear to the top! Just north of the house there was an extensive woodlot, with many different mushrooms growing there. There was a garage under the house, a small shed in the back yard in which we could store tools, and plenty of room for a large garden. We had a fine garden there each year, beginning in 1961.
Soon after we moved into the "new" parsonage, we were given a well-bred long-haired cocker spaniel, Trooper. We had him only a short time before we found that we couldn't keep him. Many cockle burrs grew in the area. Trooper constantly wandered about, and got his long coat terribly tangled with the burrs. It was impossible to keep his coat clean. We gave him to a farm family later.
We also got a little yellow kitten, who rapidly developed into a big, heavy cat. We called him Toughy. He, rather than Trouper the dog, kept strange dogs out of the yard! Toughy would walk calmly toward any dog that came near, and every time that dog would skeedaddle, rather than face that big cat. We had lots of fun with him, playing in the piles of maple leaves in the fall, and going mouse hunting with him in the woods.
In the spring of 1961 a farmer friend, a member of the church, came with a tractor to plow a garden spot, down below the house. The soil was rich and black. It was fine for gardening. For the first time in my life, I could grow okra! Also, beyond the garden area there was a sort of "wilderness" in which we found wild asparagus in the spring each year, and lots of wild blackberries in the late summer. All the vegetables did very well.
As cool weather came on in that fall of 1960, I became better acquainted with the coal stoker furnace. All went well unless the fire went out. That happened only once, while we were busy at a service in the evening. When we came home, late in the evening, we found the house cold and full of awful fumes. The furnace fire had gone out, and the furnace was full of stoker coal. Controlled by the thermostat, that was calling for more heat, the stoker was still stuffing in more coal! I had a merry time, believe me, shovelling all that coal out of the furnace, back into the stoker hopper. The fire had to be rekindled, and the house ventilated to get rid of the bad air. We soon found that Illinois winters are for real, much more severe than those we had seen in Missouri, though not as cold temperature-wise as in Montana. There was much snow during the winter months. It seemed to me that I shovelled the walks at the church just about every Sunday morning those winters. No one else volunteered to do that job!
We made many new friends there in Rockford. One man, Harold Demus, pastor of a nearby small Presbyterian church, and his wife and children, became our good friends. We truly missed them when in 1963 they left to go to a much larger church in a Chicago suburb. Art Carlson, pastor of another Covenant church in Rockford, a man considerably older than I, became a great friend. There were many others, too many to list.
We found many earnest Christians at Evergreen. Nearly all the members worked days, and could not help much in calling in the neighborhood. I not only called on church families, but also visited in the homes of Sunday School families (people who sent their children to Sunday school, but didn't attend, themselves). I also enjoyed meeting nearly all the people living along the roads in the area. Reviewing one of my old desk calendars from those years, I find that I went out nearly every evening of the week. I rarely took a complete day off from work. Those were busy days! I know now that I badly neglected my own family, and that was a serious mistake. Also, I tried to hold the children to a rigid pattern of Christian behavior, which no doubt did much to turn them away from the real life of faith. I don't know how to undo that now! When we arrived to pastor Evergreen Church, there was a sizeable debt, and the church was receiving regular support from the Covenant. One of my first goals was for the church to become financially independent. We met that goal by the end of our second year there. That effort won the appreciation of the Conference Superintendent!
As the years went by, we found we had time for some visiting, and for regular vacations. John and Nina Bergman moved to Warren, Michigan, in about 1961, and we went there to visit them one Christmas. The travel across lower Michigan in a blizzard was memorable, but we made it all right. We had a grand visit with them and their two adopted children. We also made a trip one summer to Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado, and visited my brother Robert and his family in Denver. We went up into southern Wisconsin, too, to visit my Uncle Dick and his family, and Aunt Dot Von Valkenburg, and Aunt Eckie. All those relatives had been very good to us children when we were growing up on the homestead.
I often was asked to conduct weddings of young people in the community. I usually enjoyed those, but did not much like to officiate at the many funerals. For some reason unknown to me, people in a community feel they have a right to ask the pastor of a local church to conduct funerals or weddings. They do this whether or not they are a part of the church. Some funerals, especially, were very difficult for me. I felt sad to know that the person who had died had never had anything to do with Jesus or the church.
I have pleasant memories of one funeral, though. A family in the community, not part of our church, but active Christians, had a sad experience. The elderly grandmother was suffering with cancer. She refused to go to a hospital or nursing home, so suffered at home, cared for by her old husband. Toward the end she drifted off into a coma, and would not respond to anything. I stopped one day to talk with the husband, as he sat in an old rocking chair by her bed. On the inspiration of the moment, I decided to sing a couple of old familiar hymns. I did it without accompaniment. Very quietly, and without making a sound, the sick lady smiled! She had heard! She died a day or two later, never having come out of the coma. They asked me to have the funeral, to be held at a little Free Methodist Church miles away in Wisconsin. We drove up, part of a little funeral procession. Jane and another lady sang a duet, and I preached the funeral service in the little church building.
It was a gorgeous day, with lovely clouds in the sky. When the service was over, the pall bearers simply carried the casket out of the church and into the graveyard right beside the church. The service ended with family members filling in the grave. It was sad, in a way, and yet a blessing, as we all knew she had trusted and loved the Lord, and was now with Him forever. I wished that all funerals could be like that!
One wedding I will never forget. In fact, few people know the whole truth of the matter. I guess I can now reveal it all, without mentioning any names. I had worked carefully with the young couple, planning and rehearsing their very formal wedding. Then, just two days before the wedding, I received a call from the groom's mother. She told me her son was too young to obtain a marriage license in Illinois! The wedding would have to be postponed!. The situation looked hopeless.
Then I learned, through some telephoning, that people could be married in the state of Iowa, without any delays for medical reports. So the day before the formal wedding, I drove with that young couple to the nearest county seat in Iowa. We first found a Methodist church, and asked the pastor if he would marry these two young people. He agreed, so we dashed to the court house and bought the license. We then went back to the parsonage, and the two were married by the old preacher, with his wife and me as witnesses!
Then it was back to Rockford, with the agreement that they would not act like married people until after the formal wedding the next day! Everything went just fine, and no one except the family and Jane and I knew the true situation. I went through the usual motions of having the couple sign forms, etc., after the wedding, but never mailed the marriage certificate in for registration. The Iowa wedding was the official one.
In the spring of 1962, I think it was, a church member stopped by and asked me casually how long I was going to drive our old wreck of a car. It was a 1950 Chevy sedan, and still looked and ran pretty well, in my estimation. As so often happens, that remark of his planted "new car fever" in me. So we began to look around. That was bad! We soon found a used, low mileage Ford Falcon sedan, a 1960 (first year) model, light blue in color. It was fun to drive, easy to park, and considerably easier on gasoline than the Chevy had been.
We soon began to find out why the previous owner had sold it! That Falcon car was a lemon! On our vacation trip that summer to Colorado, and Rocky Mountain National Park, the thing would barely climb the hills, and used quarts and quarts of oil. When we returned to Rockford, we had to have a new "short block" put in--the old one was beyond repair. After that it was the transmission, and then the clutch, and the differential, and so on and on. It was without question the most expensive car we had ever enjoyed! Despite all those repairs, we drove it until 1966, when we were living in Spokane, and had replaced just about everything except the body!
Finally, under considerable pressure from the Covenant, I began attending the required "familiarization" classes at North Park Seminary, in Chicago. That was in the fall of 1962. My usual plan was to have Jane take me to catch a train in Rockford about 6AM (harder for her than for me!), study some on my way in to the city (about an hour and a half). Then I would get off the train at Central Station, walk a quarter of a mile or so to catch the elevated train north. That took me within about six blocks of the seminary. With my classes and study time completed, I reversed the process, arriving in Rockford about nine in the evening. A whole day was gone! I had to do this three times a week, except when I decided to skip classes!
The quality of the instruction at North Park Seminary disappointed me. The professors were mostly former pastors who had been designated to teach. That first year I did have one excellent teacher, Karl Olsson, then president of the college and seminary. He was (and is) a brilliant scholar and historian. He taught the course on the history of the Covenant church, from the beginning of the revival movement in Sweden, and continuing in the United States among the immigrants. I loved that class and the subject matter. There were some very brave people in those early days, around the middle of the nineteenth century!
Sigurd Westburg, a retired missionary, was another good teacher. He taught classes on the philosophy and history of Covenant missions. But my other classes, especially under the professors of both Old and New Testament, were very nearly a waste of time. It was an expensive business for me. And with all that study going on, I had no let-up in the services I conducted, sermons to prepare, etc.
That winter I sometimes drove in to Chicago in the little Falcon, thus saving a bit of time. However, I saved little money, because of the expensive tolls on the big tollroad that runs from Rockford to Chicago. Altogether I earned some fifty credits at North Park Seminary, to meet the Covenant requirements for ordination.
My greatest problem in serving as a Covenant pastor was my refusal to baptize infants. I thought then, and still think, that it is a bad practice, and leads to a false sense of spiritual security. People think they are in a right relation with God because they have been baptized. It always appeared to me to work against the concept of a "new birth."
I didn't enjoy my sessions with the Conference and Covenant ministerial boards through those years 1960 to 1964. Much pressure was put on me to conform to the standard Covenant practice. I know that I became unpopular with some of the ministers because I would not change my stand. Sometimes I felt that the pastors on the boards were embarrassed because they could not justify the practice from Scripture. They simply clung to tradition brought over into the Covenant from the state Lutheran church of Sweden.
The Evergreen Church board believed as I did, and came under the same sort of pressure to change their policy. Once I was told very directly by an official of the Covenant that I was not wanted in the Covenant, and would never be ordained. Despite that, I kept on with my studies in Chicago, and working hard at the church. By midwinter of 1963-64, I had met the scholastic requirements for ordination, but still didn't know what the outcome would be.
I remember many very good times from our days in Rockford. I enjoyed the various camps and conferences held for ministers. I went twice with men from our church to work on the grounds at the Covenant campground at Lake Geneva, in Wisconsin. We always had good times working together, and the camp was wonderful. The Covenant owned some 2000 feet of shore front on the lovely big lake, and had good buildings and equipment for summer camping. We had one or two ministers' retreats there, also, in the winter time.
Except for the troubles concerning ordination, my attendance at midwinter conferences of the entire Covenant, and the annual meetings, was pleasant enough. I became good friends of some pastors, particularly among the older men. Our children also enjoyed attending Covenant Bible camps. Twice we went as a family for great vacations in northern Wisconsin.
Also somewhere along in those years, I joined the Rockford Civic Chorus, and sang in Handel's Messiah and other programs with the city's symphony orchestra. That was very enjoyable. I also sometimes sang a solo in a church worship service.
I must admit that by 1963 I was becoming discouraged with the slow progress of the church in Rockford. Despite much effort and prayer, we simply were not growing. I looked around for some means of promoting both spiritual and membership growth. I soon found what I thought might be the answer--a program called "Growth by Groups," prepared by Lyman Coleman. I wrote to him, personally purchased the expensive materials, and then tried to interest the board of elders in the plan. The plan called for starting a number of home Bible study and prayer groups, all following the same excellent course of study. I would work primarily with the leaders of the various groups. I hoped that most of the people in the church might be involved. Attendance at our Wednesday evening prayer meetings had dwindled to a handful of regulars. The home study meetings would replace the Wednesday evening meetings at the church.
That was the plan, and I still think it was a good one. The difficulty was that I just could not "sell" the board of elders on the plan. What I had long since recognized on their part--an extreme conservatism--stood in the way. They wanted to know if First Covenant Church was doing this; I had to say "no." Well, was it being done anywhere else in the Covenant? I didn't know. They voted it down. When I asked for further consideration, I was told that I was just trying to get my own way. That was probably true, but I honestly felt we needed to change our methods.
I was discouraged by the declining attendance at Evergreen, and the rejection of the Growth by Groups program. Soon after, I told the Central Conference Superintendent that I felt I should possibly move to another church. Almost immediately I was called by the North Pacific Conference Superintendent in Seattle, asking if I would be interested in moving to a church in Spokane, Washington. I suspect that someone in the Central Conference saw an opportunity to rid the conference of the fellow who refused to baptize infants! The idea of moving to the northwest was very appealing, so I agreed to go to Spokane to candidate.
I went by train, a long, long ride, in mid-February of 1964. The people in Spokane met me at the station, and did everything they could to impress me with their need. I think my sermons (two of them, at the morning and evening services on one Sunday) impressed them. They took me on a tour of the city, well covered just then by heavy, dirty snow. It was a dismal prospect. The Sunday school was large enough, but the church membership had failed to grow. The church had been organized about seven years, and should have been growing. I didn't feel any special leading of the Lord in the matter, and went back to Rockford pretty well convinced that I should not go to Spokane. The church in Spokane didn't offer any increase in salary, and the area in which it was located was sparsely populated, with many vacant houses in the neighborhood. I didn't see much chance for growth there.
The call from the Minnehaha Covenant Church in Spokane came, much as I had expected. After much prayer, I sent a letter saying I didn't feel I should accept the position. Then several officials of the Covenant really went to work on me. Joe Danielson, the Secretary of Home Missions, invited me to lunch one day, in Chicago, and told me how helpful I could be at Minnehaha. They couldn't seem to get out of debt; I had been successful in getting my present church to pay off their debt. That was true! The North Pacific Conference Superintendent called me long distance, and urged me to accept the call. With some misgiving, I finally agreed to make the move. I felt I was no longer effective at Evergreen Church.
In May of 1964 I met again with the Central Conference ministerial board. Though reluctant, this time they agreed to my ordination, to take place at the Annual Meeting of the Covenant in Minneapolis in mid-June, 1964. We were planning to leave Rockford to move to Spokane in July.
The ordination service was impressive, Jane said. John and Nina Bergman were there at the meeting. Jane and I enjoyed travelling back to Rockford with them (they were on their way back to Warren, Michigan). We all stayed overnight in a little motel cottage on the bank of the Mississippi River, in southeastern Minnesota. That evening we rowed in a large rowboat down the river to a restaurant for dinner. What an adventure, to row on the Mississippi!
Soon after returning to Rockford, we began packing. We left the church with mixed feelings. At the last moment the Board decided that I had not earned any vacation time that year. That meant a loss of about two weeks' salary--and that hurt! Beside that matter, I had other depressing feelings. I felt sad that things hadn't gone better at Evergreen Church, and also had some anxiety about the new assignment in Spokane. I felt that I was not effective as a pastor, and wondered even then about leaving that line of work.
The church in Spokane would pay our moving expenses, but we had to reduce the shipment if possible. So we had a big yard sale. Among other things, we sold our faithful lawn mower, a very good one. I also sold my guns--the beautiful little Winchester .218 Bee rifle, and my Ruger .22 pistol. We needed all the cash we could get. I have often regretted that sale, as I have never been able to replace those fine weapons.
Finally we were ready to move. We left Rockford, our home for a little over four years, pulling our little one-wheel trailer with our camping stuff in it. David had already gone to Montana to work at my sister Jean's farm. Jane, the girls, and I drove down through Kansas, to visit Jane's mother and other relatives, then on to Spokane. Our Rockford days were over--surely the best years I had while in pastoral work.
Looking over my old desk calendars, kept for some unknown reason, I find myself becoming depressed all over again because things didn't go better there. I can only be satisfied that I preached the Gospel and the Bible as faithfully as I knew how, though nothing much had happened. Perhaps things would go better in Spokane!

2009-09-22T16:12:00.000-07:00

MY FIRST FULL-TIME PASTORATE
With the call from the Community Church in Houstonia, Missouri, we could pack up and leave Pasadena. By this time we had a large collection of household stuff, and had to have a professional moving company help. We filled our car with ourselves, camping equipment, and clothing. We put as much as we could in our little one-wheeled trailer, and were ready to leave. Of course, it was hard to leave the familiar city, the wonderful school and teachers, and our many student friends.
Because the crossing of the California desert was reported to be so unpleasantly hot in summer, we planned to leave Pasadena about midnight. Thus we could drive in the "cool" of the night. That turned out alright, but I became terribly sleepy. David and I enjoyed seeing the many kangaroo rats hopping across the road, and an occasional coyote caught in the headlights. It was a very warm night. We arrived at Needles, California, on the Arizona border, at about 6AM in the morning, to find the temperature already at 110 degrees in the shade--and no shade.
We cooled off a bit while we ate breakfast in a restaurant, then drove on to Williams, Arizona. There we looked for a motel room, and holed up for the day. The air-conditioned room was a delight. We all enjoyed the rest, though the children were bored. Early next morning we set off to the north to visit Grand Canyon. I took a few good pictures, on black and white film. Later I learned how to make slides from such negatives, and we have enjoyed those.
After that diversion, we drove as quickly as we could across Arizona, New Mexico, the corner of the Texas panhandle, Oklahoma, and on to visit Jane's sister, Evelyn, at Attica, Kansas. We later stopped at Jane's mother's place in eastern Kansas for a short visit. The weather was very hot, and the car unpleasantly warm without an air conditioner. On the hottest days we bought a block of ice, that we kept in the car in a wash pan. We cooled wash cloths on the ice, and used them to keep our faces (and my head) cool! That was a great help.
It was only a short day's drive from Savonburg, Kansas, to our new church town, Houstonia, Missouri, about seventy-five miles due east of Kansas City. Mr. Neef, the church elder who had entertained me in their home on my previous visit, led us to our new home, the parsonage. The house was adequate, though it was terribly old--built before the Civil War! There was a partial basement, dark and damp, but Jane could use it for washing. One central gas furnace located in the floor of the living room, and a fireplace, provided heat when needed. We had a fine front porch, and stored our bicycles there. The large yard offered plenty of space for a garden, though it was too late to start one that year. We had arrived late in July, 1958.
Directly south of the house, in the same block, stood the church, a big, square old brick building, formerly owned by the Christian Church. That congregation had become too small to support the work, so had changed the church to "community church." The congregation had kept some practices of the Christian Church. Other procedures had been borrowed from other churches. Former Southern Baptists and Methodists rounded out the congregation. The sanctuary was bowl-shaped, with plenty of old wooden theatre-type seats. The church yard was pretty weedy, and the grass desperately needed mowing.
I soon learned that the congregation was truly a mixed group. The church board told me on my first visit that the church had some three hundred members. Now I found that there were no really adequate church records, and many members were no longer active, or not living in the area. As soon as I could afford to do so, I ordered a proper church record book, and began to enter membership information, baptisms, weddings, deaths, funerals--all the things that are so important in church records.
The first day we were in Houstonia there came a knock at the door. There stood a couple in their forties, who pleasantly announced that they were the nuts! That is, their name was Nutt! They became good friends, and were very helpful all the time we were there. Her parents and grandparents had been among the founders of the Christian Church, in Indiana, I think it was. Later Mrs. Nutt showed me, with great pride, portraits of many old long-bearded serious-looking men, real "pillars" in the early Christian Church movement.
An important beginning task was to make calls in the homes of the active members in the area, to get acquainted, and find out their thinking on the needs of the church. That was very educational. The Higgins family, actually several families, lived out on Higgins Road (naturally!) west of Houstonia, on farms carved out of the original plantation. The old family home, a beautiful red brick building with white pillars in front, had been built by slaves long before the Civil War. It was no longer lived in. All the Higginses had been former members of the Christian Church.
How well I remember my first visit to one Higgins' home. They had just brought from town a new set of Danish modern living room chairs, and I was invited to try one of them. I seated myself carefully in the low chair, and immediately found myself tossed over backward, doing a complete summersault! The back legs of the chair had collapsed! They, and I, were embarrassed. I assured them that I didn't usually break up the furniture in homes.
The largest family in the area, representing some 60% of the entire congregation through marriage ties, was the Killion family. The patriarch of the whole brood was old "Elder Killion;" that was how everyone knew him. Their farm was about three miles out of town. That farm, the ancestral home, was encircled by farms occupied by sons, and sons-in-law, a very large and influential group in the church. I think they may have originally been Baptists, though I never really knew.
On one of my early visits to Elder Killion’s I found him in the barn, milking. As I visited with him, I leaned against a square upright supporting timber. From old tool marks, I saw that it was hand-hewed. Testing it with my pocket knife, I found the wood to be black walnut--straight as a string, perfectly sound, and some fifteen feet in length. I asked Mr. Killion for the history of the large barn. He said that his grandfather had built the barn from black walnut trees cleared from the land. There was a small fortune in well-cured walnut in that one building!
While I always got along well with Mrs. Killion, I soon found myself out of favor with Elder Killion. There was an old Black lady living in Houstonia, who had been born a slave. She was the only black person in the little town. Jane and I were told about her, and we went down to visit with her one day. We found her a delightful person, a real believer in Jesus. Her Bible was simply a stack of loose pages, it was so well worn. I offered to get her a new one, but she refused it.
After our visit to the black lady, the next time I visited the Killions, he addressed me as "nigger lover," and we never got along well after that. He had heard that we had gone to visit the old lady. It was only a month or so later that Mr. Killion became very ill, and was taken to a hospital in Kansas City, seventy-five miles away. I felt that as his pastor I must visit him no matter where the hospital might be. So we drove all the way to Kansas City, found the hospital and went to his room. When he learned that it was I who had come to visit, he turned his face to the wall, and refused to talk with me. I left the room, while Jane remained by his bedside. After a bit he was willing to talk with her. That was not the last frustrating contact I had with that man. The one hundred and fifty mile round trip to see him was wasted effort and expense.
Checking on the state laws of Missouri, I found that I must be ordained if I were to perform weddings. That wasn't a simple matter, since neither that "independent" church nor I had "ordaining" connections with anyone. From one of my courses in seminary, I had a general idea of how I might go about getting ordained.
I called the pastors of several neighboring churches, asking them to serve on an examining council. The pastor of the Methodist Church, just across the street to the north of the parsonage, agreed to help. I then got the pastor of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church out in the country about ten miles east of town. Two pastors from churches in Sedalia were also willing to come. The Southern Baptist Church pastor, with whom we became good friends later, refused. I think he thought anyone pastoring that community church simply couldn't be a real Christian!
On the appointed day the ministers met at the church, with several members of the church board. I gave a testimony of how I came to believe in Jesus, and told of my training at Fuller Seminary. I then urged the members of the examination panel to ask me questions. No one volunteered any! One or two of the church board members intimated that I seemed all right, and that was the extent of that examination! I had typed up a document stating that I had been examined and ordained on that date, and the several ministers all solemnly signed it. Later, I had that paper recorded in the county recorder's office. I then considered myself officially ordained. No one in Missouri ever questioned it!
Soon after that ordination procedure, I did have a wedding. One day a very shy young woman came and asked if I would conduct a wedding ceremony for her and her fiance. Her father opposed her marrying, chiefly, I gathered, because he would lose a good farm hand! I agreed to help, and we set a date.
The girl, her mother, her fiance, and Jane and I composed the entire wedding party. I carefully checked the license, found it OK, and had the two stand before me, in the empty church. As I read the wedding service, the girl became more and more upset. When we came to the vows, she was unable to speak, and broke down in tears. After a little, when she had regained her composure, we tried again. Same problem! That wedding took longer, I think, than any other I ever conducted. Finally the plain little ring was on her finger, and the ceremony was over. The young couple moved away somewhere, and I think I never saw them again.
Going back to the many inactive members on the church rolls-- I found that there were only about one hundred active members living in the community. I proposed to the Board that we contact the inactive people, to find out whether they wanted to continue as members. They agreed, and I sent out dozens of letters, run off on the ancient mimeograph, asking whether the persons were interested in continuing their church membership. Very few responded, so after waiting a decent interval, I dropped the unresponsive from the rolls, and sent letters notifying them of the action.
Then I learned how much the people in that area treasured their church membership. Several people protested having friends, or even far-distant relatives, dropped from church membership. I persuaded most of them, I think, that church membership is properly for those who really belong to the congregation, and support and attend the activities of a church. The whole business didn't win me any friends.
Houstonia had only one small grocery store, and one tavern. We did most of our shopping on weekly visits to Sedalia, a fair-sized town about twenty miles away. There was a very old, semi-retired doctor in Houstonia, whose abilities everyone questioned. When we needed a doctor, we usually went to see one at a clinic in Sweet Springs, about twelve miles away. There was a large Air Force base in the area, and at least one couple from there were members of the church. There was a small hospital in Sedalia, but most of the folks, when seriously ill or injured, went to a hospital in Kansas City. I made several trips to the city to call on sick people, including the visit I described above.
I soon came to dread the church board meetings. The board was large, about fifteen men, many of whom were heavy smokers. The air would be blue with smoke at every meeting, as they didn't hesitate to smoke in the church building. There were a few earnest Christians on the board, but even they were woefully ignorant of the Bible, or of how a church should operate.
A matter of great pride among the men was their pet project--"God's Acre." One farmer member had offered the use of seventy acres of good farm land for the church to farm. The men had planted soy beans, working cooperatively. The crop was well along when we came to Houstonia. I enjoyed working with the men on those beans. The first work day we all worked at weeding. Later we had a good day combining the beans. The crop brought in a very good return, over $2500, if I remember correctly.
I soon learned that the soybean money was not to be used for any current expenses of the church. It was put in savings, to draw interest, until the board chose some worthy project. Mr. Killion, a member of the board, frequently reminded me in the board meetings that my salary would never be paid out of that fund! Speaking of salary, we soon found that I had agreed to a truly minimum income! Our total salary was only $300 per month. We had to pay our own utilities, buy food and clothing, and drive all over the territory on that money. Jane is a good manager, and we managed to eat well, anyway. Occasionally a farm family gave us eggs or chickens. There were many cottontail rabbits in the nearby thickets. We ate more than a few rabbits that winter! I also shot a few squirrels with my great little .218 Bee rifle, and enjoyed occasional early morning squirrel hunts in the countryside.
I remember one occasion when I had taken the rifle along while out calling in the country. After completing my planned calls, I took a little jaunt up through a likely-looking wooded area, hoping to get a squirrel for supper. When I came back out to the road, carrying the rifle (but no squirrel!), I was just in time to see the Baptist pastor and another man driving by. Jimmy Eads, the pastor, stopped, and they gave me a bad time (joking, of course) about my method of trying to enlarge my congregation at gunpoint!
The other man was a visiting evangelist, and they invited me to their meetings. I did attend that evening, and again they got some good laughs telling of meeting me with the rifle. By that time I had met many of the good Baptists, and we were friends. I attended Jim's church when I could, and Jane and I loved both him and his wife, Naomi, and their children Houstonia was such a little town nearly everyone knew everyone else. I called on many in town, simply going door to door, to get acquainted, and to win anyone possible to faith in Jesus. One little old lady and I became good friends. She was a staunch Baptist, but that didn't hinder my visiting with her, or sharing a Bible passage and prayer time with her. She was nearly blind, and later became totally so. Yet she lived alone, and managed very well. Before we left Houstonia, that lady had cataract surgery, and regained her vision in one eye. She always called me "Brother Cumming," and I just couldn't pass her house without at least calling in a greeting to her. She knew my voice, too, and would ask (when she was blind): "Is that you, Brother Cumming? Come on in!"
There was no suitable space in the church for a church office, so I set up my "study" in our bedroom. I placed a bird feeder just outside the window that first winter, so I could watch the birds. I did leave the ancient mimeograph at the church. I used it for printing the weekly bulletins and some letters. I had learned how to operate a mimeograph while in the CCC’s--another instance where my past experience was of great help.
All too soon winter came on. Then we had to use the gas furnace, located under the living room floor, to heat the house. Several farmers offered tree trimmings for firewood. I cut lots of wood, mostly black locust and oak, to burn in the fireplace. The hardwoods gave off plenty of heat, and always left a fine bed of coals for roasting weiners, or making toast.
David and Mary were soon well established in school in Houstonia. The school was not far from the church. Jane and I became active in the PTA, attending meetings regularly that winter. In those days the ministers of the town, taking turn, had fifteen or twenty minutes to speak at each PTA meeting. It was a great opportunity to speak to a good crowd.
We went to Jane's mother's home for Thanksgiving, and had a great time with Bill and her other brothers and a flock of their sons, hunting quail and rabbits. That was a good visit. I also preached at the little Methodist church one evening. There we met the pastor of the Evangelical Covenant Church located out in the country near Savonburg. On the next visit to Savonburg, I was invited to speak at the Covenant church.
For our own church Christmas program I took pictures of the children of the church in a manger scene--a real one, complete with animals--and scenes in the church yard of the shepherds, etc. Then we showed those slides for the Christmas program. The plan worked out well. The parents, at least, were delighted, though the slides weren't really very good. I kept very busy in ministry, preaching a sermon each Sunday morning, and teaching a men's Sunday School class. For the first few months I also directed the choir and later sang in the choir.
In the fall of 1958 we invited a representative of Moody Bible Institute, Dr. Will R. Johnson, from Galveston, Texas, to come for a week of meetings. He was a grand old fellow, a retired Methodist minister, and did a good job of teaching. He conducted Bible studies at the church each morning, and preached in the evenings, for a whole week. Though he was very good, there was little response to his ministry. As no one else seemed interested, or offered to entertain Dr. Johnson, we put him up at our ancient house. He slept in the narrow "upstairs bedroom" where David had his cot. That worked out fine, except that one morning we heard a terrible thumping, and found that Dr. Johnson had fallen down the stairs! Fortunately, he was not injured! He taught us to sing that great song by Charles Wesley "Oh, Can It Be?" That has been one of my favorites ever since.
Oh, another thing! I wanted some way of presenting Bible stories visually. Jane sometimes used her hand-drawn flannelgraph scenes when telling Bible stories. I wanted something more professional. With my sister Jean's financial help, we bought a good screen and projector for use with both slides and film strips. We still have both "tools," and use them frequently. They were helpful. For the Sunrise Easter service in 1959 I showed a film strip of the crucifixion, and sang a solo "Were You There." I think probably the people were sick of my singing solos!
David obtained the job of mowing the city park soon after we arrived in Houstonia. That meant we must buy a power mower. It was a large area to mow, and sometimes I had to spell him a bit to get the job done. Mary soon became a member of the local 4-H club, and made many friends there. David also mowed the church yard. For entertainment, he often went fishing with neighbor boys, and had much fun doing that, and swimming in the farmponds.
In late winter, about March of 1959, we all came down with Asiatic flu, that was epidemic in the whole area. We all became sick at once. To get medical care, we had to drive to Sweet Springs, to the nearest clinic. I was almost too sick to drive, but the girls were very sick, and needed shots. We went up there two or three times, and had to sit in the waiting room each time with crowds of other sick folks.
After one of those visits to the doctor, I really thought I might die! My pulse that night was down to about 50, and I was terribly nauseated and suffering from diarrhea, as well. Every time I made a dash for the bathroom I became very light-headed, and fainted once or twice. Eventually, of course, we all recovered.
Apart from our visiting with Jimmie and Naomi Eads, the Southern Baptist pastor and his wife, we had no contact with other ministers. I felt that we needed that. Also, there was no church camp anywhere in our area where we might send our children. So after getting the address from the Covenant pastor at Savonburg, I wrote to the Covenant Camp near Grand Island, Nebraska, and asked if there were any possibility that we could attend their family camp. They replied at once with a cordial invitation. That turned out to be a most pleasant week. We took a day driving up, and had lots of fun in the classes, meetings, at meals, fishing, etc. When the camp was over, the pastor of the Covenant Church in Lindsborg, Kansas, invited us to stay at his place overnight, on our way to visit Jane's mother. We did that, and had a great visit with him and his wife.
In the spring of 1959, one church member, a farmer, came and plowed the garden spot for us. I put in a large garden. It did very well, as we had plenty of rain. Jane canned many jars of produce that summer, and we had enough to share with others. A lady in the church, and a farm family who were friends, though not active in the church, loaned me their garden tillers from time to time. The machines helped keep the weeds controlled.
We have always enjoyed harvesting things from nature, mostly to eat. There were many black walnut trees in the countryside around Houstonia. With permission of the landowners, we gathered sacks of walnuts in the fall of 1958 and again in 1959. Sunday afternoons, to help me unwind after preaching, I sometimes went down in the basement and cracked black walnuts for an hour or so. That is slow work, as you may know, but the meats were tasty in cookies and cakes. We also harvested wild grapes, and made jelly from them each year.
In the fall of 1959 the church board approved my suggestion that we invite Harold and Mary Lou Tannehill, from Billings, to come for a series of evangelistic meetings. They came down, as scheduled, and we had "so- so" attendance. Harold preached the first two or three nights on prophecy, jumping hither and yon in the Scriptures in a way that I was sure was confusing to the congregation. It worried me, so after praying seriously for the right way to handle the situation, I decided I must say something. I asked Harold the next morning if it would not be better for him simply to give us good old-fashioned salvation messages. That offended both Harold and Mary Lou, and I was almost sorry I had said anything. But from there on Harold preached for decision, and on the last night of the meeting, one high school girl come forward. I had the pleasure of praying with her to receive Jesus. I think the Tannehills went home a bit unsure whether I was really a sound Christian, as things were a bit cool between us for years after that.
There were some very fine Christian people in the church, and we really appreciated the support they gave us. Most, however, were indifferent. A family reunion or just about any other excuse was sufficient to keep them away from worship and mid-week services. I feel that I was probably wrong in that I always wondered about the absentees, instead of rejoicing in those who did come. I had many a silent struggle with the problem.
In February of 1960 I received an invitation from the Covenant Church to attend their midwinter conference in Kansas City. I think that was a response to our attending the family camp in Nebraska. That was great, and I could hardly contain myself at the prospect of having fellowship with the many pastors who would be there. I went to the conference, and had several interesting conversations with older men in the Covenant.
One, an old traditionalist, must have been afraid that I was trying to weasel my way into the Covenant. He told me strongly, after learning that I did not believe in the baptism of infants, that there was no place for me in the Covenant! Another distinguished man, Gilbert Swenson, senior pastor of the large First Covenant Church in Rockford, Illinois, talked to me at considerable length. I told him that I felt I should move on from the church in Houstonia, but didn't know where to look.
As it turned out, he thought I could work well in the Covenant. Only a couple of weeks after the conference I had an invitation to come to Rockford, Illinois, to candidate at Evergreen Covenant Church, a small, new church on the outskirts of the city. That was encouraging! Jane was invited to come, too, and we took the train from Sedalia to St. Louis and from there to Chicago. We were met in the Chicago station by a friendly couple who drove us to Rockford, about eighty miles away. I preached at both morning and evening services, had a meeting with the board that evening, and immediately had a call to come there as pastor! I accepted, and we returned to Houstonia very happy!
Although it was awkward for David and Mary to have to change schools in the middle of the school year, we arranged to move to Rockford in early April. We had stayed longer (about 20 months) in the community church than any one of the previous twelve preachers. One man had boasted to me that they had "gone through" twelve preachers in a period of 13 years! The new opportunity in Rockford was encouraging, so there was no question whether we should go there. The small, but active, congregation of Evergreen Covenant Church was an energetic group. They had built the church building as a team, and now were ready to try something new. In a series of phone calls, we arranged a date when a group of the men would come to Houstonia to help us move. They would bring a moving truck, gather up all our possessions, and move us to Rockford in one day! Though only a few hundred miles, it sounded like a big undertaking to us.
We set about packing, and had everything ready on the appointed day before the move. That evening we had been feeling a bit sorry for ourselves, since it appeared that the church in Houstonia was totally indifferent to our leaving. Oh, a few folks had come by to say "good-bye," but not many. I remember we ate in the little cafe down town, and then drove back home right at dusk. When we walked in the front door, the lights came on and we found nearly everyone from the church crowded in the house! They had planned a grand farewell surprise party, and carried it off very well. There were gifts and little speeches, and then they all left. They had given us a set of china, that I thought was beautiful
Very early the next morning, while eating our breakfast, we noticed a strange truck parked near the church. Then came a knock at our door! The men from Evergreen Church in Rockford had arrived during the night. They had slept in the truck, and now were ready to load our things. With a busy crew, that didn't take long. One man stayed to ride with us, to make sure we didn't get lost. After a final cleaning of the house, we were on our way to a new start in what I hoped would be a very different situation. How different it was must wait for a later chapter.

2009-09-15T15:28:00.000-07:00

LAST YEAR AT SEMINARY
As I begin this account of my final year at Seminary, I find I have omitted mentioning a very important member of our household--a lovely small multicolored female cat, acquired as a kitten during my first year. We all loved that little creature.
Often while studying late at night I had a little relief from the monotony of study watching the antics of our little cat, who loved to play with me. She would bring objects to me to toss or hide so she could run and catch them. She delighted in trying to get a little wad of paper out of the toe of my slipper. She loved to jump up into the empty bathtub while I was shaving in the morning. She would crouch down, then sneak up to the edge, and try to reach out to tug at my pajama leg. One morning, unknown to her, I had already run my bath. She took her usual flying leap into the tub without looking! She was one wet and bedraggled little cat, terribly insulted. I lifted her out and dried her off with a towel. Our lovely little cat died in the spring of my final year, apparently from poisoning, causing real grief to all our family.
My third, or senior year, in seminary was much like the first--extremely busy with studies until late at night, and working long hours at the library to make financial ends meet. On rare occasions we went for a picnic; once we went to Malibu beach. I realized later how hard it was for Jane and the children, for I really neglected them. I deeply regret that! New neighbors, a Seminary student and his family, moved into the little house behind us on the lot, and we became good friends with them. My courses were more difficult than ever, but I managed to keep my grade average well up on the scale.
During the winter, I began contacting different mission organizations, seeking a place where we could serve when I had graduated. I went to several prayer meetings with people associated with the Latin America Mission, West Indies Mission, and one or two others. None of them showed any interest in a man of my age with three young children! It just seemed there were no possibilities, though I wished later that I had tried harder. In my heart I wanted to become a missionary, rather than serve as a pastor in the states. Some of the faculty at the Seminary urged me to become a pastor.
At almost the last minute I began contacting churches looking for a pastor. A Mennonite church in Pennsylvania wrote, after reviewing my application, that I was not mature enough for them. Openings were scarce!
Graduation came all too soon. I successfully passed the required three days of oral examination by a battery of seminary professors, and received my Bachelor of Divinity degree. (In the early 1960's, the seminary offered to issue a new diploma for $25, granting me a Master's degree. I couldn’t spare the $25, I didn't feel it was worth the $25 fee anyway, and so didn't ask for the change.) My Dad came to Pasadena to be present for the graduation, and we enjoyed a good visit with him. It was the first time he had been in California, and he seemed to find everything interesting. We went up to Mt. Wilson, and all around the area.
One day while he was there we went to see the huge Museum of Power and Industry, in Los Angeles. I was taking care of Martha, while Jane and the other two children went off somewhere else. Suddenly I missed Martha! She was no where in sight! Then she called to me--from overhead! She had shinnied up a brass pole about five inches in diameter, perhaps twenty feet high, clear to the ceiling! She came down much faster than she had gone up, but I caught her without trouble. She was a great climber!
The graduation ceremony was very formal, and somehow sad. It meant for us in the large class the end of a period of very hard work, and was a relief, in that sense. But it also meant that we graduates were now about to go out into the world to serve the Lord. Several, like me, didn't know where that was going to be. Solemnly we marched up and across the platform, to receive our diplomas (phonies!--the real ones came to us later by mail), and shake hands for the last time with Dr. Charles Fuller, Dr. Carnell, Seminary President, and one or two other prominent Christian men. All went well for the first thirty or forty of us. Then one graduate, who had a very serious vision problem, somehow missed the stairs leaving the platform. Instead, he turned down into the orchestra pit. There he wandered around for several moments, with giggling, snickering, some open laughter from the audience and the faculty on the platform only further confusing him. Finally someone left the platform, and led the poor chap up and out, and back to where he belonged. I felt sorry for him, as he was visibly severely shaken and embarrassed by the whole episode.
A day or two later, Dad returned to Montana, and we saw our friends and co-workers Wilfred and Carolyn Naujoks and their two children off for the east coast. They travelled in their little Volkswagen "bug," having sold their van. They ate their last meal in Pasadena at our house, and left late in the evening. The little car was loaded to the hilt, with the children wedged in the back seat with luggage. We prayed together that they would have a safe trip. We learned some weeks later that they ran out of gas out in the middle of the Mohave desert that night. Wilfred had forgotten to fill the reserve gas tank! He had to leave Carolyn and the children alone for several hours, while he walked and hitch-hiked to find gasoline! That was the last time we saw them! They returned to Germany, where Wilfred was later involved in the smuggling of Bibles into Poland and Russia. We lost touch with them, finally--a wonderful couple.
Soon after graduation, a church in Walnut Creek, California, sent a delegation to interview me, but that also came to nothing. Finally, a fine Christian woman from a little community church in Missouri wrote to the seminary, asking if there was an evangelical man available. The seminary placement office referred the letter to me. I called and talked to the lady by phone. I decided I should take a chance on a trip there, to candidate, as the church offered to pay the expenses for the bus ticket.
That was one long bus ride! I really enjoyed it, taking advantage of the brief stops in New Mexico and elsewhere to look around a bit. I didn't eat much enroute, and slept poorly. Finally I arrived at the little town of Houstonia, about seventy-five miles east of Kansas City. An elderly couple from the church met me, and took me to their home for the night.
Next day I rode to the church with them, and found that the church leaders expected me to plan and lead the whole service! They had no plans whatever! A lady was available to play the piano. So I hastily conferred with her, selected some hymns to more or less fit my sermon, and went ahead. There was a fair crowd in the old church, and the seating arrangement and acoustics were good. I guess I did all right, as the church board met after the service and immediately voted to ask me to come as their pastor.
Although I had serious misgivings, and the salary they offered was minimal, (only $300 per month, pay our own moving expenses, no car allowance, and live in the parsonage (a house built before the Civil War), I decided that I should accept their offer. I had no other place to go, and our savings were almost gone! Later I learned that twelve different pastors had served that church in the past thirteen years--or was it thirteen in the last twelve years? The turn-over rate was rather high!
Taken back to the bus depot that same evening, I began the long ride back to Pasadena. At last I had a call to a church! My seminary days were over; I was ready to work, though I was disappointed at not being able to become a missionary. My experiences in that little church as a green pastor just out of school I will tell briefly in the next chapter!

2009-09-09T16:30:00.000-07:00

SEMINARY MIDDLER (1956-’57)
Late in August, after a good summer staying with my sister Jean and her family, we loaded up our little trailer and headed back to Pasadena. We stopped the first night at a little church in a small town near Bozeman, Montana. There we took part in a worship service in the evening. Next day we drove on to Boise, Idaho, touring the "Craters of the Moon" national monument enroute. From there we drove across Oregon, and camped near Prineville, Oregon. We had to pitch our tent on a gravel bed that made sleeping very uncomfortable despite our air mattresses! Then it was on across the Cascades, where I got some good pictures, and down along the Oregon coast. We stopped once to pick blackberries from a big thicket right along the highway.
We camped one night at a big redwood grove, where we all were amazed at the size of the giant redwood trees. One burned out stump near the campground was large enough to have accommodated our tent, and possibly the car, as well. Next morning a herd of elk, perhaps 30 head, were seen in a nearby meadow.
We finally arrived in Pasadena very late one night, only to find our apartment full of sleeping people! The seminary receptionist had followed our instructions, and given the key to a new student family just coming in--John and Elaine Rex with six (!) children, and a dog. So we got out our own camping gear, and joined some of the children and the dog on the floor. This family became good friends, and we enjoyed many a pleasant time with them in the next two years. John Rex became a Presbyterian pastor after graduting from Fuller.
Soon the second year of school began. As a second year student, my new title was "Middler." I had courses in advanced Greek, and began the study of Hebrew, a very tough language. With a full schedule of classes, and my continuing work at the library, we were very busy. Jane did some child care work, to provide extra income.
I learned, soon after classes began, that another student was looking for someone to help him pastor a little church, Museum Heights Community Church. The location was in the foothills between Pasadena and Los Angeles, about fifteen miles from where we lived. I found the student, a senior, working at a parking lot, and we hit it off very well. Wilfred Naujoks was a German national, a son of Salvation Army workers in Hamburg, and had come to the United States to study for the ministry or missionary service. He was one great fellow to work with. He had been forced to serve in Hitler’s Youth Corp during the World War II.
The church we served was a tiny little non-denominational group that met in a hall above a liquor store. Used Saturday nights for dances, the hall had to be cleaned and swept each Sunday when we arrived. We threw out dozens of empty bottles and other debris from the partying of the night before, preparing the room for Sunday School and worship. Sheets strung on wires served to provide a measure of privacy for the bathroom stool and wash basin. Wilfred had a fine wife, Carolyn, whom he had met while attending a Bible School in the New England area. They had one small daughter, Karen.
Wilfred drove a new Volkswagen van, the first one I had seen. We usually rode back and forth with them to the church, as the van could carry both our families easily. Sometimes on week nights Wilfred and I went calling on homes in the neighborhood of the church, especially Sunday School families, trying to help people to know the Lord. Driving around the hills of the neighborhood, we saw coyotes, coons, and possums.
We took turns preaching on Sundays. When Wilfred was to preach, I taught the adult Sunday School class, composed of about six or eight women and, sometimes a couple of men. When I had the sermon Wilfred taught the class. It was great experience in every way. We still keep in touch with one family from that little church. The tiny compensation given us barely paid for the gasoline used in driving to and from our homes. We worked together in that little church until the spring of 1958, and then found two other students to carry on the work. Sadly, the church dissolved not long after we left Pasadena, largely because the leading families desired to have their children in a larger church.
My work load was very heavy, especially the study of Hebrew, which is one difficult language. Of course, I didn't really master it, at all. We did manage to translate the whole book of Esther in class, and found that a good way to sample the language and grammar. I was working 25 to 30 hours per week, and money was scarce. Yet it was in this 2nd year of seminary that we became good friends with some wonderful people. We seminary students freely shared what we had, plain food and good fellowship, even clothing, with anyone in need. We often had big pot-luck dinners together.
Also, Jane and the children and I did some "touring" of the area. We visited Mt. Wilson and Mt. Palomar observatories, and the nearby beaches when we had a little time on a Sunday afternoon or a holiday. Jane was active in the seminary wives' organization, and that helped her to get acquainted with other young women. We were older than most of the students. I was actually a year or so older than the president of the seminary, Dr. Carnell! The year went very quickly.
In the spring of 1956 I had purchased a Japanese 35mm camera, and took a few pictures that second year in school. Now that camera came in might handy! In oneChristian education class, Jim Dyer, a fellow student and a fine artist, and I teamed up on a project. Jim did a series of simple paintings of the missionary journeys of Paul. Jim did the art work, and assisted me in taking the slides of his pictures and maps. I composed the narrative, and recorded it on tape. It was a pretty good production (at least we received good grades on it), and I used it a few times in churches in later years. We each had a copy of the booklet and slides.
Perhaps my most interesting class was one on preaching. We studied many famous sermons, and also had to present short sermons in class, subject to very detailed criticism--of the message, the language used, gestures, facial expression, etc. It was very helpful experience!
David became a paper-boy that year, equipped with a good bicycle. We often had to help him with the heavy Sunday papers, and on rainy days. We also purchased a used bike for Jane and one for Mary. Sometimes we all rode our bikes together on a Sunday afternoon. I carried Martha, still pretty small, in the front basket on my bike.
School was over by the middle of May, in 1957, and I at once looked for a fulltime job for the summer. I was fortunate in having had such good experience with the Bureau of Reclamation. I walked into the U.S.Civil Service Commission branch office in Pasadena one morning, looking for work. I’m sure by God’s arranging, a representative from the Army was there in the office looking for a management analyst to do the same sort of organizational studies I had done with the Bureau. Because I had "permanent status" with the U.S. Civil Service,(that is, I could be rehired without examination) by afternoon I had an excellent short term job with the U. S. Army!
I worked for the Army for about three and half months, quitting in early September. The Army office was only three miles from our apartment, so I rode my bike to and from work most days. I took my lunch and rain gear, when rain threatened. The work was difficult, as is often the case. People don't like an "efficiency expert" poking around, asking lots of questions why they do something this way, instead of that. I was first assigned to do a thorough study of the Inspection Department. I ran into considerable opposition, but came up with a good plan for reorganization of the Inspection department, that saved the government an estimated $10,000 per month in working time and car mileage. I presented that plan before the Commanding Officer and, of course, the Major in charge of the unit, and his assistants. The CO gave his approval to my plan. The Major in charge of Inspection claimed he got stomach ulcers over that. I wasn’t there long enough to see how well the plan was carried out. I also did a study of the Civilian Personnel Office, and was able to give some help to the newly appointed Personnel Officer in developing a good team. My experience during the war helped me greatly in those studies. I had learned a lot about inspection in the aircraft manufacturing plants and also knew the Civil Service rules pretty well.
I was free on weekends, except for serving the little church. We went on lots of picnics that summer. Over Memorial Day we went to a public beach near Santa Barbara, and camped for a couple nights with two other couples. That was fun. Jim Dyer, our artist friend, made some beautiful watercolor paintings of the pier, the flowers, and clouds. I envied his skill, and wished I could paint!
Late in the summer, just before school began, we went on a week-long camping trip with the Lowes, our Chinese friends, who had never been camping before. We drove across the Mohave desert, and up the east side of the Sierras, and into Yosemite National Park. The first night, in that high country, we about froze! Water left in our washpan froze solid! All of us were cold in the night, but the morning sun was warm, and we soon were cheerful. On the second day in the park we drove down to the lower, west side area. There we found a grand place to set up our tents, right by the horse corral! At least the children all thought it was ideal though Jane was not in complete agreement on that! Martha had a pony ride after convincing us that she wasn’t too little, and one morning David and I took a trail ride with a large group. Our mean horses did their best to rub our legs against trees and rocks all the way!
We all needed to get back to Pasadena soon--the Lowes to their thriving business, and I to my third year at Seminary. We left Yosemite Park on the Friday night before Labor Day weekend, planning to camp one last night at Grand Sur beach, on the ocean. We had forgotten that many folks would be out camping that weekend. We found all the campgrounds jammed full, so we decided to just drive on home to Pasadena.
We arrived about one o’clock in the morning, to again find our house full of people! As in 1956, we had left our keys at the seminary office, so that any incoming students needing housing for a few days could have a free place to stay while looking for housing. This time it was the Ray Andersons, with their three children and a dog. Ray was from South Dakota, a farmer who had felt called to leave the land and prepare for Christian service. So we dug out our sleeping bags and mattresses, and bedded down on the floor with some of the Anderson children and the dog. Again we thus became acquinted with people who became good friends. Ray went on to get his Doctorate, and later returned to Fuller Seminary to become a professor and then head of a department.
We spent the next few days getting settled in again. I went back to my job at the library, and David to his paper route. Summer of 1957 was over--a great one!

2009-09-02T16:47:00.000-07:00

FIRST YEAR AS A SEMINARY STUDENT
The good people at the Region 6 Bureau of Reclamation office, and some from the Yellowstone District office, where I had worked years before, gave me a fine send-off, though few understood just why I was making such a change. Their major gift to me was a big leather briefcase, which turned out to be a most practical gift. I used it for many years. While in seminary, I carried 15-20 pounds of books to and from school each day--a regular library--in that briefcase!
Finally the time came for us to leave Billings. The U-Haul trailer was heavily loaded, as was our car. Despite having to pull the heavy U-Haul trailer, the little Chevy ran well. We had no problems at all until we arrived in the area of South Pass, in Wyoming. There our heavily loaded trailer proved to be almost too much for the Chevy--not going up hill, but down! The trailer weighed about as much as the car, and it depended solely on the car brakes.
Beginning a long downward grade, I failed to shift down to low gear. As a result, our speed quickly increased until we were travelling far too fast. In those days cars didn't have synchromesh transmissions, so it was impossible to shift down at our speed, though I desperately wanted to. I tried "double clutching," and racing the motor, but I couldn't shift down. We soon were weaving all over the road! Somehow we managed to stay on the pavement. I was shaking like a leaf when we finally coasted to a stop at the next level area! Surely the Lord was watching over us!
Going up the long grades wasn't too bad, though we crawled along for miles in low gear, with the temperature indicator showing that the radiator was boiling. However, we didn't lose a drop of water, despite the warning signals. The old car was doing very well. We stayed our first night in Lander, Wyoming, and were in Salt Lake City the second night. We had heard much about Salt Lake and the Mormons, and were curious to see their temple and tabernacle. So we drove right up the beautiful wide main street leading to the temple grounds, pulling our big orange-colored trailer behind us. It was late in the evening, so we didn't linger, not even long enough to take any pictures. We found a low-priced motel in which we stayed the night,and were on our way early the next morning.
As I recall, the next day was a long, hot day of travel. We finally came to the outskirts of Las Vegas late at night, almost midnight. We needed to buy gasoline, and were all very tired, but thought we should not stay in such a wicked place! (Yes, we were that concerned about acting as Christians!) After reluctantly buying gas, we drove on out into the desert, heading toward Los Angeles. About one o'clock in the morning I was too weary to go any farther. The on-coming traffic was scary--a solid line of cars heading for Vegas. There were no towns, no place we could see on the map where we might find any lodging. So we just drove off the road a little way in a flat area, and tried to sleep stretched out on blankets on the ground. We didn't get much sleep, as the traffic continued heavy all night--zoom, zoom, zoom--cars and big trucks passing us.
After getting a few hours' rest, we drove on into California, down through Barstow, I think it was, and on to Pasadena. None of us had ever been in southern California before, and we were curious to see what it looked like. After getting out of the desert area, we saw many groves of olive and orange trees, and stopped at a fruit stand to buy some oranges. Finally, well out on the east side of Pasadena, we stopped at a motel. I parked the loaded trailer out behind the motel, and we got some good rest and food.
The next day we began apartment hunting in earnest. We bought news papers, and searched through the listings of the places available. We were looking for something reasonably close to the seminary, but also inexpensive, as we knew we had to be careful, as our savings wouldn't last long. I hoped to walk or possibly ride a bike to school each day, to save on gasoline and time. We also explored the city. We found the seminary and left word at the reception desk that our household goods would be coming in by truck in a few days. I desperately hoped to find suitable housing before that date, to avoid storage charges for the furniture.
Our search went on for several days. Each day we noticed one particular ad in the paper--an apartment at 545 North Madison, only half a mile or so from the school. Thinking that such a place would surely have rented quickly, we didn't even go to look at it. We were earnestly praying for the Lord's help in finding a place. Then one day we happened to be on North Madison, nearly across the street from the place that we had seen advertised. We had looked at several apartments, but had not found anything we thought adequate, or that we could afford. Noticing the address, I thought we at least ought to go over and ask if the place at 545 Madison were still available. Well--we found that the apartment was the ground floor of a large house, with two bedrooms. An airy garage stood out back. There was even a place for our washer and dryer out on the back porch. Best, the place rented for only $85 per month! That was well within our price range. Also, we learned that although the ad had been running for a week or more, we were the very first to inquire about it! The Lord had been reserving it for us--an answer to our prayers! Of course, we took it, and were very thankful. We lived there through the three years I was in school, and found it a fine home, convenient to the school, stores, and churches. Since our shipment of household goods had not yet arrived, I immediately left our new address at the front desk at the seminary. I asked that the truck driver be instructed to bring the stuff directly to North Madison. But when the van arrived in Pasadena, the driver phoned the seminary, and his call was transferred to a professor whose name I will not mention. That gentleman, without making any effort to find out about us, told the driver he had never heard of me. He told the driver to put our stuff in storage. That cost us over $100!
Having rented a place to live, we returned to our motel. We quickly checked out, hitched up the U-Haul trailer, and spent that afternoon unloading the beds, tables, and other things that we had brought with us. These were the essentials for living until all our goods could be delivered. I remember having a very bad time that afternoon as we became acquainted with the famous Los Angeles smog. The smog was terribly thick, and I coughed and wheezed, and had trouble breathing. Finally the work was done, and the trailer returned to a nearby U-Haul dealer. After we learned that our things were in storage, they were delivered in a day or two. Classes at the seminary were about to begin. I quickly shopped for and bought a well-used English three-speed Indian bicycle, and learned how to ride it. I purchased and attached a wire basket on the handlebars, to carry my briefcase and other gear. Later, after riding that bike a few times on wet pavement, I added fenders, to avoid having the cold water spraying me fore and aft! I also purchased and installed a light and generator, for night riding. The local laws required such a light when riding a bicycle at night.
One of the first things we had to do was set up a bank account, cashing in our remaining travelers' checks and depositing our small savings. We had carried those savings in a certified check. At first the suspicious bank officer refused to accept even the certified check from the Billings bank, or the travelers' checks! We had to wait a few days while they carefully verified the checks! Disgusted with that attitude, I later changed banks!
On registering at the seminary, I learned that I must attend a week-end orientation retreat for new students, before classes began. It was held at a resort several miles from Pasadena. That meant that I must leave Jane alone with the children for two or three days. The orientation was great, with good speakers, opportunities to get acquainted with several professors, and much good food. For recreation, we went swimming one afternoon in the Pacific ocean, in a chilly breeze, with rough surf rolling in. It was a "learning" experience for me! Soon after I returned from the retreat, Martha, and then Mary, suddenly became ill. We had to take them both to a hospital, where we found they were seriously dehydrated. They soon recovered after intravenous feeding and other treatment. We had no medical insurance, so were hit hard by the hospital and doctor bills.
At last classes began. Mary and David enrolled in a nearby elementary school. Mary was fortunate to have a fine Christian lady as her teacher. Martha was too young to go to school. Caring for her at home kept Jane busy. I immediately plunged into a tough course of study. Because I had not had Greek in college, I had to take beginning Greek, five days a week, without credit! That was one of my toughest courses that first year. The school felt that an entering student should have had Greek well in hand before starting. I had lots of company, as most of the men and women in my class had not studied it previously, either. That was a good course, though it took a lot of time. I frankly do not remember what other courses I had, though my transcript contains the record. Everything was new and challenging, and very interesting.
Attending graduate school was different from anything I had experienced before, even my graduate study at the University of Montana. The seminary had very strict requirements regarding the preparation of papers. The professors required literally dozens of research papers, two or three in each course each quarter. Surprise quizes, and scheduled written exams were common. Also, one had to maintain a grade average of "B" or better, to receive credit!
Oh--I forgot to mention getting a job. We had to have some income to avoid using all our savings in the first year. I asked around, and learned that the Pasadena public library was hiring clerks. I went to city hall (a beautiful, impressive building) and was given a standard typing test. I asked the young lady giving the test how fast one needed to type, to qualify, and she said she thought about 50 words a minute would do. I had no trouble typing at that rate. The result--I had a part-time job beginning immediately, at a branch library up in Altadena. The library was more than two miles away from our home. My tight schedule did not allow my struggling up hill those two miles by bicycle, so I had to drive the car to work. We needed income requiring about 25 hours of work per week.
I worked in that branch library several weeks, usually putting in 10 or 12 hours on Saturdays. Then I transferred to a similar position at the main library, about a mile from our apartment. That was much more convenient. Here I worked in various jobs, receiving and checking in returned books, issuing books, shelving, and working the telephone switchboard some evenings. That particular assignment sometimes gave me an opportunity to study, as there were few calls in the evenings.
I worked in that clerical job at the library all three years I was in seminary, working 25 to 40 hours per week. I had a difficult time with all those hours of work, beside keeping up with my studies and family activities. I also missed the casual meetings many students enjoyed, talking at length with professors, and so on. I still don't know how we managed, though I know I often studied until long after midnight, and missed hours of needed sleep! My study space was at a small desk in our bedroom, with a desk lamp for lighting. Jane tried to sleep while I studied. My eyes were very good in those days, though by the time I left seminary I needed glasses. I blamed the poor lighting.
One of the greatest blessings of attending seminary, beside the interesting studies, was the daily chapel service. We had many excellent speakers, including Dr. Charles Fuller of the Old Fashioned Revival Hour, and founder of the seminary; Dr. Harold John Ockenga; Billy Graham, and other well-known Christian leaders.
Of course we looked for a good church to attend, as soon as we had gotten settled in our apartment. The first Sunday we went to Lake Avenue Congregational Church, since we had heard that it was a fine one. We liked it, though it was huge, and somewhat impersonal. The adult Sunday School class Jane and I attended had three hundred or more people attending that Sunday!
We went home after church, and had just finished dinner when we had company--a young couple from Lake Avenue church, following up the morning's visitors. Though we thought that was a great church, we decided to attend the Evangelical Covenant Church, within walking distance of our home. We enjoyed the preaching and Sunday School there. Several other seminary students and their wives were active at that church, too. We soon became acquainted with many fine people in the Covenant church, and felt right at home. We attended there regularly through my first year at seminary, and left only because I began helping co-pastor a little church in Los Angeles in my second year.
Among our new friends in the Covenant church were Eugene and Virginia Lowe, a Chinese couple who had three small children. They helped run a family business, and have been great, faithful friends ever since. They invited us to their home several times, including New Year's Day in 1956. We watched the Rose Parade with them, from a stand only a block from their home. Their house was crowded that day, after the parade, with dozens of Chinese relatives. We were the only "whities" in the big family crowd. We have had the same experience several times since then, as they often took us to exclusive Chinese eating places. As with many lots in Pasadena, there were two houses on the lot where our house was located. The small dwelling placed at the back of the lot housed a Jewish family, a lady with two or three children.
They were really good people. Martha played often with the youngest boy, and they had good times together. One morning they had been playing in the back yard, and came running in together announcing that the garage roof was on fire! A quick look verified the truth of their statement--it really was on fire! We called the fire department, and I quickly moved our Chevy out of the way. Within minutes the fire department was there, to put out the fire. There was very little damage. How did it get started? The children had been lighting matches and tossing them up on the roof, just for fun! Firebugs! Martha was only three at the time. That Jewish family lived there for the first two years we had the apartment. We found very interesting their thorough efforts to remove all leavening from their house in preparation for Passover. The mother and daughter scrubbed every corner!
Next door to us, on either side, were two families with many children. The Neideringhouse family to the south of our house had several children, with the mother, a single parent, taking care of them. Our children played with the children. On the other side of us, the family (whose name I can't recall), had two or three terribly dirty little youngsters who played barefoot most of the time. One day one of their little girls cut her foot seriously on a broken bottle in their yard, and came over for me to give first aid. Her mother wasn't home. The foot was bleeding heavily, but was so dirty I felt I must wash it before trying to put on tape to hold the cut together.
Right in the midst of my first aid efforts, the mother, a colossal fat lady, came home. She jerked the child away to take her to a doctor, and never said a word of thanks for our trying to help. That was a strange family, and we were never close friends with them. The lady had a most infectious laugh, that could be heard a block away.
Despite my grueling study and work schedule, and attending affairs at the church, I found time to sing in the seminary chorus. We had a fine conductor, and took part in televised broadcasts that winter, with Dr. Charles Fuller and the choir of the Old Fashioned Revival Hour. Jane, the children, and I sometimes drove down to Long Beach on Sunday afternoon, to attend the radio broadcasting service of the Revival Hour. That was a great privilege!
A month or two before the end of the school year, we received a letter from Dick Gustafson, the American Sunday School Union worker in Great Falls, Montana. He asked whether we would be available to help him with vacation Bible Schools and summer camp in June and July. My sister, Jean, invited us to stay at her house that summer. We accepted quickly! We arranged to keep our apartment rented. Then we went to a cut-rate sporting goods store, and bought a heavy umbrella tent, a camp stove, and light-weight sleeping bags and air mattresses. The cost of the whole outfit was much less than we might have spent at motels on the way to and from Montana. We planned to camp along the way, both going to Montana, and returning in August.
Final exams were soon over, and we locked up the apartment. We left the apartment key at the seminary office, telling them to let some needy incoming seminary student family use the apartment if such a need came up. Then we were on our way. We had purchased a little one-wheeled trailer to pull behind the Chevy, loaded with our camping gear and clothing for the summer.
That was a fun trip! We camped the first night at Lake Mead, above Hoover (or Boulder) Dam. We got along well with our new tent and equipment, though we found the sleeping bags far too warm. The following day we toured Zion National Park, and stayed in a campground in Bryce Canyon National Park. Highlight (or low point) of that night's camping was when Jane and the girls got lost in the big campground. David and I had a time finding them.
Next day we went on into Yellowstone Park--and back into winter. Heavy snow lay along the roads, and in the timber. We rented a cabin at Old Faithful Geyser Campground, and nearly froze despite having a fire in the little wood-burning stove. We saw many wild animals, and I got a few pictures. We spent one night in Billings, with friends, and then went on to Jean's farm sixteen miles west of Big Sandy.
Without going into details, we had a grand summer. Jane and I conducted six Vacation Bible schools, and we spent a week working at the youth camp in the mountains near Lewistown. We ate too much, but enjoyed the work with the farm children. With only a few exceptions, they were all well-behaved, and appreciated what we were doing. I got to "preach" at the closing exercises after each school, and sometimes at Kenilworth Sunday School, near Jean's. Life at Jean's was somewhat hectic, since beside our five she had my sister, Mary, and her daughter Pam; my father; Judy Eckles, a Bible student from Canada; and Jean's own family. We literally ate in shifts. Jean was very busy, running the big farm, making frequent trips to town for groceries and supplies, and managing the household. I found some spare time evenings and some weekends. One day we found a rattle snake near the front porch of the house; I shot it. Jane and I spent one week working at a Conservative Baptist summer camp for ministers and their wives, up in the Big Horn mountains of Wyoming. There we helped some old friends from the Montana Institute of the Bible, who were doing the cooking and maintenance of the camp.
After the summer Bible camp, Jean, her daughter, Faith, Jane, Martha, and I went camping for a few days in Glacier National Park. We had a great time together. When we returned we found that not everything was well at the farm. While doing haying, the children had managed to either fall off a load of hay, or had turned the hayrack over--I don't remember which. More serious, Jean's son, Dave, and our David had been out shooting gophers, and Dave shot himself through the foot! They had taken him to town to the doctor, but the wound gave no trouble, as no bones had been touched.
Near the end of August we packed up and headed back to Pasadena and school. More about that in the next blog!

LIFE-CHANGING CHOICES

2009-08-25T16:33:00.000-07:00

LIFE CHANGING CHOICES!
It seemed good, in the spring of 1951, to be returning to Billings and the northwest. This is not to say that we hadn't enjoyed our stay in Nebraska. While living there it had been much easier to get to Jane's home for visits, and the work had been interesting. But I am a devoted Montanan, and wanted to live in my home state again.
The government picked up the tab for our move, which was again officially "for the convenience of the government." The Bureau of Reclamation crew at Indianola did most of our packing and loading. All we had to do was take our personal things needed for the trip. Off we went.
We had been forewarned that there would be no Bureau housing available for us. So we went to a motel, a very small and simple one, just a few blocks from the Region 6 office where I would be working. We lived in that motel two or three weeks, and then learned of a family that was looking for reliable house-sitters. We went to see them, and arranged to live in their very nice house for a couple months. We were to take care of the lawn and yard, keep the house clean, and, of course, pay for our own utilities.
While we were living in that fine home, David was learning to ride a bicycle. A little neighbor boy of about his age was willing to let David learn on his bike. David was not quite five years old, but fearless. He had a lot of help from me, trotting along behind him, holding onto the seat to keep him from tumbling. As soon as he had learned to balance fairly well, he took off on his own. He took many falls, but kept on trying.
Meanwhile, we were house-hunting. The new position I had paid well, and we were sure we could afford to buy a house. We found one, partially completed, and signed the contract for it. It was a bit small, only 970 square feet, or something like that, but we thought it would do us for the moment. The cost: $12,500! That was for the lot, and a brand-new house with attached single garage. Of course, we had to put in the lawn and trees, and fence the back yard. The land had formerly been part of an alfalfa field, and the soil was rich. Oh--something quite new to us--the gas furnace was in the attic; there was no basement. We bought the house under the provisions of the GI bill, so the monthly payments were low, less than $100 per month.
We moved into the new house in June, and I put in a garden, and lawn. The house was about two miles from the office, so I had to drive back and forth. Other Bureau people lived near us, so I sometimes shared rides with them. Most of our neighbors were very civil and friendly people.
In those days power lawn mowers were almost unheard of, so I bought a new push type reel mower. We had a dandy lawn all the time we lived there. I put in a strawberry bed, too, which did well, and planted some rhubarb out near the alley. A little honeysuckle shoot set out by our bed-room window grew quickly into a fine bush. When in bloom, the fragrance was great. We lived in that house, at 1611 West Yellowstone, until 1955, just a little over four years. Of course, while we were getting settled down, I was busy at my new job. At first I worked as assistant to the Regional Classification Officer, Betty McDonald, the lady who had asked for my transfer. She was a good instructor, and I learned a lot from her. I worked both on the classification of positions (deciding what title, grade, and pay rate was appropriate, based on the duties) and on the preparation of wage scales for our "bluecollar" construction and maintenance workers in Montana, Wyoming, and the Dakotas..
That part of the job was the most interesting, as I made many road trips, collecting wage data from contractors and large operating and maintenance organizations. We developed a wage scale accepted by all the federal agencies, and also some state and county agencies in our four-state region. That wage scale had to be reviewed at least annually, and was always a touchy matter.
The work took me out to the construction sites and maintenance operations of the region--clear over into the Dakotas, and down into Wyoming. The Bureau had many operating projects in all four states, and was also building a small dam near Devil's Tower, Wyoming--a very remote site. Much of my travel was with Bill Snyder, the Bureau pilot, in either the single-engined, or twin-engined planes he flew.
Only a few months after I came into the job, Betty left as she had planned to do, and I was promoted to her position, that of Regional Position Classifier, at GS-11. This was a middle management rank in the Federal civil service at that time. Journeyman level for engineers, economists, geologists, and other professional fields was GS-9. I was very fortunate!
With the new job, I made several visits to the district offices and to the field jobs, and quickly became acquainted with many fine men, specialists in all sorts of work. I got along as well as one could expect with such a wide variety of people. My boss, Howard Watts, was good to work for, and we men in the personnel office had many good fishing and hunting trips together. Also, now being close to my sister Jean's home, we frequently went there to visit, at Christmas and other times. We also saw my parents more frequently, though that was a considerable drive from Billings to Glasgow--about 350 miles.
As I have already mentioned in an earlier chapter, during the years while we lived in Nebraska, and now in Billings, my sister Jean wrote frequent and long letters, urging us to become Christians. We thought we were--weren’t we active in the Methodist church? I was very self-righteous, and thought I didn't need anything at all.
As I described previously, on the Friday after Labor Day, 1952, I made the life-changing decision to trust in Jesus Christ as my personal savior. We continued to attend the Methodist Church for a time, thinking that we could change things there, and bring people around to trusting in Jesus. However, after the pastor publicly belittled the blood of Jesus one Sunday, we began to attend the Church of the Air, an independent church with a daily radio broadcast. We learned a great deal about the Bible and Christianity there and in the home Bible study group. Our leaving the Methodist Church disappointed my mother. I think she never really understood our action. That winter I directed the choir in a little independent church in Laurel, 16 miles west of Billings. I also helped with daily services at the Salvation Army mission for transients in Billings. I sometimes went to the mission alone, though I was very green at the business of preaching. I often sang an old hymn or two, before speaking, trying to get the men to respond to the Gospel.
Those first attempts at leading a service were doubly difficult because of the horrible atmosphere provided for the services. The Salvation Army made no attempt to conduct evangelistic services. The many transients were housed in a damp, dark basement, equipped with double bunk beds. The latrine had a wide, open door, and the lighting was very weak. I stood in the doorway of the latrine to sing and speak, with men coming and going past me, often walking right in front of me. The men who cared to listen sat on a bench about ten feet away, facing me.
Because I felt that music was important--and partly because I was very much interested in sound recording at that time--we invested in one of the earliest tape recorders placed on the market. It was a Pentron, using the large reels of tape. I had Jeannette Sedlak, a fine pianist and member of our Friday Bible study group, help me record the piano accompaniment for several hymns and some solos, and used that machine to provide the background music. That helped a little bit, though not much. More of the men showed some interest in listening to the service. I did see a few decisions made, some of them very firm, with men's lives changed completely.
When the Salvation Army saw what success we were having down in the basement, they made a little chapel available to us, and even provided a piano. At the Church of the Air Jane and I enjoyed the fine Bible teaching and preaching.
Biggest event of early fall of 1953 was the birth of our daughter, Martha, on September 23rd. Everything went well with her birth. Jane's mother came up and helped again. Again we had a fine little one in our household.
In the fall of 1953 I was invited to join the radio choir, at the church, helping with the music for daily half-hour radio broadcasts over a local station. That was good, and I was intensely interested in the work. We rehearsed and recorded the broadcasts on two afternoons a week. I had to leave work early, and the recording took until six or later in the evening. Also we often formed groups from the church to go to nursing homes, and to the local jail to sing and speak. Both Jane and I passed out many tracts in those days.
Early in the fall of 1953, Jean's husband, Wayne, decided he would like to go deer hunting with me. He came down to the area near Harlowton, Montana, and met me on a ranch there. We had a good camping and hunting expedition, though Wayne didn't get a deer. Just a couple weeks later, Jean called one morning, saying that Wayne had fallen from a ladder while painting their barn, and was in a coma at the hospital in Havre. Two days later she called again--Wayne had died!
We went up to their town of Big Sandy for the funeral, leaving the older children in Billings with a friend. On the way we wondered what in the world we could say to Jean. She was now left alone with a big wheat farm and five children, one a baby just a few weeks older than our Martha. We hadn't decided when we arrived. Then on our way into the house we saw on the blackboard in their back porch the words Jean had written: "Rejoice in the Lord, always, and again I say, rejoice." Jean demonstrated the life of a true Christian during those very difficult days.
The big funeral was held in the high school auditorium in Big Sandy, because of the large crowd that was expected. It was a very sad time for all of us. Because of my mother's serious condition, she was not told of Wayne's death. We knew that it could only hurt her.
I haven't mentioned before that Jane's father passed away in 1947 or 48. Now it was my turn to lose a parent. My mother had been suffering from cancer for two or three years. She had a series of operations, the last one done in Great Falls. The last time I saw her was there, in midsummer, in the hospital. She went back home, dreadfully ill. Aunt Eckie, one of her sisters who lived in Wisconsin, came out and helped take care of her in her last days. Mom asked that we children not come to visit her, because of the condition she was in, so none of us went. How often since I've wished that we had gone, despite her request!
About three weeks after Wayne left us, Dad called one morning to tell us it was all over--Mother was gone. Again we set off, going by way of Jean's to take her and her baby, Faith, with us to Glasgow to the funeral. Robert came, too. Our sister Mary, ill with multiple sclerosis, and living at Jean's, was unable to make the trip. The big funeral was held in the old Methodist Church, where Mom and Dad had been so active for many years. It was a cold, miserable day, as I recall, and the time at the graveside was especially difficult. I was shivering so hard I could scarcely stand.
Afterward we went back to the church for a dinner provided by the women of the church. Several of our former school teachers and old neighbors from the homestead years were there, and that helped a lot. Dad was greatly distressed, naturally. A short time later he sold their little house, and went to live at Jean's. There he was a big help to her, raising chickens, and taking care of the livestock. We went back home to Billings, and then came back to spend Christmas with Jean and the children. We went again in 1954. We still have some photos I took that Christmas of 1953, and a fine stockman's pocket knife that Jean's boys gave me as a gift.
Another special event took place in late 1953. The Regional Administrative Officer asked me to move out of Personnel, and become a part of the Regional Director's staff. My new job title was "Organization and Methods Examiner," still at GS-11. Earlier I had passed up an offer to move to Washington, D.C., as a GS-12 in personnel work, simply because I didn't want to leave Montana. My new work was more difficult in some ways. I attended all regional staff meetings, and wrote up the minutes of those meetings, and the instructions given by the Regional Director to his district administrators and staff people. I shared an office with the Regional Information Officer, and we became good friends. Also, I now was assigned a secretary. I worked very closely with the Regional Administrative Officer and the Assistant Regional Director. One of my jobs was to go to the district offices and construction projects to advise on staffing patterns and organizations. One study I made was in the District Office in Bismarck, North Dakota, overhauling their whole central filing system. It was good experience!
Not all my recommendations were popular, of course, and in some ways I missed the work in personnel. Howard Watts, my former supervisor, moved to Washington, D.C., to the Postal Department, in 1954. I still fished and hunted with the men in personnel. Those were good years! I won't try to tell of my hobby of shooting and other activities! I know now that I spent an unreasonable time in those matters, not helping with the family as I should have done. In the spring of 1955, while much involved in work at the church, at the Salvation Army mission, and taking courses at the new Billings Bible Institute, a new thing entered my life. I was enjoying helping with the preaching at the mission, and on one occasion, had preached at a small Free Methodist Church in Billings.
On Easter morning, while helping with the dishes, I had tuned in the local Christian radio station. It was then I heard, for the very first time, a reference to Fuller Theological Seminary, founded by Dr. Charles Fuller of the Old Fashioned Revival Hour. We often listened to that radio broadcast. Later that morning, at our church worship service, a retired missionary, Mr. Huber, said to me suddenly: "John, I think you should go to seminary." We didn't discuss it, but that was the second time that day I had heard the word "seminary."
We had a guest for dinner some weeks later, Dick Gustafson, the American Sunday School Union Missionary for central Montana, a good friend of my sister, Jean. Dick suddenly said: "John, I think you should go to Fuller Seminary." After he had gone, we talked about it, and I did a lot of praying. After a few days I came to the conclusion that God wanted me to go to school, to prepare for missionary service.
Accordingly, I wrote to Fuller Seminary, received their literature, and began to make plans to leave my job and go to Pasadena in the fall. When I applied to the school, a condition was laid down for my acceptance. I must study widely in the field of philosophy, as I had very little background in that area in my college studies. All summer I read heavy books about the different schools of philosophy, and philosophical theory. I don't think it helped very much, but I boned up on it, anyway.
In August I announced at the office my decision to resign and go back to school. Many with whom I worked thought I had really flipped! It was beyond their experience that anyone would give up a good job like mine, to become a missionary. It gave me a great opportunity to talk about my faith in Christ with my supervisor, Bill, who was a faithful Catholic.
The time passed quickly. We advertised our home for sale, and at the last minute sold it, though at a considerable loss. We paid off the mortgage, leaving us only a small remainder, much less than we had counted on having. I also withdrew all my retirement savings, a good sum. As difficult as anything for me was selling my precious Mauser rifle that had given me so much pleasure. We sold many precious things. Then we rented a U-Haul trailer actually larger than our little old Chevy car, and loaded up for our big move.
This was a tremendous change for us. It was not a mere mid-life crisis, but a completely new start, seeking to be obedient to God. I knew that the way would not be easy, and that I would have to work while going to school, but didn't mind that. I had worked hard while going to school in the past, though then I didn't have a family to support. In early September of 1955 we were on our way to Pasadena California, so I could attend Fuller Theological Seminary. Three difficult and wonderful years lay ahead of us! We fully trusted that God would see us through.

2009-08-18T15:25:00.001-07:00

GETTING STARTED IN A NEW CAREER
Our decision to leave the University of Montana, and my half-completed work toward a Master's degree in personnel administration, and to return to the working world, seemed forced upon us by our financial situation. Our savings were nearly all gone, and the income from my position as Graduate Assistant was inadequate to keep us in groceries. It simply didn't occur to me to borrow money to continue in school to complete my Master's degree. The only thing to do was to go to work. As I related in my previous chapter, I had several good job offers, and decided to go back to work for the Bureau of Reclamation, this time in Billings.
So. . . .we packed up and made our move. We drove to Billings, of course, in our "new" 1936 Plymouth sedan. We had sold decrepit "Mabel," the Ford roadster, because the top was badly worn, and it was too small and cold for a family car. This Plymouth car had a new 1946 straight six engine, and was in good shape. It was a good car, though always difficult to start in cold weather.
The trip to Billings was fun, generally speaking. David was just short of two years old, was already talking a lot, and was very knowledgeable about cars and tractors. I had spent many hours looking through magazines with him, and pointing out the ads for Fords, Dodges, and different makes of cars and tractors advertised in the Saturday Evening Post. On this trip David displayed what he had learned. He would see a car approaching, and tell me what make of car it was long before it reached us! He was correct nearly every time! Also, he identified tractors as John Deere's or Cases,etc., working in fields at some distance from the highway.
We arrived in Billings late in the day, and took lodging in a low-priced motel on the east side of Billings. Next day, reporting to the office, I found that the Bureau did not have living space available for us right then, though that had been promised. The result was that we stayed in that little motel for a month or more. The Bureau had paid for our moving expenses, and put our household goods in storage for us. Soon after our arrival, and while we were living in that motel, David became ill. That gave us much concern, as we didn't know any doctors there. He recovered quickly, however.
The location far from the office wasn't all bad, for we were near open range country to the south of us. I soon explored that area in my spare time, and found great places to hike and shoot. I spent many hours out there in the next few years. My new job was in the Yellowstone District Office of the Bureau of Reclamation, one of five districts in Region 6. Region 6 included the state of Montana, the northern half of Wyoming, and the Dakotas. Yellowstone District extended from around Livingston, at the west end, down the whole of the Yellowstone and Missouri River valleys, the area including Fort Peck, to the North Dakota line. As I had worked at Fort Peck earlier, and done survey work along the lower Yellowstone, I felt quite at home. Billings was a pleasant, growing city, with many interesting facilities,and a generally good climate. We were very happy there.
I found the staff in the Yellowstone District Personnel Office fine people to work with. The personnel head was Ben Kleinbach, a strong Christian, and a good leader. My job was in position classification, something I knew a little about, though there was much to learn. I received good help from the position classification person, Betty McDonald, in the Region 6 office, just a few blocks away. Also very helpful was the District Administrative Officer, Frank Dorfler. Because of my successful passing of the entrance examination, I was starting at grade GS-5.
Most of my work was with paper, though I visited the various offices of the district, and occasionally made a field trip down the river or to Fort Peck. It was interesting work, and I liked it. One girl in the office was a former student in my economics class at the University, and we often chatted about her studies. In the economics class she had been much more interested in boys than in the law of supply and demand.
After about a month of motel living, the Bureau had a small duplex available for us, in the Bureau housing project. This was a two-block long double string of log houses, mostly duplexes, built by the Bureau to house employees. Though our assigned space was small, it was adequate. I was now much closer to the office, and that saved time and gasoline. Now we met many new friends and neighbors. My supervisor, Ben, and his family lived just a couple doors from us. Ben was seeking a transfer to Alaska, which he undertook about a year later, after we had left Billings. One couple who lived near us, Bill and Noreen Snyder, became our close friends. Bill, a civil engineer, was employed by the Bureau as pilot of their planes, a single-engined Comanche (I think it was called) and a twin-engined airplane, a Beechcraft. That plane was made in the plant at Wichita, with which I was so familiar from my service days. He flew all around the region. In later years I often flew with him to outlying offices of the Region. His wife, Noreen, was a registered nurse. They had no children. She and Jane became fast friends.
David now had many children to play with. He was just two years old, and, we thought, could never get in trouble. He had been carefully instructed "don't fight, be nice." Jane heard him say that one day. But a few days later, when a little neighbor girl antagonized him in some way, he clobbered her on the head with a toy hoe, drawing blood!
Jane and I began to attend the Methodist Church, and I became involved in the choir that summer. Otherwise, I spent much of my spare time very selfishly, resuming my shooting activities at every opportunity. The area south of Billings provided many things interesting to me. A huge prairie dog town covered a roughly circular area two or three miles in diameter. The thick sandstone formations seen in Billings extended far south. I found huge sandstone caves supposedly once used by hunting Indians as shelter. Also there were interesting abandoned homestead buildings to prowl around, and to photograph. I often took the big rifle on my hikes, and carried a knapsack holding the heavy old Graflex camera.
I did a lot of reloading of shells for the 30-06 rifle that summer, both for shooting prairie dogs, and in preparation for the hunting season in the fall. The rifle was very accurate, but I learned that minor changes in loads (i.e., amount of powder used, and type of bullet) made significant changes in accuracy. Finally I settled on a heavy big game load, using 180 grain bullets at near maximum velocity, to be ready for deer, elk, and antelope hunting in the fall.
Antelope season came first. I had my permit well ahead of time, to shoot a buck antelope in an area north of Roundup, about 50 miles north of Billings. The day before the opening of the season I spent driving around through the area, to spot a likely place to hunt. Just about sundown I located a large herd of thirty or more, including several good bucks. I watched them until the sun went down, when they went out of sight in a coulee, and had, I was sure, bedded down for the night. The land wasn't posted, and it was right alongside the highway, so I could hunt there in the morning.
I went in to Roundup and had my supper in a cafe, then drove back out to a spot near where I had seen the herd. I planned to spend the night in the car, parked in the ditch along the road. It was dusk when I had undressed, down to my BVD's, and had my bedding all laid out in the back seat. I then got out of the car to do the necessary, slammed the door shut--and it locked! I was literally very much "out in the cold," in plain sight of the road (though there was no traffic), in a temperature just above freezing, and locked out of the car! A herd of curious yearling whiteface heifers had come up to the fence just behind me, to watch me in my efforts to get back into the car.
After some very shivery attempts, I pried open the trunk--the lock wasn't a very good one--to get the long jack handle. I then inserted that through the top of one car window, and after repeated efforts in the dusk, unlocked one front door. Boy, I was glad to get back inside! Getting into my makeshift bed, I finally got warmed up. The night was a frosty one, and I learned then how cold and miserable it can be trying to sleep in a car in cold weather.
Early next morning, with no breakfast, I dressed, took the rifle and binoculars (an ancient pair of World War I field artillery glasses) and went hunting. I had enough ammunition with me to start a small war, and carried my fine hunting knife. At first I couldn't spot the antelope herd, but after a bit I located them, still bedded down in a coulee about a mile away. I went back to the car, drove a mile down the highway, parked, and made my approach on foot and then crawling on my belly.
When I finally was in a good position for a prone shot, I checked the herd carefully, to locate the best buck. The one I selected was lying facing me, at about 200 yards. I aimed right at the center of his chest, and fired. The shot scared the herd, of course, and they scattered wildly. My buck just dropped his head, and never moved. It was a messy job dressing him out. While working at that, the herd came running past, very close, and one much larger buck almost ran over me! I hung the carcass of my buck on a fence post, to cool, while I went back to the car to eat some of the food I had brought.
I was home with my game early in the afternoon, very happy with my rifle and load. I took the antelope to a local butcher shop where they processed game meat, and after a few days we had a fine batch of antelope meat to eat. There was a problem with that, though, as Jane was pregnant again, suffering from morning sickness, and couldn't stand the smell of the wild meat cooking. Thus David and I ate most of it. Those loin steaks were simply terrific, we thought. Though I went hunting several times, I didn't manage to get either a deer or an elk that fall.
Back at the office, things were going very well. In December a phone call came from a Bureau office in Nebraska, inquiring whether I would be available for a job in personnel work in the western part of that state. I learned later than Betty McDonald, the lady in the Regional personnel office, had recommended me for the job. I would get a two-grade promotion. That looked like a good proposition, so I accepted the offer. We planned to move right after Christmas.
We spent Christmas with my sister, Jean, and her family, out near Big Sandy. I don't know just why we didn't go to Glasgow, where my parents lived. We had been there for a visit earlier in the fall. That Christmas at Jean's was the first of many that we would enjoy in the years to come. We left Billings the week after Christmas, driving the old Plymouth. The Bureau was taking care of our move--"for the convenience of the government." Our household stuff would be all installed for us when we arrived at Indianola, a little town in western Nebraska.
As you may have heard, the entire West suffered a terrible blizzard in the closing days of 1948 and into 1949. Whole trains were buried in the snow drifts in Wyoming and Nebraska. We started out right in the midst of that storm! No doubt it was very foolish to do that. Though the snow was heavy, we made good progress until we got to Buffalo, Wyoming. The town was just digging itself out a bit. Huge snowbanks lined the highway through the business section of the town, so that one couldn't even see the buildings from the road! We almost decided to stay there, the weather was so threatening. Instead, we closely followed a highway snowplow truck going south, and drove on to Denver, arriving late at night. We stayed with my brother Robert and his family for a couple of days.
Jane then took David with her, and went to Colorado Springs by train, to stay with her sister, Margaret, until I could come to take them to Indianola. Despite the severe storm, still raging, I drove on alone to Nebraska. I wanted very much to arrive at the new office on the date I had promised. That was a wild drive, and I often wished I hadn't started out. At times the drifts across the road were so high and thick I was sure I would be stalled. There was almost no traffic on the road. The car ran well, and I was warm enough in the closed sedan. Finally, late in the afternoon, I arrived at Indianola. I inquired in the little town for the location of the Bureau camp, and soon found it, about a mile from the town. My new boss, Struve Hering, gave me supper, and I stayed with them over night.
Next day I got partially settled in our assigned apartment. Our household goods had arrived OK, though they were still packed, of course. A small central gas heater provided heat for the whole unit. I spent the next few days becoming acquainted at the office, and getting started at my work. I had to park the car about a block from our front door, and that was inconvenient. Also, the car was very hard to start in the cold, stormy weather.
On the following Sunday morning, early, I started out to drive to Denver to meet Jane and David and bring them to our new home. I was also scheduled to visit the Region 7 office, our headquarters, while in Denver. The weather was cold and clear, though there was a stiff wind blowing, and some snow drifting. While getting ready to leave, I had heard on the radio a little prayer that went something like this: "Oh, God, give me the understanding to know that there are things I can change, and some things I can't, and the wisdom to know the difference between them." I thought it interesting, and it stuck in my mind as I drove away from the camp.
Just a few miles down the road, the snow was drifting clear across the cut a highway snow plow had made in a huge snow drift. I couldn't see through the cut, but gunned the engine so as not to get stuck, just as I had done on my way out from Denver. I got nearly through when suddenly a large animal jumped into the road directly in front of me. I struck him broadside, and he came up over the hood. One of his feet broke the windshield, and gave me a good blow on the forehead. Then he went on over the roof of the car. One of his hoofs broke the left rear window, sending a long sharp sliver of glass through my overcoat and other clothing, causing a nasty scratch on my ribs. At almost the same instant, I felt another bump, but didn't know what that was.
The car didn’t swerve at all; I coasted on through the big cut (the motor had stopped) and pulled off onto the shoulder of the road. I was surprised, as I looked around, to find that I had no serious injuries. Behind the car lay two big Missouri-type farm mules, as large as horses, both dead, one on one side of the road, and the second in the ditch on the other side. The radiator and hood of the car were literally molded tight around the engine block. Both headlights were gone, and the radiator fluid was pouring out. That car wasn't going anywhere that day!
I suppose I was somewhat in a state of shock. I am ashamed of what I did then, when I should have been grateful that I wasn't seriously injured. I remember shaking my fist in the air, and demanding of God why that had to happen to me! I was so self-righteous, I guess, it never occurred to me that I might have perhaps deserved trouble! That little prayer I mentioned earlier kept running through my mind, and I concluded that there was nothing much I could do about this situation!
Looking around, I spotted a farm house about a half mile away, and walked there through the deep snow. I found the family up, and about ready to leave to go to the town of McCook to church. While I was telling them about the accident, one youngster pulled the big sliver of glass out of my back, and it was only then I realized I was bleeding a bit under my clothing. The mules didn't belong to them, they said, but to a neighbor down the road a few miles. They gave me a ride to the nearby town of McCook. I had called the Highway Patrol from their house, and asked to have the car towed in to McCook, to the Plymouth garage there.
I then hitch-hiked a ride back to the Bureau camp, got an official car, and drove back to McCook. I left the car there, and caught a train in to Denver, got Jane and David, and we came back out by train a couple of days later. I was sore and stiff for a few days, but was thankful that I hadn't been badly injured. Foolishly, I had the old car repaired, to the tune of over $500, far more than it was worth! The patrolman had told me that the farmer would be responsible for the damage, since the mules shouldn't have been out of the road. But the farmer hired a lawyer, who challenged me to prove that the farmer was habitually careless, letting his stock run on the road. That, of course, was not true. Someone had left his gate open. So we had the bill and the car, but at least it ran well again. It was an expensive lesson, but fools don't learn otherwise.
The next months went by swiftly. We soon became very much involved in the little Methodist church in the town of Indianola. The building was badly run down, and we helped a group improving things--new drapes at the windows, painting most of the church inside and out, and so on. I even undertook directing the choir, as no one else was willing to try it. I never was a well-trained musician, and proved it in that position. But we put on a cantata for Easter, and that went over well. I also taught Sunday School classes, as did Jane, and we made many new friends.
The Bureau had many construction projects going in the Republican District to which I was now assigned, dams and canals, mostly. The district area extended to the north and west to the Colorado and Wyoming borders, including Ogallala, Nebraska, on the North Platte River. Down the Republican River valley the area ran clear to Red Bluff, where the Republican River ran into Kansas. The northwestern quarter of Kansas was also included. My job was to serve as general assistant to the Personnel Officer, particularly in position classification. I also had the responsibility of visiting the field offices to help with personnel problems right on the spot. It was very interesting work.
I loved to watch the heavy equipment used in building the several earth-fill dams then under construction, and to spend time with our survey and inspection crews as they did their work keeping everything in line, and seeing that the earth fills were properly compacted. On one project, in northwest Kansas, the excavation for the spillway encountered a bed of clay literally full of petrified clams and oysters, many as large as saucers. I took some of those home with me, but I don't know what became of them. On these trips to the field offices I drove "company" cars, big new black Pontiacs, terrible gas-eaters. I stayed in interesting little hotels, often seeing other Bureau employees from the district or Region 7 offices.
On June 4th, 1949, our daughter Mary was born in the hospital at McCook, Nebraska. Jane was anticipating the birth at any moment, and had asked her mother to come to stay with David and me. Jane and I went to McCook to a movie one evening, and then to the hospital, and sure enough, the baby was born the next morning. I believe that the delivery was considerably easier than David's. I have to admit I dozed off sitting in the waiting room. I remember how disgusted the nurse was who brought the baby in for me to see, to find me asleep! She thought I should have been wide awake, worrying, pacing the floor, or something.
I have so many pleasant memories of those days in Nebraska. In the spring of 1949 a plot of ground, level and irrigated, was subdivided to provide gardening space for any of us who wished to have a garden. I jumped at the chance! We had sweet potatoes galore that year, and a fine garden. I did much fishing with my boss, Struve, and some men on the building maintenance crew. They were "natives" of the area, and knew all the good fishing holes.
I soon got acquainted with a young fellow named Burt Whitlock, who worked as a clerk in the personnel office. He was the best shot with rifle and shotgun that I have ever seen. He bought a fine .222 Remington rifle and scope, to use on prairie dogs and crows. That encouraged me to spend money on a little Winchester .218 Bee rifle. Burt and I spent many happy hours together, shooting, hunting crows, loading ammunition, and the like.
I also bought a 16 guage shotgun that summer, and when pheasant season opened, was ready to hunt them. Later, duck hunting was great, though my shooting wasn't! I burned lots of powder, missed a lot, but had a great time. Others gave us enough game birds to eat. In the winter of 1949, several of us fellows helped Struve build a big, heavy 12-foot boat. I don't know how many fine brass screws went into that heavy boat! When spring came around, Struve invited another chap and me to take the boat out for fishing on Lake McConaughy, a man-made reservoir on the North Platte River. With three of us in the boat, and Struve, a heavy man, at the rear, operating the outboard motor, the boat rode pretty low in the water. A strong wind came up, and we were forced to run down lake in front of it for a couple of miles, heading back to our camp. We almost got swamped, with waves coming in over the stern, and two of us bailing like crazy. The wind blew continually the rest of the day, and we didn't dare venture out on the lake again. One very interesting activity in the office was the formation of a Federal Credit Union. I was one of the original board members, considering and approving loans, and so on. The credit union was very successful, and helpful to many. My work often required me to go in to the Regional office in Denver, riding on the Santa Fe trains to and from McCook. How I enjoyed those rides, especially one night when returning to McCook, and riding in the vista dome car, I watched an eclipse of the moon! I got along well with the regional office personnel people, and that helped.
In the spring of 1950, my sister, Mary, and her little daughter, Pam, came to stay with us. They had been staying with Robert and his family in Denver. Poor Mary, she was so helpless with multiple sclerosis, she had to be fed, taken to the bathroom, etc. In her situation she couldn't properly take care of or discipline her little girl, and didn’t want Jane or me to correct the child. I know that I was often too critical, and perhaps too harsh with little Pam. In May we all piled in the car and headed for Montana, taking Mary and Pam to stay with my parents, in Glasgow. Though my mother was even then suffering from cancer, I was not really aware of the seriousness of her situation. We shouldn't have left her burdened with Mary and Pam, but we did. Mom had only a little over three years of life remaining, and during that period had repeated major surgeries for the cancer. Dad was working at the big combination elementary and high school, doing maintenance work. He was very popular with teachers and pupils. All his life Dad was really a teacher at heart. Working at the school seemed a fitting closing of his working years.
The country around Indianola offered lots of interesting outdoor activities. We picked wild grapes and made jelly. Burt and I spent hours, and many .22 shells, shooting at moving targets--glass bottles and tin cans from the city dump, tossed high in the air. Burt seldom missed, and would often break two tossed at the same time. I could hit one such moving target pretty regularly after a lot of practice. There were some squirrels to hunt, too, and I learned how to call squirrels to come out to where I could get a shot. Lots of cottontail rabbits were harvested, too. Burt was deadly on crows, and we both learned to call crows, sometimes bringing in large flocks of them. Pheasants were plentiful, and I had many great days hunting with Burt, Struve, and others.
Early in the spring of 1951, I received a phone call from the Region 6 office in Billings, asking if I would be interested in returning to Billings. I could take over the job of Regional Position Classifier, at grade GS-9 to start, with promotion to GS-11 soon. Though I liked Nebraska, and we had made many friends there, the opportunity to return to Montana was too good to turn down. I quickly agreed to the transfer and promotion, and we prepared to leave Nebraska. We still write to several of the friends we met there, though most have long since left the Bureau. Those were good days!

More College Studies

2009-08-15T15:50:00.000-07:00

MORE COLLEGE STUDIES
Going on with my story of returning to college, I now learned that the University required extended study in a foreign language for graduation. I had forgotten most of the German that I had studied at Linfield College years before, so decided to study Spanish. I really enjoyed that course, though I have never used what I learned of the language. I found that I had a knack for learning another language. Several years later I applied some of the techniques of learning Spanish to learning Greek and Hebrew.
Living in that crowded gym "dormitory" was hectic. The only good thing I can remember about it was watching part of a football game from our windows. It was snowing out, that afternoon, a regular blizzard, and I was glad to see parts of the game from a warm lookout. At times the snow was coming down so heavily we couldn't see the players! After about two weeks there, another chap and I found a room in the basement of a nearby private home,and lived there until I could rent an apartment.
My classes were interesting, and the teachers excellent. I found the studies fairly easy, though much reading was required, both from text books and in the University library. I had learned how to extract the main thoughts in reading, and took copious notes both in class lectures, and in my reading.
Soon after school began, the deer hunting season opened. I had done a little searching around in the area north of Missoula, and had a place located where I could hunt. I bought a box of shells, and began to spend my spare time on Saturdays and Sundays hunting. I went out alone, taking a simple lunch with me. I knew absolutely nothing about deer hunting, but was thrilled to be out in the woods. I saw lots of tracks, but never a deer.
Then one Saturday my roommate (I can't recall his name) went with me. He borrowed a single shot 20 gauge shotgun and some slug shells. We had a good morning, following the tracks of a big buck in the new snow. Finally, about noon, we sat down in a sunny clearing to eat the lunches we had brought with us. Here and there in the clearing there were clumps of low bushes. We leaned the guns against a little tree a few feet away, brushed the snow off a log, and began to eat.
After maybe twenty minutes of slow conversation and eating, we were startled out of our wits by the eruption of a huge buck deer out of the low bushes right in front of us! He had been lying there the whole time. Apparently his nerves finally gave out, and he thought he must escape. He had been lying within thirty feet of us! Of course we both jumped up, and scrambled to reach our guns, but by the time we had done that he was out of sight. We didn't get a shot, or see another deer that day. We did learn something--deer can hide in almost no cover, and be very hard to see. That was a typical hunting day for me--lots of exercise and fresh air, but no venison! Though I hunted several times that fall, I never had a chance at a deer.
The university had a huge enrollment that fall, many of the men being veterans returning to get an education. The women students, in general, were much younger, not having served in the military. I went to a couple of "mixer" parties on the campus, but didn't get acquainted with many students. I was older, a senior, and didn't seem to fit in too well with the younger crowd. Finally, in early November, the school announced that they had an apartment ready for Jane and me. I couldn't leave school to make the move until Thanksgiving. Driving to Glasgow, I had a narrow escape from having a very serious accident. Long after dark, I was driving between Fort Benton and Big Sandy. The road was very icy in spots, though there wasn't much traffic. Going down a long grade, I came up behind a big semi outfit, and decided that since the road ahead was clear, I could pass. I pulled out, and just when accelerating and moving back to my lane in front of the truck, hit a patch of ice. The little Ford skidded clear around, a 360-degree spin, right in front of that big rig! At one point I was facing directly toward him. Very fortunately for me, we turned on around, and went on down the road safely. I was so frightened by that I decided to stay over night in Havre, and drive on to Glasgow in the morning, Thanksgiving Day. After a good Thanksgiving visit with my parents, we had our household goods shipped to Missoula, and Jane, our little son David and I drove back together in the little Ford. As we did so often in the next few years, we stopped over night at Jean and Wayne's, and had a little visit with them. The weather was decent, so we didn't get too cold while driving.
Our apartment was one of several in a long barracks building, moved from old Fort Missoula to the golf course owned by the University. An extensive village of these buildings was laid out, with named streets, and even some street lights. I can't remember our house number. We had a pot-bellied stove for heating the place, and a wood-burning kitchen range for cooking. I bought an axe, and a load of slab lumber from a nearby mill. I split and chopped a lot of wood that winter. I still have that Montgomery Ward axe, though I have had to replace the handle many times. We also burned some coal, to keep a fire going overnight in the heater, during the coldest weather.
My studies seemed very easy, and I was able to earn straight "A's" that first year. My courses were in advanced economics and sociology, designed for seniors or graduate students. We made friends with our neighbors up and down the street, and found our living there quite comfortable. Jane did have some trouble with laundry, though. We took the clothes to a laundry facility there in the village, and brought them back wet to hang outdoors to dry. David was going through a lot of diapers, and we had two or three lines full every week. In the cold, hanging out those wet diapers was a chilly business! By the time one had a diaper pinned to the line it would be frozen hard, stiff as a thin board. Of course in the dry climate they dried quickly, and then could be folded. Nothing smells better than clean clothes dried out of doors, but it was hard on the hands! Disposable diapers hadn't been invented, though we couldn't have afforded to buy them if they had been available.
During Christmas vacation, a neighboy and friend, Abe Cole, an Air Force veteran who had spent much of the war flying over the "Hump" (the Himalayas between India and China), found work for both of us. We went to work for a small private lumber operator who had bought a big stand of trees in the national forest about twenty miles out of Missoula. That was an interesting experience. We left early each morning, and rode out to the cutting camp with the boss. There we spent the first couple of hours heating water and trying to get their big Caterpillar tractor started. The weather was very nippy, and the machine was hard to start. When that was accomplished, we piled on the "cat" and rode up into the hills where the logs which had been cut the day before were ready to bring down.
Abe and I had the task of pulling the steel cable off the winch, moving up the steep slopes through snow sometimes up to our waists, to reach logs on the slopes above. There we passed the cable around a log, secured it, and then the cat operator pulled the log back down the slope. We had to step lively to keep out of the way! Then it was slip and slide down the hill, grab that cable again, and take it back up the hill for another log. Two men were employed as tree cutters, and were busy cutting more trees as we took out the logs from the previous day's cutting. It was hard work, but we both enjoyed it. Our sack lunches, eaten in the little cabin occupied by the cutters, tasted mighty good!
In the afternoon, when we had brought down enough logs for loading, we spent the time sawing up the logs into sixteen to twenty foot lengths, and moving them with peavies down to the loading ramp. An old man who had worked in the same area when it was first cut over, about 1900, trimmed the limbs from the logs. He could make a cut with his double-bitted axe almost as smooth as one could with a saw. That old fellow had known logging with horses, and showed us some of the grooves cut on the slopes where teams had pulled huge logs down the hill at a gallop.
Abe and I used a big cross cut saw to cut the logs into lengths. Chain saws were unknown then, or at least not known with that outfit. Late in the afternoon we rode back to Missoula and home for a night's rest. Altogether we worked twelve or fifteen days at that job, before classes resumed. The earnings were helpful, too.
Jane quickly mastered cooking on the big iron range. She was particularly good at making cinnamon rolls, big juicy ones. Somehow every time she produced a big pan of those rolls, many of our friends would just happen to drop in at the right moment!
We had an interesting time with David that first winter. Of course he was crawling all over the place, and always getting into things he shouldn't. One of his favorite tricks was to eat coal, and to chew on the heads of burned matches tossed in the coal bucket! We often took him out on the slopes of Mount Sentinel, just a couple of blocks from our apartment, to coast. He loved being out of doors. We had to take him to a clinic for the usual baby shots, which he didn't appreciate at all. After a couple of trips there he had memorized the route and the location of the clinic office, and would begin to cry long before we arrived at the doctor's office, anticipating another shot or other unpleasant happening.
We made many good friends, both neighbors and students and their wives. By coincidence, one of the girls I had known in Havre years before had married a student who was in my classes, and we visited back and forth with them. Sometimes we would have dessert and coffee after an hour of visiting or playing games. Once Jane made an excellent pie--a lemon meringue, if I remember right--which she served after a big meal shared with these friends, the Athearns. We think that they may have felt that we fed them a bit heavily. The next time we were at their place, Helen served us huge pieces of pecan pie, so rich it was almost impossible to eat it all! We often laughed about that later. Jim went on to earn a doctorate in history, and taught for years at the University of Florida.
Several of the young wives of students in the housing project were pregnant. Somehow we gained the reputation of being able to help them bring the birth of their babies to pass! We simply fed them some good homemade chili and a lot of Coca Cola. They would go home, and then to the hospital!
Sometime in the spring of the year we were allowed to move to a larger apartment, one with three bedrooms, only a few doors from where we had lived before. That apartment was on Carbon Street. Our back door opened out on the former golf course, and provided a much better place for David to play. We made a little sand box and brought in some sand for him. The little sons of a nearby neighbor often played there with him.
Somehow the complexities of economics came easily to me. Before mid-term and final exams I sometimes spent time with groups of the other students, reviewing my abundant notes, and helping them understand the theories. I enjoyed that teaching experience. Along in the spring term Dr. Ely, the head of the economics department, told me I was having too easy a time, and gave me extra assignments, mostly short papers, to do if I wanted to earn "A's." Also I learned that I would be eligible to graduate with honors (cum laude) if I would do a thesis on some subject. I had just begun to read extensively in the whole field of Communist literature, to try to understand their thinking--not that I was wanting to become involved in that system. I didn't want to stop that reading program, so declined the honors thesis. That was another choice which might have made my life different if I had gone the other route!
In the spring or early summer of 1947, the Farmers Union of Montana held a big convention on the campus. I attended some of their sessions, because I was interested in the overall labor union movement. At one of the meetings I bumped into Marion Hellstern, one of the sons of the farmer for whom I had worked back in the '30's. Naturally I invited him out to the apartment, where we had a good supper and a pleasant visit. He was a delegate from Hinsdale, and told me many things about the work of the Farmers Union, and passed on community news from Hinsdale. I thought nothing of that visit until a few days later when Dr. Ely called me in to his office. There he asked me very seriously what in the world I was doing, visiting with one of the most radical communists in Montana! I told him we simply were old friends, and that we had worked many hours together in hay and beet fields. He then told me that Marion and his mother were apparently well-known locally as communists! I had never discussed that philosophy with Marion, so was surprised.
In my Spanish class that summer we were beginning to apply what we had learned. We read Spanish novels, short stories, and newspapers. Most of the class hour we used only Spanish in our conversation. I didn't do so well in that course, which completed my minor in Spanish. My grade was only a "B." I think that was the only grade lower than an "A" that I received at Montana State University.
I was scheduled to be graduated at the end of the summer quarter, in 1947. Just before graduation I received orders as a reserve officer to report to the Air Force Base at Ogden, Utah, for two weeks of training! That made it necessary for me to miss the graduation exercises. I wasn't really seriously disappointed to miss the to-do of graduation, and quickly received approval for my absence. I received my diploma later.
The tour of active duty was a farce, as they had no planned training for me at Ogden AFB. I spent most of my time there wandering around, shooting skeet and pool, and generally killing time. Oh, I worked a little in the big civilian personnel office, but didn't learn much. I was happy to return to Missoula, again by train. Enroute I was sitting in the club car one morning, reading. I became aware that the two women seated near me were speaking in Spanish! I thought I had an opportunity to try my Spanish! I carefully introduced myself, in that language, and learned that they were from Cuba, a mother and her daughter. As we travelled along, I pointed out to them the huge smokestack at Anaconda, Montana, and told them in my halting Spanish that it was the tallest in the whole world ("mas alta del mundo.") I think they laughed at me the whole time, as I found I really couldn't speak Spanish well at all. I frequently had to ask them to repeat things they said. It was an embarrassing situation all around!
Early that summer, I took the Graduate Record exams, to qualify for entrance into graduate study. I planned to go on to earn a master's in personnel administration. I achieved a high score, and almost at once had offers of graduate assistantships--one from Cornell University, in upstate New York, and the other from Stanford, in California. I thought long and hard about the Cornell offer, and would have loved to go there. However, our funds were running low, and we couldn't see how we could afford to move all that distance. As I remember, the thought of borrowing money for the purpose never entered my mind.Then, as now, I hated to go into debt.
Then Dr. Ely and some others at the University said they wanted me to stay right there, as a graduate assistant in economics. They would work out a special master's program in personnel administration for me. I would assist Dr. Ely in teaching economics, and could earn $700 and my tuition for the first year. That sounded good to me, so we simply stayed on.
Also during that summer I had worked my way further into the exciting field of shooting. I purchased bullet casting tools and materials, and began to make my own bullets for reloading shells for the 30'06 rifle. I ordered a fine walnut stock blank, and carved out a new stock for the rifle. That project turned out very well, and the rifle was now a fine-looking weapon. I know now that I spent far too much time and money, indulging in my new hobby. Jane surely demonstrated great patience, putting up with my melting lead on the kitchen range, casting bullets, etc.
Through the National Rifle Association I also purchased two more surplus military rifles, both 30'06's, though I really had no need for them. The first one was an Enfield, made in England during World War I, brand new, never fired. I reworked the military stock, and had a second good shooting rifle. Then I ordered a Springfield rifle. That one was also new and unfired, and cost me only $5, plus shipping! I used the Enfield a little, but traded off the Springfield without ever having fired it. Often in the years since I have wished that I had held on to both rifles.
September came, and I started on my new course of study. Things went quite well. I took all the courses offered at the University in personnel administration, and earned some additional credits in self-designed courses of reading. I reported my reading and conclusions in papers presented to the Economics staff.
My main task as graduate assistant was to conduct classes for two beginning economics "sections," two days per week. I met with the "sections," each of about 30 students, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, an hour each time, to discuss the subject matter of the most recent lecture, or some important point from the textbooks. Preparation and lesson planning was not difficult, and I enjoyed the free-flowing discussions we had on economic theory. On a couple of occasions Dr. Ely assigned me to prepare the lecture for the entire class of about 500 students. I wasn't a very good lecturer, I am sure, but the students didn't totally reject my ideas. Economics was then a required course for virtually every student at the University.
As part of my studies in personnel administration, I learned to give and interpret a variety of tests, general intelligence, aptitude, etc.--even ink blots! I found willing subjects among my economics students; one girl, in particular, was extremely intelligent. Her intelligence test scores (I tested her twice) literally ran off the upper end of the scale! I did have one serious problem. Among my students, I had a couple of real dummies--football players. When the fall quarter mid-term test was graded (I did lots of grading!) they had both failed badly. I had tried to tutor them, but they didn't want to learn. As a result, I flunked them both, and they were forced to drop out of football.
Boy, did I find myself in hot water! I had personal conferences with the football coach, other players, friends of the two, and others. Dr. Ely upheld my decision on the matter. With some additional tutoring, the fellows got their grades up to "C's" and were eligible to return to football, though I doubt that they ever forgave me! Other than that unpleasantness, I enjoyed teaching, or trying to teach, and got along fine with my courses.
I chose to do my master's thesis on a fairly complex subject--the influence of union activities in adjacent unionized cities on the wage scales in Missoula, which was almost entirely non-unionized. I did my research through the mail, and in the library, on wage scales for union jobs of many kinds in Spokane, Washington, and in Butte and Great Falls, Montana. Those cities were all highly unionized. I found and gathered much interesting data, and learned a lot about the history of attempts to unionize the railroad and timber workers in Missoula. I concluded that the workers in the various blue collar industries in Missoula had actually benefited greatly from the efforts of the unions in the adjoining cities, without forming a union.
Toward the end of the winter quarter, in the spring of 1948, we had spent nearly all of our savings. I felt it was necessary to leave school, and go to work again. My decision was based in part on the several job offers which kept coming in. I had taken a federal "entrance" exam for entrance level positions in professional fields, during the winter months (1947-1948). Again, I had achieved a good score, and my name was apparently offered to many different agencies around the United States. One inquiry, which I considered seriously, was to become a Boy Scout Executive, with the National Boy Scout organization. It sounded like interesting work, but would have required another term of expensive schooling back east, which we felt we couldn't afford. I remember another offer from some government agency in Nebraska, inviting me to become a caseworker.
A third offer came from the Bureau of Reclamation in Billings, in the Yellowstone District personnel office. I could take an entrance level position in personnel administration, with good opportunities for advancement, they said. I decided to take that one, and we moved to Billings at the end of the winter quarter, in late March of 1948. I'm sorry to say that I never did complete that master's program in personnel administration, and all my collected data on the Missoula wage situation went for nothing. But I did learn something about wage scales, and used that knowledge later, as I worked in the Bureau office, setting up wage scales for our blue-color employees. My school days were over for good--or so I thought. Theoretically I was now equipped to settle down to a career. It didn't work out that way, but that is a different matter, suitable for some later chapter.

2009-08-06T15:45:00.000-07:00

BACK TO CIVILIAN LIFE AND COLLEGE
With orders in my pocket relieving me from active duty, we were ready to return to Montana and home. The Air Corps Depot crew came to our little apartment and took care of crating and shipping our scant accumulation of household goods. When they were gone, one morning we dusted the cinders and soot off Mabel, our little car. We loaded our suitcases, clothing, some very minor items of food and personal effects, and were off. That was about the 18th of January, 1946. We were excited at the prospect of leaving Chicago. Although the work in the depot had been interesting, we didn't really like the cold, the dampness, the constant wind, and the dirt and grime of Chicago. Also I was very happy to be leaving the military organization! It is difficult for me to recall or describe how I felt then about my war service. I felt that I had worked hard, and done my best. I was then and since a little regretful that I didn't serve overseas. Apart from that, I know that my experience in the Air Corps had a lot to do with my way of facing life, work, and social relationships. It was better training than I could have obtained in any other way.
We made a late start, and didn't drive far that first day. The weather was cold and threatening. We headed northwest, passing through Madison, Wisconsin late in the afternoon. Though the car, with its canvas top and many open cracks around the windows, admitted a lot of cold, fresh air, we weren't too uncomfortable.
We pulled into Black River Falls, Wisconsin, soon after dark. We had no idea where to spend the night, but noticed a sign in the front yard of a private home. "Bed and Breakfast," it said. We stopped, and found it a fine place to stay. The people who lived there were very friendly, and showed us to a nice, warm room. They made us feel right at home, especially after the lady learned that Jane was pregnant. We slept well and had a good breakfast and visit with them.
That next morning was sharp with frost. Mabel the car started without trouble, and we continued our travels, on toward the northwest. We passed St. Paul in the afternoon, and drove on, planning to stay overnight in St. Cloud, Minnesota. However, when we arrived in St. Cloud we found every hotel and motel along the highway full. We decided to drive on, hoping to find a town less crowded.
Finally we came to a little town, and rented a room above a little restaurant and drug store. It was neither hotel nor motel, but was all we could find. The night was very cold and crisp--a good night to be indoors. When we went to the cafe downstairs to eat, we learned that the town was hosting an area basketball tournament. Later that evening, the place below us was packed with youngsters until late hours. It wasn't easy to sleep! We didn't complain, though; we were glad to have a safe, warm room!
Our third day on the road was uneventful. We made it to Bismarck, North Dakota, the state capitol. We found a warm, snug little motel in the valley, and stayed there for the night. The weather was cold, but we had a comfortable rest.
Then we came to our day of testing! Early the next morning, about six o'clock, I stuck my nose out of the motel door to check the weather. It appeared to be a quiet, peaceful morning, though cold. I couldn't see the sky clearly, so didn't know whether it was cloudy. At least there was no snow falling. We agreed that we should drive on to Minot, about one hundred and fifty miles away. We planned to stop for breakfast somewhere on the road.
It was still very dark as we drove through Bismarck, turned right on the highway north, and climbed the hill past the state capitol building. Soon we were a few miles out on the open highway and found ourselves in a blizzard! Now there was plenty snow falling, and it was drifting, too. A strong northwest wind, often meeting us head on, was building big drifts across the road. I was too young and foolish to turn back, though that was the obvious wise choice.
Now we found how truly inadequate the little roadster was in severe weather. Snow came sifting in through any openings it could find. It came in around the accelerator, brake and clutch pedals, and made little drifts on the floor. It came in around the windows, too. Jane wrapped herself in a wool army blanket, and soon looked like a white cocoon.
I wasn't as well protected. I was wearing low rubbers over my army dress shoes, and my feet were freezing! We had the heater running full blast, but that made little difference. We knew we must find some way to keep warmer, but there seemed nothing to do but keep on driving. Luckily for us, there was no traffic on the road. No one passed us, and we met no other cars for miles and miles. I think the hardy natives of North Dakota knew better than to be on the road in such weather!
About 10AM, we stopped in a tiny town. We ate breakfast in a cafe, and inquired where we might find overshoes to protect my feet. There were only a couple of small stores, but we did find and buy a pair of tall overshoes. Oh, they felt good on my feet! By that time the snowing had stopped, and the sky was clearing. It was still miserably cold, and the wind was as strong as ever.
It still makes me shiver as I recall that morning! We arrived in Minot early in the afternoon, and stopped at a cafe for a late lunch. We learned that the temperature stood at -17 degrees, and the wind was clocked at about 20 miles per hour. I have no idea what the "chill factor" was--they didn't use that term in those days. Worse still, the highway on west was reported closed!
We had about decided to stay in Minot over night, when a big highway truck with snow plow went by, heading west on Highway 2. Despite warnings from the cafe people, we headed out again! We had already gassed the car, so were ready to try it again. We followed that snow plow for many miles.
All went well until we were about ten miles east of Williston, ND. There the car engine suddenly went dead! I tried and tried, but it simply would not start. We could see the town of Williston in the distance. Between us and the town was a long, straight down grade. We did the only thing we could--we pushed Mabel out into the road, and coasted down that hill. In fact, we coasted clear to a filling station on the outskirts of the town! The manager helped me push Mabel inside, and after a couple of hours, we could start again, all thawed out.
After buying gas from the friendly manager, we headed on toward Glasgow, Montana. We arrived there late in the evening, almost frozen, and very stiff from riding. The folks had been expecting us, and had the house well warmed, so we were soon warm, and well fed. The next morning Dad's old homestead thermometer said it was colder than forty degrees below zero! Minus forty degrees marked the end of the scale on the thermometer, and the mercury was farther down in the tube than that! Yet, when I tried to start the little Ford, it started right off. It was a good car, but not well suited for Montana's brisk weather.
I soon found that not having a job, and regular work, was boring. It seemed strange, not having any responsibilities. Four years in the army had left definite patterns imbedded in my thinking. I had to learn how to relax.
When the weather permitted, for those days in mid-winter were bitter cold, I sometimes walked out north of Glasgow, just hiking around. I took the .22 pistol along, of course. In the low hills I sometimes saw big white jack rabbits, and wanted to see if I could get one. Most shots offered were at fifty yards or more, and in the usual wind and cold, that was a very long shot with a .22 pistol. After wasting a few shells, I gave up on getting any rabbits with the pistol.
I laugh now as I think of one thing that happened one evening a few days after we arrived in Glasgow. Jane and I were walking in downtown Glasgow, window shopping. We met a man in navy uniform, also out walking. He recognized me, and I thought I recognized him. We had a little chat; he was getting out of the service, too. As we visited, I called him by his old nickname, "Mutt" and he called me by name, too. I thought he was "Mutt" Chester, from Hinsdale, a fellow I had known in high school. We parted then, and when we got back to my folks' place, I told Mom we had met Mutt Chester down town, just home from the navy. Well, she told me that she knew Mutt was in the air force, and still in England!
Who, then, was the mysterious fellow who wasn't Mutt? And why hadn't he corrected me when I called him by the wrong name? I have no idea. We never did find out who he was!
Another thing that may be of interest to you: silver coins were still in wide circulation in Montana in those days. One day I bought a small item, less than a dollar in value, and offered the clerk a $20 bill. My change included nineteen big silver dollars! You could get bills, but had to ask for them. Those dollars were very heavy in the pocket, and made a big bulge, too.
By about the 10th of February the weather let up a little, and I began to think of finding a job. I needed both the work and the money. Our plan was that I would get back to college in the fall. Our first child was due in mid-May, and that would cost a lot. We still had some savings, but not enough for the whole school year.
I learned from the employment office that the Bureau of Reclamation, at Fort Peck Dam, was looking for men. One day I drove out there, was interviewed, and hired immediately. I was to work on a survey party which was surveying a location line for a new power transmission line along the Yellowstone River. I was delighted, though I had never done any surveying. I rushed back to Glasgow, and invested in a pair of stout boots and some wool socks, and appropriate outdoor clothing. The weather was still very chilly.
I reported for work at Fort Peck about the middle of February. With some ten other fellows, we drove in two former army vehicles to the town of Glendive. There we found a place where we could all stay, in a private boarding house. It was not much different from a barracks, with many beds, too close together for privacy or comfort. We ate our breakfasts there, and then bought sack lunches at a restaurant. Our evening meals were purchased in restaurants, also.
We worked ten days straight, and then had four days off. That meant I was away from Jane for ten days at a time, and neither of us liked that. Some of the other men on the crew were in the same boat, with wives at Glasgow or Fort Peck. Jane stayed on at my folk's place for the moment.
I found my assignment a good one--I was lead chainman on the transit crew. All the other men were veterans. We spent many an hour sharing war stories, some pretty gruesome. I think some of the men wondered whether a former officer could handle the rugged outdoor work, but it was not difficult at all. I was a fast walker, and could easily last through the day.
Our route took us along the foothills on the north side of the Yellowstone River, beginning at Glendive and working toward Miles City. In general, the weather was favorable, though we sometimes had snow flurries which made it difficult to use the survey instruments. We ate our lunches out in the open, unless the weather was unusually bad. Then we ate in the vehicles. We had surplus Army vehicles, a carryall, and a former Army ambulance for transportation. The latter was assigned to the level crew, which followed the transit crew in the field. Those four-wheel drive vehicles, though terrible gas-eaters, could climb anywhere!
I really enjoyed the work. As head chainman, I was out in front of the rest of the party, and saw first any wildlife there was to see. I also filled my pockets most days with moss agate rocks which I found. Most of the snow was gone, so the footing was good.
On my first long week-end at home, we found an apartment at Fort Peck, in an old barracks building, and moved down there. Jane needed to have her own place to take care of, though it meant she would be alone for long stretches of time. She quickly got acquainted with our neighbors, other young couples, and that helped. Usually when I was home we would go in to Glasgow for church on Sunday mornings, and have dinner with my parents.
The time went quickly, and we made good progress on the job. Then, about the middle of April, Jane and I decided that she mustn't be alone so much, as the baby should arrive around the middle of May. I talked to the Bureau's personnel man, and worked out a new assignment (and a slight promotion) to a job in the Bureau's warehouse there at Fort Peck. That allowed me to be at home each night, though I hated to leave the survey work. I had really enjoyed that job!
The job in the warehouse was a good one. I usually walked to work, taking a sack lunch, so that Jane could have the little car. Work in the warehouse, and in the outdoor storage yard, kept me busy most of the time. We had all sorts of things to store, issue, and inventory from time to time. Most of the items were used in maintenance of large power transmission lines, and in the repair and maintenance of vehicles. The garage was located at one end of the warehouse. The travelling line maintenance men kept their vehicle in the warehouse, also. That gave me opportunity to get acquainted with several of them. The garage mechanic and I became good friends, too.
As soon as the fishing season opened, we spent much time fishing at Fort Peck lake, and in the river below the powerhouse. Fishing was lively that spring and summer, and we had many fine meals of yellow perch, crappie, catfish, and sometimes walleyes. We often went to Glasgow to visit with the folks, and to shop.
In the evening of May 17th, after fishing at the lake, we were busy cleaning a big catch of yellow perch. Suddenly Jane announced that she must go to the hospital immediately! To be specific, the "water broke," which meant that the baby was about to arrive! While we were fishing a big thunderstorm was coming up in the west. Now it was upon us, raining hard, lightning flashing, and a strong gusty wind was blowing. Fort Peck was eighteen miles from Glasgow and the hospital. We phoned ahead to say that we were coming in, then started off. With the severe storm, it seemed like an age before we arrived in Glasgow! In fact, the people at the hospital had begun to worry about us, and so had my parents! But we were there in plenty of time.
I'll never forget that night. Jane's doctor had given her instructions earlier that he would use something called "twilight sleep" to sedate her, and that the birth process wouldn't be difficult or painful. Either he didn't get the dosage right, or Jane was different, but that was no calm night. Jane was out of her mind with the difficult and painful contractions. She demanded that she be allowed to get out of the room and go home. A nurse friend of my parents and I had all we could do to hold her down. The baby wasn't born until about 8AM, in the morning of May 18th. We were all exhausted.
We already had a name ready for a boy--David Glenn. He was a large, healthy baby, and we were glad the ordeal was over. Jane stayed in the hospital ten days, as was customary in those days. By the time she was released she was very weak from having been in bed so long. We took her and the baby to my folks' home for the first few days. I drove back and forth to work each day from Glasgow.
The baby had trouble with colic, and Jane and my mother found they disagreed on several points of child care. We were glad when we could move back to our little apartment at Fort Peck. David's colic soon cleared up, and we had lots of fun with him.
We loved to bathe him, and he liked the water. There was one problem--the doctor had instructed Jane to feed him at regular four-hour intervals. That meant one feeding was due at 2AM each morning. When the alarm went off, I would bring David to Jane, and she would try to get him to nurse. All of us, including David, were sleepy, and he would drop off to sleep. My part of the action then was to tickle the bottoms of his feet, in an effort to get him to stay awake and do his duty. After wearing ourselves out on that little business for a couple of weeks, Jane asked the doctor what should be done. He gave a most sensible answer: "let the child sleep!"
One Saturday we drove in to Glasgow, picked up my parents, and drove out to the old homestead. It was the first time my parents or I had been back there since the fall of 1932. I almost wished we hadn't gone, as it was so difficult for both Mom and Dad. The buildings were all gone, almost without a trace. Mom wept the whole time we were there. Dad walked about some, then came back to the car. He had always felt that he was a failure because he hadn't been able to make the place a productive farm. We didn't stay very long.
The summer passed quickly, and it was soon time to make plans for my return to college. We had decided, because we had very little savings, that I should go to the University of Montana, at Missoula, to pursue a course in wildlife technology. I was intensely interested in wildlife, and loved being out of doors. I thought work in that line would be most satisfactory for me. I had dropped the idea of becoming a forest ranger.
About the middle of September we left our apartment at Fort Peck, and moved back in with the folks in Glasgow. I left Jane and David there, with my folks, and drove to my sister Jean's farm near Big Sandy. From there I drove on to Missoula, in time to register for classes. I had already sent my transcript to the University, and received notice that I was accepted. Our plan was that as soon as I could arrange housing for us, in Missoula, I would come back to bring Jane over. That took much longer to do than we anticipated.
I'll long remember that drive from Big Sandy to Missoula! The woods and mountains were beautiful that day, and I had plenty of time to stop occasionally to look around. I arrived in good time, and was assigned a bed in the old gymnasium on the campus. There were about fifty of us new students bedded down there. It was too much like some of the barracks I had lived in during the war!
I was assigned a faculty advisor, to help me plan my course of study. He advised me that a course in wildlife management would require at least three years, and that a bachelor's degree in that field wouldn't be enough--I would have to go on to finish a Master's degree, at least. He and the registrar went over my transcript, and evaluated my military experience as a personnel officer, and granted me senior status in another field.
So I undertook a twin major in economics and sociology, instead of the wildlife study I had counted on. It seemed more practical, and I could earn a bachelor's degree in both fields in only one full year of study. I thought our savings, together with the help of the GI bill, would see us through. That choice had a very large influence in my life work! More about education and jobs must wait for the next blog!

2009-07-21T16:21:00.001-07:00

THE WAITING YEARS
Now began a period in my life which seemed to go on far too long. In my mind, I still held to the goal of someday achieving a college degree. For the foreseeable future there was simply no way I could afford to go back to school. When the school year was finished, in June of 1940, I was so broke I couldn't even to return to Montana! I didn't want to borrow any more money from my sister, Jean. There was little chance of finding work in the McMinnville area, either.
R and her folks very kindly offered me a place to stay until I could find work. So, with nothing else in sight, I accepted their offer. I brought my pitiful little belongings to their house, in east Portland, near Mt. Tabor. I was embarrassed, to say the least. I had learned, or thought I had learned, to take care of myself. I had only a few dollars left, barely enough to ride the street car down town each day, and return at night. I haunted the public and some private employment offices; I read the ads in the newspapers every day. I visited many offices down town, but couldn't seem to find work anywhere. I became quite discouraged and pessimistic.
There were some very pleasant things about staying with R's family, though. Her grandmother, Sarah Francis, then probably in her sixties, was a wonderful artist. She held open house every Sunday, and many people came to see her paintings. Her whole house, even the walls off the stairway, were covered with beautiful oil paintings. R and I helped her with the entertaining of guests at her open house, and sometimes I visited with her while she was painting. Many of her paintings hung in business and public offices around Portland. Some of them had been sold for as much as $500, a lot of money in those days! She had one very interesting technique which I tried years later. She always laid a base coat of bright lemon or chrome yellow all over the canvas. She said it made her pictures look "sunny," and I think it did!
Finally I spotted an ad in the paper! An insurance office down town had openings for several clerks. I called right away, and went down to the office to take the special examination they gave to prospective employees. I thought I had done all right on the test, but was really excited when the office called that very afternoon to tell me to come to work! That was the Farmers Insurance Company; their office was the regional office for Oregon, Washington, and Idaho. The accounts for thousands of automobile and truck insurance policies were kept in that office. There were forty or fifty people working there.
My first assignment was in the files. Four or five clerks handled the filing work. We took orders from various people in the office for particular folders, located the file, and checked it out to that person. We had to pull hundreds of files each day, and replace those being returned. Also many new policies came in each day, to be filed. We had to work very rapidly and accurately, as a lost file presented serious problems. I was on my feet all day.
But I was young and healthy. At lunch time, after eating my sack lunch, I would either play table tennis or take lengthy walks outside. I found that I could beat most of the fellows at table tennis, because of the experience and training I had while at Linfield.
My wages were low, about $35 or $40 per week, if I remember right. But living costs were pretty low, too. Fare to ride the street cars was only five cents, including a transfer, if a person needed one. I ate simple sandwich lunches, purchased in a nearby cafe.
Very soon after getting that job I looked for and found a place to live in a boarding house. It also was located on the east side of Portland, only a block from the street car line. Mr. and Mrs. McLain provided a good home for five or six of us young men. I had a private room, upstairs. Mrs. McLain was a very plain cook, and a kind lady, who made us all feel right at home.
When I moved away from R's home, her parents wouldn't accept any money for my having been there three weeks. They were very generous people, and kind to me. I think it was better that I not stay there, as R and I saw far too much of each other. I still went out to see her often after moving to the McLain's.
When I had a little money coming in, I traded in my little Argus 35mm camera, which my sister Jean had given me two years before, on a much better Perfex 35mm rangefinder camera. It had a faster lens, and a more versatile shutter. I bought the camera from Sandy's Camera Store, just a few blocks from the insurance office. The store clerks offered good advice about taking pictures. I found that the store had a wonderful darkroom setup above the store. I could rent the use of a darkroom and the equipment there for very little, so I began to spend most of my spare time there. With help from the people in the store, I learned how to develop black and white negatives and make much improved enlargements.
On weekends I often went down to the river front, to take pictures. There ships from all around the world were berthed, loading or unloading. I shot lots of film from the bridges and docks, taking pictures of passing speedboats, and fishermen. I remember seeing some Japanese ships there, loading scrap steel. I never gave a thought to the war which was already going on in Europe, and threatening us from the Far East. I was totally self-centered and selfish.
I became close friends with two of the young men in the basement at the boarding house--Bob and Joe Brower. They were from somewhere in the midwest, and were devoted to their church, the Church of the Brethren. Later in the winter of 1940 Bob and I sang with the Portland civic chorus, which performed with the Portland Symphony Orchestra. In connection with that we once helped in the performance of an opera, singing in the chorus. I have forgotten the name of the opera, but it provided much fun and hard work.
Early in the fall I was given a slight promotion at the office to become an accounting clerk. It proved to be a disaster, rather than a blessing for me. The company made a regular practice of moving clerical people around, so that we could be acquainted with all phases of the operation. In this new job I had the task of keeping up with the thousands of Idaho policies (someone told me there were 90,000, but I certainly never counted them!) . It was there I first was exposed to IBM procedures for record-keeping.
Each day I had to work through the cards for the Idaho policies. The cards were stored in big "tubs," flat trays on table-height stands, in front of me. I pulled the cards for necessary processing, and filed new cards in the proper numerical order. The cards for terminated policies had to be located and processed. The printing on the cards was difficult to read, because it was so small. To keep up with the work load, I had to work part of my noon hour, and sometimes for a half hour or more after all the others had left the office in the afternoon. As a result, I became very tense and nervous.I was desperately anxious to do a good job and keep up.
One night as I was riding home on the street car, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach, and vomited up a lot of bright red blood, right on the floor of the street car, and then passed out! When I came to, a lot of people were standing around me, and the car was stopped. I was able to tell them where I needed to get off, and I walked the block or so to the boarding house, very slowly, as I still felt pretty wobbly.
I told Mrs. McLain what had happened, and she had me get into bed while she called a doctor. I didn't vomit any more blood, but felt really punk! The next day I went to the doctor's office, had some X-rays and other examinations. The doctor said I had "an ulcerous condition," and would have to go on a strict diet. Also, the doctor called the insurance office and recommended that I be given a different job. (I had told him of my trouble in doing the work.) Elmo White, the insurance office manager, was very kind and helpful. The job of files supervisor happened to be vacant just then, and I was offered that position. That worked out fine, as I was already well acquainted with the whole filing operation. Very important, I received a small raise, and could be much more relaxed. That was my first real supervisory job; I had four fellows, including my friend, Bob Brower, working for me,and we got on very well.
About this time R and I broke up. I still feel somewhat guilty about that. Her father had died that fall, and I know that in my self-centeredness I had not been as sympathetic and understanding as I should have been. We had talked about getting married, but I couldn't see any chance of that. I have no doubt it was best for both of us, though I know it was a difficult time for me, almost like a death. It did give me some understanding of how people feel after a divorce. I dated other girls, but was somehow always looking for R in crowds, on the street, and everywhere. I did see her occasionally, but had no opportunity to talk with her. Sometime that winter Bob Brower and I decided to move out of the boarding house and try renting an apartment together. We found a neat little semi-daylight basement apartment just a few blocks from the office. We could walk back and forth to work, and save money. We put up our own lunches, so we needn’t go home during the noon hour. We got along fine, sharing the cooking and housekeeping. I remember we had a wall bed, which pulled down from the wall at night, and took up a big share of our little living room.
Bob spent much of his time at his church, while I spent most of my spare time at the public library, the zoo, and the Portland Art Gallery. I was still taking many pictures, and had a growing interest in art. All those places were within walking distance of our apartment. On weekends we often took the bus or trolley and rode all around Portland. We could buy a monthly bus pass for just a few dollars, and ride the transit system as much as we liked. I was trying to save some money, and had paid off my college debts. I had too little money saved to think of going back to school yet.
One thing that I haven't mentioned in previous chapters, or until now, was the steady correspondence I kept up with my mother and sister. Mom wrote faithfully every week while I was in my second year at school in Havre, and while I was in the CCC's and at Linfield. I really enjoyed those letters. Jean, my sister, wrote frequently, also. My father didn't write so often. I sometimes received a letter from Robert, who was married by then, and beginning a large family. I tried to write a letter to the folks every two weeks or so. It was in those years that I developed the habit and liking for writing letters.
I always had been a little interested in flying; in the spring of 1941 I became more so. I frequently saw Air Corps P47 fighter planes flying over Portland, and began to wish that I could join the Air Corps and learn to fly those planes! So I began to haunt the Portland Air Base, sometimes trying to get pictures of the planes in the air. Then I decided to apply to become an Air Cadet, though I understood that one had to have a college degree to qualify.
I learned that a degree was not required--I had enough education--and I passed the written tests easily, getting very good scores. I passed the tough physical exam also, except for one thing--my blood pressure was too low! Ever since my high school running days I had a very slow pulse rate--about 60 beats per minute at rest--and had always passed out easily. I guess it was the low blood pressure that caused that problem. Whatever, the flight surgeons at the base suggested all sorts of things to bring my blood pressure up to the necessary level, but nothing seemed to work. They told me that with low blood pressure a man was apt to black out when making fast maneuvers that would greatly increase the gravitational forces. To make the story short, I formally applied and was rejected three times that spring and summer!
Sometime in the summer of 1941 I made a trip to Glasgow to visit my folks. I was glad to be home, but had only a few days there, as vacation (without pay) was necessarily short. While there I took some pictures of Dad and Mom, and my sister, Mary. I still have those negatives, filed with hundreds of others.
That visit to Glasgow was to be the last time I would see my parents until I came home on leave from the army in 1943. Soon after my visit, my younger sister, Mary, got a job in Washington, D.C., and left Glasgow. She had suffered from multiple sclerosis since 1937, but it was in remission at that time. She was a beautiful girl, and we were all sure she would do well in Washington.
Sometime that summer, or in the early fall, I was again promoted at the office, being made an underwriting clerk. This was a significant step toward becoming a full-fledged underwriter (one who wrote up insurance contracts). In this job I learned how to handle all sorts of auto insurance policies, doing routine tasks like renewing existing policies, or transferring policies from one vehicle to another. I had to look up the rates, and code the applications ready for the key-punch operators to set up those pesky IBM cards. Also, I gave the typist assigned to me instructions on using standard form letters to owners, acknowledging changes, and so on. It was routine work, but important. I often turned to the underwriters, who sat just behind me, for instructions on handling new applications. It was an interesting job,and I liked the prospect of becoming an underwriter.
One day that fall we had a good bit of excitement. In the middle of the afternoon the big plate glass windows that formed the walls on two sides of our office began to make an unusual booming sound. Then the light fixtures overhead began to sway back and forth. Someone yelled "earthquake!" Those closest to the big front doors made a dash to get outside. Many of us farther back in the office just stood up, wondering what was going to happen. A few girls crawled under their steel office desks, probably the most sensible thing to do. The quake lasted a few seconds, and was a mild one. It startled drivers in cars on the streets, though, and traffic had come to a standstill when the shaking stopped. It did wake us up!
Late that fall I decided that I needed a larger camera, one that would take larger negatives. I finally decided on large single lens reflex camera called a Graflex, and placed the order with Sandy's Camera Store. That camera cost about $100, a huge sum to me in those days. It was to have an f4.5 Kodak lens, use 2 1/4 by 3 1/4 film packs, and it had a focal plane shutter with speeds from one second to 1/1000 of a second! When I ordered that camera I didn't give a thought to the war that was going on in Europe, or the growing possibility of war between the United States and Japan. Neither did I think of going back to school, as I still didn't have what I thought I needed in savings to try school again. I know now I had wandered off the track!
Well, the camera finally arrived after several weeks. I picked it up at Sandy's on the afternoon of December 6. I bought a film pack, to be ready to take pictures with it the next day. About 10AM of the morning of December 7th I went out to try my new camera. I walked down from our apartment to a nearby strip of park land, and began to focus on this building and that. I was preoccupied with that when I heard a friend calling to me from her apartment steps. She came running out and told me that the news on the radio said that the Japanese were attacking Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands! Of course I stopped playing with that camera right then. I went to her apartment, and spent most of the rest of the day listening to the various news reports. Everyone was in a state of shock, to say the least!
Early Monday morning, someone set up a big radio in the insurance office, so we could all listen to the news. Then President Roosevelt came on, with his famous speech "...a state of war (he pronounced it "wah") exists between our nation and the nation of Japan." It was really a solemn moment; some of the girls were crying, and we young men, especially, were very angry. Right after the President stopped speaking, I went to the office manager and asked permission to go down and enlist. I had decided the night before that I should get into the service right away. I was not alone, of course. When I got down to the recruiting office I found a long line of young fellows waiting to enlist. At times that afternoon the line was three blocks long! When I finally got up to the desk, they could only give me a reporting date--it was to be January 5, 1942. Meanwhile, they told me, I would have to obtain a release from my draft board, as the Selective Service would be calling up many men soon. Also, when I told the recruiter that within the last year I had experienced serious stomach trouble, he instructed me to obtain a doctor's statement that I was no longer suffering from ulcer or anything like that.
Those next few weeks were full ones! I obtained the necessary clearances from the doctor and the draft board, though the board was reluctant. They wanted me to wait and be drafted in February or March. Everything at the office was hectic, too, as those of us who were going into the service were busy training girls to take over our jobs.
Finally, right after New Years, I was ready to leave. I packed up my new camera and shipped it home, with my college books, most of my clothing, etc. On the fifth of January I was ready, and headed off to war. That is another story that I will tell in a later chapter! Before I end this chapter, though, allow me to give a description of myself at that time. I was twenty-two years old. My hair was quite long, very curly or wavy. Inwardly, I was probably more self-confident than I had any right to be. I had done well at the insurance office, and seemed to be well-liked. I got along well with people, and was a competent amateur photographer, and proud of that. But also I was almost totally ignorant of what was really going on in the world, though our getting into the war had made me recently much more interested in world affairs. I was very patriotic! Yet, at heart, I was mostly very narrow in my thinking, interested almost entirely in myself! I still had a lot of growing up to do, though I didn't realize it. Perhaps the army would be good for me!

2009-07-15T15:52:00.000-07:00

MY YEAR AT LINFIELD COLLEGE
Looking back fifty years at this particular year in my life (1939-40) I have mixed feelings. It meant a return to college, and thus another step toward the achievement of my goal of a college education. I also must confess that I didn't make the best use of that year of school, and made some serious mistakes. That was one year I wish I could live again!
As I described in the previous chapter, some of my CCC friends saw me off on the train at Belton. It was late in the afternoon, almost supper time. I was too excited to worry about eating. I had checked my foot locker through as baggage, and had only my very large (and cheap) suitcase with me in the coach car. The bag went up overhead all right, and I settled down to watch the landscape. The country through which the train was going was very new to me.
After some time, mostly spent looking at mountains and trees, I dozed off and awoke as we were pulling into Spokane, Washington. Here I had an hour lay-over, as I had to change to a different railroad. I remember putting my suitcase in a locker in the Great Northern station, then going out for a walk in the night. It was about midnight when I strolled up over the Division Street Bridge, and looked at the city and the river. It was a quiet, cool night in mid-September, and there was little traffic. I remember seeing the stars reflected in the river. I noticed the lights on a tall building--the ONB building, as indicated by a large sign--though I didn't know what those letters meant.
Back to the depot, and then on board the new train, I again settled down to try to get some sleep. I was pretty nervous, afraid that someone would get my luggage, and wondering how I would get out to McMinnville from Portland. The map showed a distance of about fifty miles, and there was no railroad running out that way. Early in the morning I awoke, and went to the men's restroom at the front of the car, to shave. That was difficult to do, what with the swaying and shaking of the train. I was extremely hungry--"ready to eat a horse," as we used to say. I decided to go to the dining car and have breakfast; hang the cost! I didn't have much money, but had to eat.
I made my way back toward the rear of the train, going through other passenger coaches, and then through some Pullman cars, before I came to the diner. When I arrived, I was dismayed to see that all the tables were occupied. I was about to turn around and go back to my seat when a kindly looking man and his wife saw me, and invited me to share their table. It didn't take me long to accept the invitation!
I soon found out that the man was Doctor Pollard, a teacher of religion subjects at Linfield! I told them that Linfield was where I was heading, and asked all sorts of questions about the college. It was very encouraging to talk with them. They also assured me that in Portland I could easily catch a bus out to McMinnville, and told me how to get to the campus from the bus station. That was the first time I had eaten in a train dining car. I was properly shocked at the cost of that meal--something over three dollars, if I remember right. However, the coffee was thick and strong, and the eggs well done. I was very happy and satisfied.
While we were eating, we went past Bonneville Dam, and my eyes bulged, I am sure, as I gazed at it. I had worked at Fort Peck Dam, and had seen some big concrete structures, but nothing like Bonneville! I still like to look at that dam whenever we drive past it, as it brings back memories of that green college boy and his breakfast in the dining car.
Very soon, it seemed to me, we pulled into Portland, and I left the Pollards. I rounded up my two heavy pieces of luggage, the foot locker and suitcase, and walked the several blocks to the Greyhound Depot. There I caught a bus out to McMinnville. I got off at the bus depot, though I learned later that the bus passed along the edge of the campus as it left town. I could have asked to be dropped off there. As it was, I had a half mile or so to walk, carrying the luggage.
I remember that walk well. My foot locker seemed to weigh a ton or more, and I was very warm. I was wearing my raincoat, since I had both hands full with the locker and suitcase. Signs at intervals along the street pointed toward the college, so I had no trouble finding the school. There were a few students walking around, and someone directed me to the administration building. The campus was beautiful, with lots of green grass, and many huge old oak trees scattered around. There were roses still in bloom, and other flowers, as well. The buildings looked very good, though some were obviously old. The whole thing was a bit intimidating. Except for Al Mundhenk, my friend, I didn't know a soul there, and I didn't know where to find Al.
It seemed that the admissions office was all ready for me to arrive. The registrar had me signed up in a few minutes. They directed me to my assigned dorm room in Pioneer Hall, just half a block away. So I picked up my luggage once more, walked over to Pioneer, and climbed the stairs to the third floor. The room was easy enough to find--and large enough, too. I was the sixth person assigned to that room. Two others had already checked in. I found that they were all sophomores, and as a Junior, I could choose my bunk. I chose a lower bunk, in the far left corner of the room, and quickly got settled in. The wash room was down the hall several doors, and the college commons, where we ate our meals (and where I worked some) was on the ground floor.
In 1939, the college had about a thousand students, and a fairly large faculty. There were two large women's dormitories on the campus, and another men's dorm, much newer than Pioneer Hall. Several "Greek" houses-- sororities and fraternities--were scattered in the nearby area, off campus.
One of the first people I met was Zack (I wish I could recall his full name!) who was to be my supervisor in my various jobs around the campus. He was a senior, and a great friend. He was very strong and quick, though inclined to be a bit bossy at times when we fellows got a little rowdy. My courses were very interesting. I had advanced psychology, and later in the year, abnormal psych; a religion course taught by my new friend, Dr. Pollard; organic chemistry; and some courses in sociology. Oh--I had physical education, too, and that was good for me.
Because Al was a member of the Baptist Church, I began to go there to worship. Their church was large and somehow "cold" feeling, and I didn't seem to fit in too well. It wasn't long before I decided to visit the Methodist Church, and found I liked that much better. I became a regular member of the choir, and was active in the Epworth League.
My work on the campus was close at hand, to say the least. The tools I needed were stored in the heating plant, only a few yards from the dormitory. It was a simple matter to go down to the heating plant, to get the tools. I worked two or three afternoons a week, cleaning up the leaves that were just beginning to fall, and learning to prune roses to prepare them for winter. One day I was pruning the rose plants in front of the music hall when I noticed many students going into the building. I asked someone what was going on, and learned that they were going to a cappella choir auditions. I had already heard that it was very difficult to get into the choir, so hadn't really thought much about it. When my friend Al Mundhenk came by, and urged me to go in for an audition, I decided to try it! Lo and behold, I was accepted, and placed in the baritone section. That choir was the highlight of my whole year at Linfield. I had to rearrange my work schedule some, because we rehearsed three times a week, in the afternoon. It meant that I had to work a few hours most Saturdays, and some in the evenings, but the choir was so much fun it was worth it. Our director was "Ma" Elliott, the finest choir director I have ever known. She directed with her hands, no arm waving or other signals, except perhaps her facial expressions. I was fortunate in having a good ear for music in those days, and could quickly learn new songs. Everything we worked on had to be memorized in the first two rehearsals. It was wonderful experience, and gave me a life-long appreciation for a cappella singing, which is probably the most difficult of all group singing. It was a wonderful organization, and everyone had fun, while working very hard.
So many memories come crowding back I hardly know what to put down here. I did enjoy and look forward to the chapel services, held twice each week. We often had very entertaining speakers, very thought-provoking. I was reading a lot (as I've done all my life) in my spare time, and often found my thinking challenged.
I particularly enjoyed the course in organic chemistry, which ran through the whole year. Because I had achieved high grades in chemistry at Northern Montana College, and did well right away in organic, I became a member of the national chemistry honor society.
In the spring, when the weather warmed up a bit, I took tennis for physical ed. I had played tennis at NMC, so thought I knew the basics of the game. At Linfield I found that I really knew next to nothing! There were many excellent players, both men and women, and I loved to watch them play though I couldn't begin to compete with the better players.
My particular handball partner and tennis mate in PE was a Chinese boy named Eddie Liu. We had great times together, were pretty evenly matched. He came from a very wealthy family in China. One day Eddie asked me if I liked to play chess. I had learned just a smattering of chess while in the CCC's in Glacier Park, and liked the game. So I quickly took him up on his invitation to come up to his room in the dormitory to play chess one evening. I'll never forget those chess men! He had the most exquisite set I ever hope to see. The "whites" were of carved ivory, the king and queen about eight inches tall. All the pieces, even the pawns, had delicately carved faces. The "blacks" were of carved jade--beautiful, translucent green jade--and matched the ivory set in size and careful carving. I am sure the set was worth many thousands of dollars, even in those days in the 1930's. We played often with those precious things, and were good friends.
Early in the winter, Al suggested to me that we conduct special chapel services one evening a week, for the benefit of any students who might like to come. A young lady, Mary Louise Tannehill, of Billings, was available to help us. She played the piano for the singing, which Al led, while I often read Scripture and led in the prayers. We had many of those simple little meetings, with a small but faithful group of students attending. I am amazed now, to look back on those meetings. Surely God had a hand in them! I know now that I was not really a Christian, yet I truly enjoyed having a part.
Late in the fall the Epworth League had a party at the parsonage of the Methodist Church. I remember that there was a large turnout. Among other activities, we played table tennis in the basement. Somehow I managed to strike my hand against the edge of the table, and got a huge sliver driven into the thick of my right thumb. It was very painful. Most of the others just stood around and felt sorry for me. One girl, who lived there with the minister's family, came right over, got the sliver out of my hand, and applied bandages, etc., to stop the bleeding. She was very kind and friendly.
Up to that point I had noticed her, but hadn't given her much attention. Things changed after that! She was two or three years older than I, and came from Portland. Her folks were friends of the pastor and his wife; that was how she came to be living there. She was a freshman that year, and wasn't at all sure just why she was there in school, anyway. To make the story shorter, we fell in love! After that I spent many hours at the parsonage. The pastor had always seemed reserved and stand-offish to me until then, but we became good friends. His wife was a friendly lady, too. They often invited me to eat Sunday dinner with them, and I enjoyed that. I'm sorry to say that I lost far too much study time the rest of the year, walking clear across town from the campus to the parsonage, and going on long walks with that wonderful girl. We saw too much of each other, I know; it wasn't good, though at the time it seemed like paradise. She and her parents were very good to me, on a couple of week-ends, and in the first weeks of the following summer, when I was broke and had no money, they put me up for three or four weeks.
Back to school! In mid-December the choir began to do a series of concerts, in McMinnville, nearby towns, and in Portland. I think we did four or five. Also, we sang with the college orchestra, presenting the Messiah oratorio. That was my introduction to that wonderful music. I've had a lasting interest in it every since, and have often sung in it in churches and with civic choral groups and orchestras.
Christmas came, and most of the students went home. I stayed on campus, partly to work, and partly because I had nothing else to do, or money to spend. I was happy to be back in school after the holidays. We in the choir were still working hard, getting ready for the spring tour.
Meanwhile, I spent an awful amount of time with my girl friend and my studies slipped badly. I was only earning "B's," instead of my usual "A" level. We indulged in some pretty heavy petting, of which I am much ashamed today. It was foolish to get so involved, foolish for both of us, I think.
Finally, about mid-April, the day came when the list of those who were to go on the choir tour appeared on the bulletin board. With many others, I read the list, expecting that my name would be there. But it wasn't! I can remember that moment very clearly. No one said anything to me, though some must have seen me standing there staring at the list. My eyes were full of tears as I turned and walked away. That was surely one of the most bitter disappointments of my life. I spent hours just walking, walking, and wondering why I had been left out.
Finally I went back to the campus. I didn't know how I could face all the others while eating in the commons, but being young and hungry, decided to go to eat. I remember that I went in, and when a girl in the choir saw me, she came running over, all excited. She told me that there had been a mistake made, that the list had been corrected, and my name was now on the list! She had noticed that it wasn't on the first list, and knew that I must feel bad about it. I could scarcely believe it, but was glad to hear. Later the director personally apologized to me, and everything was OK again. Somehow, though, it left a permanent memory.
I went on that tour, and had a great time. As I remember, there were about forty choir members, and two or three musicians who played solos or took part in instrumental numbers. We toured old Fort Steilacoom, near Tacoma, and saw the beautiful new Tacoma Narrows Bridge that collapsed a year or two later in a violent wind. We saw the beautiful volcanic mountains--Saint Helens, Hood, Ranier and Glacier Peak. We saw the great sprawling paper mills at Vancouver, and smelled the smell! We sang as we went, sang in churches and schools, even sang in the homes in which we stayed. It was a grand tour. Right after the tour we had our chance to "do our thing" at the Music Box Theater in Portland, singing with the Portland Symphony.
Then there was the earthquake! I was a very sound sleeper in those days. One night there was an earthquake, or maybe a series of shocks. Everyone in the dorm woke up, someone warned that we should all get out of the dorm, and all but one did. I slept through it all! When I awoke, I saw that all my books had fallen off my desk, right beside my bed. Big chunks of plaster had fallen from the ceiling to the floor. There was no one else in the room, and I couldn't imagine what had happened. It was only when I went down to breakfast that I found out about the earthquake! I was kidded a lot about being such a sound sleeper.
That was in the spring of the year. Graduation came, and I was happy to see my friend Al graduate. Now he was ready to go on to medical school; he had already applied and been accepted in a school in Portland. The students scattered out to their homes. I--what could I do? I didn't have even enough money to go back home to Montana. Sadly I packed up my clothes and books, and accepted my girl friend’s invitation to come to her home in Portland to stay until I could find work. It was embarrassing, but the only thing I could do, so I accepted.
That was the end of my year at Linfield. Everyone in the whole school, faculty and students alike, had been very kind to me, and for that I feel I owe a great debt. I didn't return to the campus until many years later, in about 1982. Pioneer Hall, where my room had been in 1938, was still in use, now as a women’s residence hall, though many of the other buildings were changed. The old oak tree out in front of Pioneer was still there, too, though one of its great limbs had been cut away long ago. Mistletoe still grows in the oaks, and is popular, I'm sure, with the fellows and girls who attend there today.

2009-07-08T16:30:00.000-07:00

A YEAR IN THE CIVILIAN CONSERVATION CORPS
Early in the first term of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, a need developed to provide some meaningful employment for the thousands of unemployed young fellows around the country. The growing soup kitchen lines of people in the large cities, especially, were a very significant social problem. At the same time, there were many public needs-- for parks, roads, picnic facilities, monuments, and the like--that could be handled as public works projects, if funds were available.
Presto! The Civilian Conservation Corps was created! This large program started in 1934 or 35, with camps established all around the United States. The main concentration of camps was in the western states. The plan was for unemployed, needy young men eighteen to thirty years of age (approximate limits--some were even older than thirty) to be enlisted in the Corps. They went to the more or less isolated camps, and were employed in healthy, outdoor work, and given good food and medical care. They were taught the disciplines of the army, for the camps were officered by reserve officers of the Army. At the same time some assistance was given to their parents or families. A large share of each man's monthly earnings was automatically sent home to his parents or other dependents.
That was the setup explained to me in the recruiting office in Glasgow that day in mid-July, 1938. I was tired and discouraged after looking for any kind of employment, and the offer looked very good. Also, when I learned that the camp for which they were recruiting was in Glacier National Park, where we had just been touring in June, I knew it would be good for me. Who could ask for anything better? I signed up!
That was how I came to be on a train the very next day, with a dozen or so other young fellows from Valley County, heading for Glacier Park. We were instructed to take a minimum of clothing and other gear, as all the necessities would be provided for us at the camp. I took my beloved Argus camera, and some writing materials, so I could write home; that was about all. We got off the train in the late afternoon at East Glacier, a beautiful spot. We were met by a young man in army clothing, who herded us into a big Army truck. Soon we were off for our camp some fifty miles away, on Lake Saint Mary's, in the Park.
It was a long, slow ride to our camp, as the truck had a mechanical governor that limited our maximum speed to thirty-five miles per hour, except downhill. That was one feature of CCC life that none of us liked! That slow truck was our only means of transportation in the area.
We arrived at camp, ate a hearty supper, and then were assigned to tents. With only a few exceptions, all the men slept in large six-man Army Sibley tents. Our beds were simple Army metal cots, with firm mattresses, army blankets, sheets, and pillows. I was lucky, and was given a bed in a corner of the tent to which I was assigned. Next morning, after being routed out at an early hour, given breakfast, and told to clean ourselves up for the day, the whole camp assembled out on the open ground south of the camp. It was a gorgeous morning. South of us about a half mile was lovely St. Mary's Lake, with high mountains rising beyond it, and heavy timber and more mountains behind us, to the north. The Going to the Sun highway ran between us and the lake. It was great to be there in the midst of such beauty.
I soon learned that we were not the only new recruits. About half the men were fellows who had been there for some time; the rest of us were brand new recruits, many from Idaho. The whole company came from Montana and Idaho, though our officers came from outside that area. The officers were introduced--our Commanding Officer was First Lieutenant Henry M. Garretson, Field Artillery Reserve, from Oregon. His assistant, or Adjutant, was Second Lieutenant Lord, from Boston or somewhere back east. Our Camp Superintendent, Mr. Sullivan, was employed by the National Park Service, to supervise the working crews. He had several men under him who acted as foremen of the various crews. Our First Sergeant was a man about thirty years of age, Virgil Carney, from Kalispell. He was to become a very good friend to me and to many of the fellows. Later we would meet our contract surgeon, Dr. Graybill, and Bill Bolger, the food manager.
Lt. Garretson gave us a brief explanation of the camp organization and camp rules. Then he asked if any of the new recruits could type! I raised my hand, and found that from that moment I had a very special and privileged job-- that of Company Clerk. I was to work in the office with the officers and the radio operator, if I could do the work. The former clerk had left recently; his enrollment period had expired. As I soon learned, the clerical work had stacked up ever since the clerk had left. I was pretty busy for a few weeks, learning all the procedures,and working through the backlog of work.
After I had learned how to handle the paper work, though, it was really a soft job, and I had lots of free time. On the other hand, I was on call all hours of the day and night, and on week-ends, if something came up in my area of the work. Wonder of wonders, I was promoted to Assistant Leader that very day, with my salary increased from $30 to $36 per month! Of course, $30 of that went home to my parents. I had to get along on the remaining $6, which was really enough--if I didn't eat too many chocolate bars or spend my money for other things!
I had an old Underwood typewriter assigned to me, and a whole battery of wooden file cabinets. All the excellent typing training in my senior year in high school really paid off! Our commanding officer, Lt. Garretson, was also very new on the job. We got along just fine. He told me a lot about the army, the reserve corps, and so on, and I think that right from that time I determined that someday I might be an Army officer.
But all that came later. That same morning we all went to the supply room, where the supply sergeant issued us our clothing, all army issue stuff, underwear, socks, shoes, the works. We had regular army khakies for outer wear during the summer months, and woolen O.D.'s in the winter months.
After receiving our clothing, and getting into our new outfits, we new recruits were all herded to the first aid building, a barrack-like affair, on the northern edge of camp. Just as in the army, we were all to have inoculations. I don't recall now just what they were, but we each received two that day, I remember.
The officers and the first sergeant together trained us in the army rigamorole of Reveille in the morning, Retreat in the evening, raising and lowering the flag each day, and mess calls. It was interesting, though it seemed somewhat silly to some of us. We learned a minimum of drill, how to stand in fairly straight lines, keep still in ranks, how to put our hats on straight, and how to make our beds army style, and keep our foot lockers neat. We had regular inspection every Saturday morning, and woe be to the fellow who didn't have his area in the tent neat! We didn't have to salute anyone, or address the officers as "sir," as in the army. But we did learn respectful speaking to the officers. Also, we had rules similar to the army regarding leaves, absence without leave, hearings (in place of courts martial), and discharges.
Back to the office! I had plenty of work to do most mornings. The Commanding Officer or the adjutant usually had a letter or two to be typed and mailed. Every change in each enrollee's situation had to be posted to the records--promotions (and demotions, which weren't common), changes in their allotments, changes of address of their parents, completion of certain training or education courses, and so on. Also, the First Sergeant had the Morning Report each day, to be typed, and signed by him and the Commanding Officer. Part of my job was to sort the mail, on the two or three days a week we sent in a truck for it, and deliver it to the fellows at Mail Call. That was usually done at the supper hour, or Retreat, when the flag was lowered. I also sometimes helped Bill Bolger, the food manager, calculate the amounts of food items he needed to feed us all, and plan the work schedule for the cooks. The food was nearly always very good, though simple, with lots of macaroni dishes, bread, and little meat. I kept the pay records for the men, and at the end of the month helped the commanding officer make the payments, in cash, to the men. Though that sounds like a lot of work, after I had learned the routine, it wasn't difficult. I think it was at this time that I began to see the advantages of having a job where others depended on me. My previous working experience, on the wheat allotment program with George Nelson when I was in high school, and my part-time jobs in college, had made me responsible for a variety of things. Now my job in the CCC camp made me feel very responsible. The Commanding Officer and a number of other people truly depended on me to get my job done, and done right. There was great satisfaction in that, not that I was a big shot, please understand, but that I knew that my being there was important to others.
Very soon after joining the CCC's, I became good friends with several of the young chaps in camp. Kenneth Wade was the First Aid assistant to our contract surgeon, Dr. Graybill. Wade was a very hard-working, competent man, who was planning to become a doctor some day. Another very pleasant young man was Johnny Beam, the clerk for Mr. Sullivan, the Camp superintendent. The three of us often ate together, and visited each other's offices on any excuse. Those were fairly quiet days for all three; we weren't very busy, the weather was nice, and we enjoyed talking to each other. Later, in the winter, we often skiied together.
The other fellows in camp, apart from the cooks, were working on a very special project that summer and fall. They were laying an under-ground telephone cable across the Park, following Going-to-the-Sun Highway over the contintental divide most of the way. Until that time, the Park Service had used only a surface telephone line that ran around the south end of the Park. The work was not dangerous, and before we moved out of our tent camp that fall, the line across the Park was in place and operational. That is a good example of the useful things done by CCC crews.
Our camp radio operator, Johnny Tharp, came from Idaho. He had his office, or radio room, in the corner of the large main office in which I worked, and the officers had their desks. Johnny was very knowledgeable in radio operation, and was constantly trying to improve the equipment he worked with. He had daily short wave radio contact in Morse code, with Fort Missoula, Montana, about two hundred miles away. Also he made regular scheduled calls to the Presidio of San Francisco, an old army base that was then used as the western headquarters for the Civilian Conservation Corps.
I often go to the radio room in the evening hours when Johnny was using the set to talk to people many hundreds of miles away. I thought then, and still think, that radio (and all sorts of electronic wireless transmission) are wonderful possibilities provided by a thoughtful Creator! One morning the company commander announced to me that he and I were going down to Fort Missoula that evening, and that I should prepare to stay over night there. We left, just the two of us, right after supper. Our route took us across the Park on the Going-to-the-Sun Highway, and then south along the west side of Flathead Lake. We arrived at Missoula late in the night. Lt. Garretson was in high spirits. There was little traffic, and he drove like a madman, sometimes skidding around the sharp curves near the top of the pass. Lt. Garretson told me he liked to drive at night, because you could see the lights of oncoming traffic while yet a long way off, and be prepared. We arrived at the Fort, were assigned beds, and slept well. I don't recall much of that visit, except that I was given some training in various record-keeping duties.
One day late in the summer, two of the young men decided that they would take a raft across Saint Mary's Lake, and escape from camp. Wind and waves were against them, though, and they were seen as they tried to escape. With the help of some Park Rangers, they were caught, taken off their little raft, and brought back to our camp. Then we had endless paper work to do--accusations or charges to be drawn up, accusing them of trying to desert. Every paper was typed in five or six copies; this was in the days before copiers. The Commanding Officer conducted a formal hearing, to examine witnesses who told of hearing the two make plans for escape. The whole thing ended with some fines levied, but no real punishment--at least not what I thought they deserved for having made so much work for me!
Fall, and snow, came in September. First it was just mighty chilly getting up in the morning. We soon worked out a schedule in our six-man tent, agreeing that whoever got up first would fire up the little tin stove. We prepared the kindling and little sticks for firewood the evening before, when we went to bed.
Where would we for the winter? Obviously, we couldn't stay in those tents, because of the cold and heavy snow that would surely come. Finally we were scheduled to move to the west side of the Park, to a camp just a couple of miles out of Belton, the western entrance to the Park. There a new camp was being prepared just for us. There were two other CCC camps nearby, too, so we would have plenty of company. We learned, after we had moved, that those two camps were occupied by young fellows from New York, New Jersey, the Bronx, and other big city places.
It was early in October that we finally received word to make our move. Extra trucks from the west side came to the camp one evening. The next morning it was cold and snowy, with six inches of snow on the ground and more coming down. We loaded up and started on the long drive around the south end of the Park, to our new camp. (Going to the Sun Highway had been closed for several weeks due to snow.) It was a long, unpleasant trip. We on benches in the back of those canvas-covered trucks. Each truck had a big tarp hung over the rear opening to keep out the snow, and the fumes from the exhaust, but several fellows became pretty sick before the drive was completed.
We arrived in plenty of time to get settled into our new quarters. The office was smaller than the one we had on the east side, so the radio room was located in another building. The long barracks-type building had the office at the west end, then a nice private little bedroom for me (rank has its privileges-- and responsibilities!), then the fairly large supply room, and on the east end the canteen and recreation room, complete with a pool table, and a table tennis table and equipment. It was like paradise!
A modest pot-bellied wood stove provided heat for the office and my bedroom. I immediately acquired a new duty because I lived right next to the office. I was to build the fire in the stove each morning, if heat was needed, and keep the stove operating all day. The weather wasn't terribly cold, though we had lots of snow, and I burned a huge quantity of wood in that stove that winter. Luckily for me, I didn't have to split or bring in the wood; someone else took care of that.
The office was bright and cheerful, with two big windows looking out, one to the south, and one to the west, with a fine view of Mount Apgar about a couple of miles west of the camp. There was no water piped into our building, though, so I had to go next door to a regular barracks to wash up and use the bathroom. Altogether, though, we were very comfortable.
The mess hall, where we ate our meals, was located across the parade ground west of the office. The parade ground had a tall flag pole set in the middle. There we held our morning and evening flag raisings and lowerings, when the weather allowed that. There were about six of the long barracks buildings, mostly for the men to sleep in. The one farthest north housed the first aid room and infirmary, and the contract surgeon's office.
That was an interesting winter. The snow came, day after day, until there was a blanket five or six feet deep over everything. Every few days the men went up on the roofs of the buildings, to shovel off the snow. We could scarcely see the mess hall from the office. Paths were dug from each barracks to the mess hall. The men could walk across in those paths, without being visible to anyone not in that particular path. Huge snow blowers mounted on trucks kept the road to Belton open, so our mail and food supplies kept coming in regularly. Some of us obtained permission occasionally, to walk in to town, to see what, if anything, was going on there--usually nothing.
Just before Christmas we had a rush of business in the office, issuing passes so the fellows could go home for Christmas. Many of us left, as we had been saving our money for that purpose. I think the ticket was only five dollars or about that, for a round trip from the Park clear to Glasgow. I had a good Christmas, but truly was happy to be going back to my job. I was really proud of my place in the camp, and probably thought things wouldn't go well without me! During those winter months I kept busy in my spare time taking a correspondence course in photography. The course involved taking many black and white pictures, and doing some dark-room work there at the camp. The little Argus camera my sister Jean had given me for graduation from Northern Montana College was different from any other cameras in the camp. I didn't have any flash equipment, but could take time exposures. In fact, I even took one such shot of the moon, on Lake Saint Mary's, before we moved to the westside.
I also had enough time to get well acquainted with our contract surgeon. He liked to get out in the woods, and together we made many a ski trip in the nearby area. Once we went to inspect a "moose yard" that the men working in the woods had reported. Sure enough, there were several moose wintering there in a little grove of red cedars. The snow was deep, and we could ski around on the deep snow, looking at the moose. One tough old bull made some threatening motions toward us, one day, and we decided maybe we should leave them alone after that.
On another occasion, in the spring, Doc took me for a ride on the highway up past Lake McDonald, to look at the deer that were wintering along the lake. I have never seen a more pitiful sight. Many deer were just skin and bones. They had browsed off all the foliage from the trees, as high as they could reach standing up on their hind legs. A great many had already died, and their carcasses were scattered along the lake edge. I got some pictures, but it was very depressing. The deer population in the Park was far too great for the available food supply. I loved to see wild animals, and still do, but that was just plain sickening. It convinced me of the need for regular hunting (even in the National Parks) to keep the wildlife populations at reasonable levels.
One day when some of us just happened to be watching, a huge snow slide, or avalanche, roared down the side of Mount Apgar to the west of us. The slide raised a big cloud of snow crystals, so that we couldn't see exactly what was happening, except that it appeared the whole side of the mountain was in motion. After the "dust" settled, some of us took skiis, and went over there. It was amazing what that slide had done! Big pine trees, up to two feet in diameter, had been cut off as if by a big mower. Trees were standing on their heads, as it were, stuck in the deep snow at the foot of the mountain. It was an amazing thing to see, and made me glad that none of us had been in the way of the slide.
Spring came at last, and with it further changes. Our company was to move again--just a mile or so, this time, to a vacant camp nearer Belton. We moved before the snow was all gone. Again I had a decent private room, and we had a nice big office. Immediately behind the camp was the Middle Fork of the Flathead River, a fine brawling stream, icy cold all year. Now, too, we had a public address system of sorts, including a phonograph with which we could "broadcast" records all around camp.
Many of us found out that the river had big char, or bull trout, running up the river to spawn there in the early spring. I don't think any of us had any kind of waders--we just waded out in our CCC boots, and stayed there as long as we could stand it. Our feet would be numb with the cold, and almost purple in color after only a half hour or so in that cold water. But several of us caught nice fish in that river.
We also used the PA system to play the bugle calls. That was a new duty given to me. I liked it, as it allowed me to avoid taking an outdoor part in the various ceremonies when the men had to stand in line for the raising or lowering of the flag. I would play the proper call, at the appropriate time, and stay inside watching the progress of the drill. I did learn how to properly fold a flag, and how to raise it.
As soon as the weather dried up a bit, our woods crews were assigned fire-fighting duty. That meant they hung around camp most of the time, between fires. But when a big fire took place, they might be gone several days. Then the cooks had to prepare food and take it to the fire, provide water, and so on. The first aid man had to stay at the fire, also, to take care of any injuries. It turned out to be a pretty busy summer.
With the money I had saved and sent home, my debt to the Demolay organization was paid. I could begin to think again about getting back to college. I had never lost sight of that goal! So I began to write to schools, hoping to find a school that would give me a scholarship,or a guarantee of work to help pay expenses.
During that year in the CCC's, I had kept in touch with my old friend Alvin Mundhenk. I knew that he had gone to a Baptist College out in Oregon, but didn't know any details. Imagine my surprise, when one day I received a beautiful letter from Linfield College, in McMinnville, Oregon, offering me a scholarship! They also assured me I could work to earn my way while in school!
It was all due to Al's influence--he had persuaded the administration that I was truly a good student, and the type they should encourage. It didn't take me long to accept their offer, and to begin to make plans to go there. That was about the middle of August, if I remember correctly. At least I knew I could be back in school that fall; I was very, very happy. So happy I sent off to some mail order store for a new pair of shoes, and a raincoat, that I thought I would need in Oregon.
There was one other major event in store for all of us that summer. One day while Johnny Tharp was listening to his short-wave radio, he came running down the street, yelling something about war! He told us that he had picked up a report that Germany had invaded Poland that very day! Of course, we were all very excited, though it seemed to us that it was really nothing to concern us. That was the beginning of the terrible World War II, in which I would surely get involved later! It was the first of September, 1939, when we learned about that invasion that started the war.
Two weeks later I was really on pins and needles! My new clothes had come, and all the arrangements made for my leaving on the train for Linfield College. I had everything packed, ready to go. My discharge, that I had typed, was on the Commanding Officer's desk, ready for his signature. But he wasn't there--he and the adjutant were away on a trip,and wouldn't be back for several days! What would you do, if you were in that situation? I fumed and fretted, and then with advice from some of the others there, decided what must be done: I signed my own discharge! I had often been authorized to sign the Commanding Officer's name on correspondence, so didn't feel too bad about doing this. I left a note for him, explaining what I had done, and mailed the necessary papers off to Fort Missoula. So ended my year in the CCC’s!

2009-07-01T11:58:00.000-07:00

MY SECOND YEAR AT NORTHERN MONTANA COLLEGE -
Late in August of 1937, I counted up my money--just $50 on which to start another year of college! I had saved my money as best I could, but I knew that the money I had would not nearly meet my needs for living expenses,books, and tuition. With encouragement from my mother, who had long been an active member of the Methodist Church, of which I was also a member, I applied for a student loan from the Methodist Church headquarters. I received a verbal assurance that I could easily qualify for the $250 loan I asked for, and with that assurance, set off for Havre.
My first task was to find a place to live. I went first to the home of Mr. and Mrs. W.W. Jones, people we had become acquainted with the year before. They kindly arranged to rent me space for a bed, wash stand, a little cupboard and a gas hot plate, in their basement. My "space" wasn't really a room--sheets hung on wires separated it from the rest of the unfinished basement.But it was fine with me, and very, very economical. My only problem was that I had to use their bathroom upstairs, and they had a teenage daughter, Helen, who practically lived in that bathroom. We sometimes came to bitter arguments about that! The location was good for me--I was about half-way between the two campuses of Northern Montana College.
With the living situation taken care of, I made a down payment on the tuition, bought some essential groceries at the near-by little grocery store, and got started with my classes. I ate very simply. I bought only day-old bread or sweet rolls, which could be had for five cents a loaf or package of rolls. My other staples were boiled macaroni, and sweet potatoes (which I boiled and usually ate cold, with a bit of salt), and an occasional wiener. I also had some cold cereals for breakfast, but not having any way to keep milk cold, I ate those cereals softened with hot water. It didn't taste the best, but I could eat it.
Did I still have a job? Oh, yes, I worked again under the National Youth Administration, and earned $15 per month. In this second year I worked as laboratory assistant in the physics laboratory (one of my courses), and also carried the mail for the college. That involved plenty of walking. I went to the post office in downtown Havre about 7:30 each morning, and carried the mail, often in a sizeable sack, back to the campus and business office. There I did a hurried job of sorting, then delivered the mail addressed to the upper campus, and to the residence hall for women. In the afternoon of each school day I picked up the mail at the upper campus, stopped by the lower campus for any outgoing mail there, and took it all down to the post office. It had to be there by 5PM, and often I had to make some fast tracks to get there before the post office closed. Then it was hike back to my room, fix my "one burner" supper, and spend most evenings studying or reading. I also cashiered at many basketball games that winter, as I had the previous year.
My courses were tougher in this second year-- physics, inorganic chemistry, botany, trigonometry, and economics. I especially liked the latter. As I mentioned above, I was also lab assistant in physics, helping Dr. Rassweiler, the professor, set up demonstration "experiments," and other lab equipment. Again, all my courses were very interesting to me. In addition to the class studies, I chose tennis as my physical education assignment. I loved the game, and became roughly skilled at it. The college maintained two crude clay courts, located at the upper campus. I had to walk about a mile to get to the courts! Despite the long walk, when I had any spare time in daylight, and when the weather permitted, I practiced for hours, even if I had no one to play with. I remember investing a few precious dollars, maybe two or three, in a new wooden racket, to help me improve mygame.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Two weeks after classes began, I received word from the Methodist Church that my loan application was denied. Their reason was that my father was only a laborer! I was really shattered and disgusted by that news. I thought I would surely have to leave school, as no one else I knew could offer me any help. But I told my friends, the Joneses, and Mr. Jones gave me cheering news. He said that the Demolay, the youth division of the Masonic Lodge, had an educational loan fund, and he thought I could borrow from there. Within just a couple days I had the money in hand. I knew, of course, that it was Mr. Jones' influence that got me the loan. No one in my family had ever had any connection with the Masons; in fact, my mother sternly objected to such organizations! In the next year, while I was in the Civilian Conservation Corps, I repaid that precious loan.
Apart from my college studies, and my job, I found time that year for a number of other activities. I was a member of the men's glee club, sang second bass in the men's double quartet, became more interested in girls (!), and picked up a few odd jobs to earn extra money. I especially recall two jobs involving putting up storm windows. The first job was to wash the outside windows, and put up the storm windows on one of Havre's largest houses, owned by the founder of Buttrey's stores. I worked like a dog all day, walked home for lunch and back again, and finally finished shortly before dark. The wealthy lady of the house graciously gave me $2 for my efforts! I'm afraid I didn't have very kind thoughts about that!
The other window job was helping the pastor of the Methodist Church put up the storm windows at the parsonage. The Saturday morning I went there was a nippy one, with white frost all over the place. Things went well enough until the time came to put up the second story windows above the front porch. This was on the north side of the house, and the roof was still white with frost. We carried the big storm window upstairs to a bedroom, and I carefully crawled out on the roof. Then the Pastor handed me the big double-frame storm window to put in place. Of course what happened was that I slid down that frosty, sloping roof, did an arc out over the front steps, and landed on the sidewalk about 12 feet below, mostly on my knees, with the window shattered around me. Luckily, I only had bad bruises and aches that bothered me when walking for weeks afterward. I didn't go to a doctor. I was sorry to have broken the window, but, believe me, I didn't go back to finish the job!
Again that winter I was active in the Epworth League at the Methodist Church. Also, that fall Mrs. Jones organized an inter-church youth group, with young people of high school and college age from several churches. I was elected president, for some reason (Mrs. Jones' influence, of course) and that was a good organization. I liked meeting the other young people. We had interesting meetings, and once, I remember, had a big Monopoly party. That new game was all the rage that winter.
My living situation wasn't the best. As cold weather came on, I found the basement was very chilly, and there was no way to get more heat. I often spent evenings under the bed covers, studying. I even ate my cold boiled sweet potatoes in bed! Because of my very tight money situation, I ate less and less.
Every two weeks or so I would send a parcel of dirty clothes home for Mom to wash and return. Sometimes she would put in a pint of home canned beef when returning my laundry, and I could have a feast. By careful planning, I could get two or three nice dishes of boiled macaroni and beef out of a jar of meat! But often I had to eat macaroni without anything else. I was losing weight, though I didn't particularly notice that. What I did notice was that I was cold so much of the time, and had one bad head cold after another.
We had very severe weather that winter. I remember one blizzard that left big snow drifts so high one could walk right up onto the roofs of many houses. This made my mail-carrying job all the more tedious, as the walking became more difficult.
When Christmas vacation came, I felt that I couldn't afford to go home to Glasgow. So I stayed on, and experienced one of the most lonely times of my life. My sister Jean, always generous, had sent me a pair of new shoe skates for my Christmas present. On Christmas eve, a bright moon-lit night, I went to the city skating rink to skate. It was miserably cold, far below zero. When I got to the rink, I found that I was all alone. I should have anticipated that, of course, it being Christmas eve. Alone or not, I strapped on my new skates, and skated perhaps half an hour. It was so cold the skates couldn't get a good grip on the ice, so skating wasn't much fun.I was so lonely I didn't know what to do.
Finally I decided to go back to my room, and then attend the midnight mass service at the Catholic Church. One of my classmates had invited me. So I went there, alone, sat up in the balcony and watched a most interesting service. I had never been in a Catholic church before, and it all seemed pretty strange to me, but somehow beautiful. Though I was still lonely, and left the church alone to go back to my room, I felt encouraged. The local "skidoo," a little passenger-freight train that ran between Havre and Minot, North Dakota, did not run on Christmas day. But the day after Christmas I scraped together all my money, took my laundry and new skates, and took the train to Glasgow. The folks were surprised to see me, as I had told them I wasn't coming home. I truly enjoyed those few days at home, especially eating the good food, and being warm enough.
All good things must end, it seems, and all too soon I was on my way back to Havre and my chilly room. But I was enjoying school, and was willing to put up with a little discomfort. My job with the mail kept my busy, beside the time I spent studying.
About that time, just after Christmas holidays, someone on the faculty noticed that I was looking thin and peaked, and asked me if I needed help. I had been losing weight, and I guess it was pretty noticeable. I told the truth--I wasn't eating much. So a new plan was introduced that was a big help. I was given a new job-- making the breakfast toast for the eighty or so girls in the women's residence hall, in exchange for breakfast each day. What a break! I could eat all I wanted!
Breakfast became my major meal of the day, and I really took advantage of it. I had to hurry with all this, because I still had to go down town, get and sort the mail, and, usually, get to an eight o'clock class. I practically ran all the way, but began to feel much better than I had previously. The good food made all the difference in the world. My course in botany was very interesting, for in it I learned the scientific names of most of the trees and shrubs of northern Montana. We took brief field trips out into the Rocky Boy mountains south of Havre, in the spring, and I really enjoyed those. The mountains, though relatively small ones, fascinated me. Spring came very soon, and with it as fine a gift as any I ever received. Knowing of my intense interest in photography, my older sister, Jean, sent me a graduation present a couple of months before graduation-- a new Argus Model A 35mm camera! I had been reading about the new small cameras, and the Argus, which cost only $12.50, was one I hoped to buy someday. I shot a few good pictures of school friends, particularly on the spring clean up day on the campus. I still have both the prints and the negatives of those pictures! The camera was very simple, but capable of good photos.
In that spring of 1938 I started dating a girl from central Montana, a very nice, strong, girl, born and reared on a ranch. Honestly, there was very little "mushiness" between us; I held her hand sometimes when we went out walking, but that was all. I remember one evening when we went out for a stroll. All over town the lilacs were just coming into bloom, and I picked her a nice big bouquet from shrubs along the sidewalks. I confess that to this day when I smell lilac blossoms in the spring, my mind immediately goes back to that evening!
When we got back to the women's residence hall, where she lived, we were standing by the front door, talking. Secretly, I wanted to kiss her good night, but didn't dare ask her for permission. It was nearly ten o'clock, time for the doors to be locked. We didn't notice the dean of women as she came up behind us, until she said "Oh, kiss her, John, and go on home!" That spoiled the whole thing, and I left without the kiss, very, very embarrassed! I don't know how Florence felt.
So many things happened in those last few weeks of school at Northern Montana College I can't remember them all. One was the trip our men's double quartet took along the "high line" east of Havre, stopping at the high schools in the small towns to sing and try to interest students in attending NMC. We were out several days, and had a good time.
Finally graduation day came, complete with caps and gowns and all that. There were lots of tearful farewells. Altogether it was a sad time. For some reason, I have never kept in touch with any of my classmates except Al Mundhenk. He spent most of his life in India as a missionary doctor, so I haven't seen or heard from him for many years, either.
That spring my brother, Robert, drove out from Baltimore, where he was working for the Social Security Administration. With Robert's coming out, my folks had arranged to come to Havre for my graduation, and then take me with them on a trip to Glacier National Park. The Dixon family, Mrs. Dixon, Doris (she was Robert's girl-friend), and Wayne, Doris' older brother, were to go with us. They were all there for the graduation exercises, and we left the next day for the Park.
That was a great trip. We were in the Park for three or four nights, camping in rented cabins. We stopped first at Two Medicine Lakes, then at Saint Mary's Lake, and the last night on the west side of the park. We saw a large portion of the Park, and I was really delighted with it all. My sister, Jean, had bought a roll of Kodachrome film for my camera, and I had a great time taking scenic pictures. I still have some of those old slides, the first of literally thousands I have shot since then. The weather was very nice, and we had a grand time.
I went back to Glasgow with the folks, looking for work. I had the loan from the Demolays to repay, and needed a job right away. Dad was still working at Fort Peck, but there was very little going on there, and no jobs to be had. I haunted the public employment agency day after day, but there was no work to be had. I was becoming really discouraged. Then one morning I walked down past the county court house As I walked, I noticed a sign "Civilian Conservation Corps" beside an open door. I had heard of the CCC's, so I stopped to see what was going on. It was a recruiting day--they were offering work to unemployed young fellows like me. I went in, learned that the camp where I would be assigned if I signed up was in Glacier National Park! Without consulting my parents I signed up for a year! Then I went home, told Mom what I was going to do, got my things together, and left by train early the next day, with about a dozen other young fellows from Valley County.
My quick choice to join the Civilian Conservation Corps proved to be a major decision. I must drop out of college for a year, at least. Also, my experiences in that organization affected my life for the next several years.

2009-06-23T17:30:00.000-07:00

COLLEGE AT LAST!!
The summer of 1936 was ending. I could see that there was no chance whatever of my attending the University of Minnesota to study forestry, as I had long planned to do. I had very little money, and for that reason had not applied to the University. As we were growing up, our parents had always encouraged us to get a college education. They were willing to make great sacrifices to make that possible. They now came up with a new plan.
Mom would move to Havre with Jean, Mary, and me. Robert was already living there, having attended Northern Montana College the previous year. We would live in an apartment, and Dad would keep on working at Fort Peck, to pay for it all. It was especially difficult for Dad, as he wanted to be at home, but it seemed the only thing to do. By our moving to Havre, both Jean and I could attend Northern Montana College, Mary could attend Havre High School, and Robert could live with us.
I can't recall the actual move to Havre. Robert came down to Hinsdale with his Model A Ford to help with the move. Robert's car pulled a small trailer. We also had our family chariot--an ancient Model T roadster with a box built in place of the rumble seat. We loaded the things we would need in Havre, and drove up there. That was a major move for us--one hundred and sixty-five miles! We moved to an upstairs apartment just a few blocks from the administration building of the college. My younger sister, Mary, was a freshman in high school that year. Her school was only another two or three blocks beyond the college administration building. Robert kept his Model A there, while Dad took the old Model T back to Fort Peck Dam with him. He lived in a barracks there, and came to Havre when he could, to visit us.
Dad was always working at something, beside his regular job; he didn't like to be idle. His job on the dam was working as a laborer on the fill. The dam was largely built by dredging dirt and gravel from the river valley below the dam site, and pumping it through giant pipes up to the fill. There the water seeped away, leaving the dirt and other debris to build the fill. The pipes that brought the mud and water up from the river valley were six feet in diameter. The powerful dredges, digging deep into the deposits down stream, often encountered large stumps of the ancient juniper forest that had once grown there. Some of these stumps were pumped up onto the fill. Also, buffalo skulls and bones came out frequently.
Dad began to salvage some of the juniper wood. Such material was undesirable in the fill, anyway. He found the wood wonderfully preserved, though it must have been buried for centuries. He took the wood chunks to the carpenter shop, and from them cut out small pieces of beautifully grained and colored wood. From these he made several table lamps. The wood had wonderful colors-- browns, yellows, pinks, streaks of violet--and made handsome lamps. I think one or more of them may still be in service in Great Falls, in the homes of relatives there. Wages in those days were very low--less than a dollar an hour for hard work--but living expenses were also low. Dad and Mom managed nicely, so far as I am aware, and we (or at least I) never felt particularly pinched for money that year. I don't know just how we happened to rent the particular apartment we found, We had plenty of space, and, wonder of wonders, an indoor bathroom with running water! That took more than a little adjustment by us all, as we had never before had such a facility in our home! There was a little neighborhood grocery store just a block or so down the street from us, and we did most of our grocery buying there. The Methodist Church, where we all attended, was also not far away, and we walked there for the various services.
Robert bought a new radio for the apartment. It was a "console" model, standing upright from the floor, and we had many hours of enjoyment listening to it. He was not attending classes that fall. Instead, he was working at Gamble's store, a small and new hardware company. The radio was purchased from the store, I'm sure.
How well do I remember that first day of going to the college to register, and to meet the president, Dr. Guy H. Vande Bogart! I had a scholarship that first year, based on my high school grades, and success at the state high school week, in May. Jean and I walked the few blocks to the school, and with many other young people, got through the registration process without a hitch. Though I wasn't attending the school I wanted, the prospects at this college excited me. I don't remember being troubled by having to attend a lesser school.
When registration was completed, we new students met Dr. Vande Bogart, the president of Northern Montana College. We dutifully lined up, and he came out of his office. He shook hands with each of us, asking our names, where we were from, and what we planned to study. He was a very distinguished looking man, and, I think, a fine man. He did a great deal to develop Northern Montana College in the years he was there.
Of course, he had previously met my brother, Robert, so I suppose that was a help to him in remembering our names. Although I saw him a few times that year, and the next, it was always very casually, and I never felt really personally acquainted with him. Imagine my surprise, then, ten years later in 1946, when I was attending the University of Montana at Missoula after World War II, I met Dr. Vandebogart on the campus at Missoula. Without any hesitation, he greeted me by name, and asked about my sister and brother, also by name! He had a wonderful memory.
What were my first year subjects? Since I was pursuing my planned study of forestry, I chose the same basic subjects I would have had at a larger school. I had to take English for Technical Students, college algebra, zoology, and (I think!) sociology. I enjoyed every subject, and settled down to get good grades. All the teachers who had met Robert the year before were wondering if his kid brother would be as good a student as he was. I had a difficult example to follow! Jean signed up for a secretarial course, and took typing, shorthand, and some other business courses. We didn't have any classes together.
I also had a job! In those days the government had some programs to help students who needed extra funds. Each student could work enough hours to earn a maximum of fifteen dollars a month, at the standard wage of forty or fifty cents an hour. My assignment was to work with a Dr. Morgan, a teacher of German courses. His office was in East Hall, about a mile from our apartment. I worked with him several afternoons each week, correcting papers, sometimes typing memos and tests, and doing similar office work. Sharing the same office with Dr. Morgan was Mr. Johnson, my math teacher, and we became good friends. His son, Ed, was one of my classmates, a very fine athlete and a good student.
Beside working for Dr. Morgan, I sometimes worked on the campus, raking and cleaning up. During the winter months, I had a regular job cashiering at the basketball games. I could make change rapidly and accurately, and really enjoyed that. I got to see most of the students as they came in, and many towns people, too. Also, I had free admission to the ball games. I could usually get out of the ticket booth about half way through the game, and watch the rest of the time. Checking out my tickets and money at the end of the game took a little time, of course, but I earned fifty cents an hour for the whole time, so it was really an easy job.
My classes were all interesting to me. The zoology course covered a very wide range of subjects, and required the preparation of drawings of various bugs, animals, etc. I soon found that I had a knack for drawing, though I had never had any formal training. Also, my lab partner in that course was a young lady, a year ahead of me in school, who was preparing for medical school later. She was absolutely fearless when it came to handling the various specimens, even live snakes, several of which were kept in the lab. Often when working on some project, such as dissection of frogs, she would have a snake crawling around on the lab table, or draped around her neck and shoulders. I don't know whether she ever became a doctor, as I never heard of her after that one year of school.
The zoology teacher, a Mr. Anderson, had a delightful little daughter about three years of age. The little girl often came to the lab in the afternoon, and was wonderfully well acquainted with the fish and other creatures in the aquarium. She spoke intelligently of dinosaurs, and all sorts of things. Toward the end of the year, I worked some as lab assistant to Dr. Anderson, and learned to operate the various slide-making equipment available, fed the creatures in the fish tank, and so on. Then, as I was acquainted with the little girl, I sometimes served as baby-sitter for her while her parents went out for an evening. She was unusually intelligent. No silly little baby stories for her at bedtime! I have often wondered what happened to that little child!
That winter I signed up to take wrestling, for physical education. On the first night, the coach, Dr. Morgan (the professor for whom I worked) asked me to get down on the mat on my hands and knees, while he demonstrated a good hold. He got in position, then told me to try to get up. I out-weighed him by maybe ten pounds, and was strong and in good shape from hard work on the farm, so I simply stood up, taking him with me! He protested! That wasn't the idea, at all. My wrestling career ended quickly. I was getting enough exercise walking about the campus, and in my different jobs.
Both Jean and I became active in the Epworth League at the Methodist Church, and I sang in the church choir, too. Most of the young people in Epworth League were of high school age, and I made several good friends. I didn't have a car, as many of the high school kids did, but they sometimes invited me to ride with them. In the church our whole family became acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. W.W. Jones, leaders in the church. That acquaintance was to be a big help to me the next year!

MORE ABOUT MY SENIOR YEAR IN HIGH SCHOOL

2009-06-17T17:25:00.000-07:00

MORE ABOUT MY SENIOR YEAR IN HIGH SCHOOL
Not long after the matter of the bloated cow, winter came on strong and cold. I had agreed with the Vogels that I would go to the Clement place to bring the whole bunch of cattle to their place. The agreed date (a Saturday) came, and though our old homestead thermometer showed the temperature was below the 40 degree below mark, I walked out to the Vogels’, borrowed their old slow saddle horse, and set out. I soon found it was much too cold for riding, so I walked and led the horse the rest of the way and back.
It didn't take long to round up the cattle, as they were near the gate, waiting to get out of there. The walk to the Vogels’ home, about three miles, was a bitter one. The cattle, the horse, and I all were literally covered with white frost from our breathing. The poor old horse coughed frequently, a sign that the cold air was bothering her lungs. That was the last time, I believe, that I had occasion to drive the cattle. I surely wouldn't have wanted to have another day like that one!
That winter I signed up for the senior class play, and greatly enjoyed being a part of it. I had only a minor part, of course, but it went over very well and we had lots of fun rehearsing. Having a part in a play was helpful, too, in learning not to be too nervous in front of an audience! Now I need to say something more about the typing class. When we finally were allowed to begin using the machines, we found that we could already type! In fact, on one of the first speed tests Miss Adams gave us, most of us were typing twenty-five to thirty words per minute! After that, typing became easier and easier for me, and I was soon typing as fast or faster than anyone else in first year typing. When spring came, and I entered in typing at the district scholastic meet at Malta, I won first place easily. Later, at the state high school week, at Bozeman, I again took first place in first year typing. Somehow it was a natural skill for me.
A highlight of that winter was listening to the radio in the evening. I had never before lived in a house having electricity, and the ability to tune in stations as far away as Denver and Cincinnati, Ohio, was a marvel. We listened as regularly as we could to such programs as Amos and Andy, The Great Gildersleeve, Major Bowes' Original Amateur Hour, and Fibber McGee and Molly. Those were great programs!
Often that winter we went out to ice skate on Vogel's slough, where there was good ice. I was still singing in the church choir, and active in the Epworth League, too. That year our Epworth League group sometimes met with the group at Saco, and that was fun. I remember that we went to the Saco church on Easter Sunday, early in the morning, to have a joint sunrise service and breakfast together. Did I just think of the significance of the day, and all that? Hardly! One Saco boy told me of a place not far out of town where there had apparently once been an Indian battle, for many arrowheads were found there. I was more interested in that, though I never went out to see the place, than in the Easter message.
Early in the spring we began to have track practice, and for the first time I had the freedom to go out for a school sport. I had always been pretty good at running and jumping--both standing and running broad jump--while in grade school, so those were the events I worked on. I found that I couldn't keep up with the competition at all in the shorter races, but could do well in the mile run. It was a new experience for me to have track shoes available (borrowed ones) to use for running. Our team went around to various track meets with other nearby schools. The one I especially remember was a meet at Fort Peck, because on that day I managed to run the mile in 4:45. That was very good time for high school runners in those days. The world record was somewhere around 4:05 at that time. No one ran a four-minute mile until several years later. I never ran a mile that fast again, though I ran some in my freshman year in college.
In early May a group of students from Hinsdale, mostly seniors, but also some younger girls, went to Malta, about forty-five miles west of Hinsdale, for a district scholastic and track meet. I didn't do at all well in the track events, but did do very well in all five subjects in the scholastic meet. Because I had a conflict as I was taking another test when the first year typing test was given, I had to take my typing test alone, after all the others had competed, Miss Adams told me, before I started to take the timed test, that forty-five words per minute would easily win. As I mentioned earlier, I knew almost exactly what the rhythm was for forty-five words per minute, held to that, and got first place, with a speed of forty-five words per minute! It was a cinch, due to a good teacher.
That afternoon, on our way back to Hinsdale, my good friend and classmate, Foran Drabbs, and I almost had an argument. We both admired a younger girl who had come along for the scholastic meet. The teacher in charge of our group had agreed that we could stop in Saco on the way home, to see a movie. The difference between Foran and me was who would get to take E____ to the show? Or maybe it was who would get to ask her first, as she wasn't riding in the same car with us. I don't recall just how we decided the matter, but this I do remember-- she refused both of us! Later she was my date, my very first date ever, for the Senior prom.
Just a week or two before our graduation, three or four of us seniors had a wonderful surprise! Mr. Orr, the principal, had arranged for us to compete in the state high school scholastic meet on the Montana State College campus, in Bozeman! He drove us over, and I can't adequately tell how excited I was on that trip. For the first time I saw real honest to goodness forests, and we went through real mountains on our way. We travelled through Great Falls and Helena, then down past Three Forks to Bozeman.
Somewhere around the famous Gates of the Mountains, we saw a bear climbing up a hill in the distance. Of course we couldn't be sure what kind of bear it was, but for me it was surely a grizzly! We arrived in Bozeman late in the afternoon, where we were assigned rooms in dormitories on the campus. I can recall very clearly my delight in walking around on the school grounds, looking at the various trees, and what were for me, huge school buildings.
Oddly, I don't remember much about the various events of that week. I was fortunate to place first in the state in typing, and I did well also in the other subjects in which I competed. Highlight of the week was the day I spent out on the Madison River with Mr. Orr and another man whose name I can't recall. I didn't fish, but watched them with their fly rods, wading in the great stream. I don't think they caught much of anything, but the weather and the scenery were both beautiful. I became even more enamored with the idea of becoming a forest ranger, and being able to live always in such surroundings.
Our senior class had sometime in the previous year decided on our class colors--Nile green and silver--and we had placed our orders for graduation announcements. It was almost time for graduation when I learned something that really surprised me. I had thought up 'til then that I was clearly the head of the class, and would surely be giving the valedictory address at our commencement exercises. Now I learned that not I, but Larry Haverfield, was the valedictorian! I came in a close second, but it was a severe blow to my pride. Further, Larry had completed all the work required for graduation in the two years he had been attending Hinsdale High School! As I said before, I didn't know him well. He, with his family, had come from somewhere in Canada. When they came to live near Hinsdale in the fall of 1934, he was almost twenty years of age. Yet in those two years he had managed to take all the necessary subjects, and beat me by a couple of tenths of a grade point. He really earned his victory, and I had earned my second place, too, because I hadn't worked as hard as I might have. It was a bitter pill to swallow. I had broken the pattern of being a Cumming youngster who graduated at the head of his class, as Robert and Jean had done.
Senior prom, senior class day with its great picnic at Vandalia Dam, everything related to graduation came and went swiftly. Though it was a real budget stretcher for me, I bought a class ring, and then almost never wore it. I think it cost either $12 or $15; that was a big price for me. The most interesting graduation gift I received was a very simple baitcasting rod and reel that my parents gave me. With that I was ready for some real fishing. I imagined that Milk River contained all the various sport fishes I had read about in the outdoor magazines. I fished with high hopes of catching a great northern pike, or a bass. I know now that such fish had never been found in the river, and probably haven't to this day! But with that rod I caught many goldeye, a few cat fish,and many carp. It was a great gift. Though the cheap little casting reel often gave me trouble with monster backlashes, I learned to cast fairly well with it, and used it for years. Now the summer was before me. I still dreamed of going to the University of Minnesota, but the possibility of doing that seemed very remote. I needed money badly. Steady jobs were not available; as a result, I had several jobs that summer. First, I rented a couple acres of ground right by Milk River, 2 miles east of town, from one of our old neighbors, Mr. Kent, and started a truck garden. I used the irrigation pump and old single cylinder gas engine we had used on the Burke place. With Dad's help I got that all set up so I could irrigate most of the garden area. That worked fairly well, and by the end of summer I had a good crop of potatoes and corn, and made a little money on those. It took too much time, though, going the two miles out to the garden spot in the little old Model T Ford, getting the pump going, directing the water where it was needed, and hoeing and weeding between spells of tending the engine. I did find time to fish,though, and sometimes went swimming, too.
Twice that summer I had brief jobs on government programs. The first was a two-week job of poisoning rodents. A crew of five or six of us was driven out to a previously selected spot early each morning. There we filled heavy sacks with poisoned grain, which was to be placed at any rodent holes we found. We slung the bags over our shoulders, and walked, and walked, and walked. We spread out about twenty feet apart, in a line, going across fields and pasture land, putting a handful of grain in every hole that looked as if it might be occupied by some rodent. We worked mostly through prairie dog towns, or colonies. We also sought out the holes of the little pocket gophers or ground squirrels. I hated the idea of poisoning animals, but the rodents were truly pests. Unfortunately, many birds also ate the poisoned grain, and died.
My second government job was as a laborer on a small dam-building job out southeast of Hinsdale, in the Missouri River breaks country. I remember Dad took me out there in the old Ford, out across the hills south of Hinsdale, a long, long ride. Finally we found our way to the camp. My arrival was expected, but my first work assignment wasn't! I was told where to put my little kit of belongings, and then report at once to the cook house. I was appointed, without any consultation with me, to the job of cook's helper, or "bull cook."
That was as mean a job as any I've ever had. I had to peel endless piles of potatoes, as there was a large crew of hungry men to feed three big meals a day. I slept in a big tent with blankets, no mattress, on the hard ground. The cook routed me out of bed about 4:30 in the morning, to help get breakfast. I toasted great piles of bread, and made coffee enough to drown out a prairie dog. I set the table twice for each meal, and afterward had to help wash the dishes. I had a little time off when the men were out working on the job, but had to begin helping with lunch again about 10AM,. I didn't get done with the last dishes of the day until about 8PM, and then, totally exhausted, went to bed. I was on that job for a week, and then an opportunity for escape came. Believe me, I had often thought of taking off over the hills for home during that week! But one day a new young fellow came out to the camp to work. At once I asked the boss if I couldn't be relieved of my job, and get out on the real work-- shovelling, pouring concrete, and so on. He said it was OK with him, if all right with the cook. That man, I guess, was willing to change helpers, so I went out as a regular worker.
The work on the project was just as hard, but I enjoyed it. In a week or ten days we had completed the pouring of a big concrete-lined tank to be used for dipping cattle and sheep. We also built corrals, a loading chute, and other necessary facilities. We were a lively crew of workers, all young fellows, and the work went quickly. I remember that several of us went to Glasgow one night so we could listen on the radio to the prize fight between Joe Louis and Max Baer, the German fighter. If I remember correctly, we stood around outside a tavern (I was too young to be allowed inside) and heard the fight on the radio through an open window. Louis won in the first round, I think. Baer suffered a broken vertebra, or something like that, and had to stop. Back we went to camp. The work at the little earth dam was finished soon, and I was again out of a job.
Soon after, the Montana Power Company came looking for men. The company owned the natural gas line running along the "high line" and the Great Northern Railroad. The work they were doing consisted of digging up sections of the gas line to see whether the pipe was so badly corroded that it needed replacement. I got on with them, and for just a few days spent the day on the business end of a long-handled round-nosed shovel. Again, though the work was hard, and we were expected to move huge amount of dirt, working with a couple of other fellows was fun. We chatted as we dug, told big stories, and so on.
All of these jobs paid what seemed huge wages--fifty cents an hour, with nothing deducted for income tax. On the job at the dam, my pay was reduced to cover the charge for food, to the tune of a dollar or so a day. I still managed to save a few dollars.
Most of the rest of the summer I spent working as a farm hand on the Hellstern farm east of Hinsdale. I worked at irrigating beets, driving team while haying, and helping with milking morning and night. That summer I could hold my own with the Hellstern boys at milking. They milked a herd of forty big rangy Holstein cows, with huge udders. We usually started the morning milking about 5AM, after feeding and harnessing the horses. Three of us would milk while a fourth man handled the storing of the milk. They didn't have fancy cooling equipment or milking machines--it was all done by hand. Earl, one of the Hellsterns, left right after milking to take the fresh warm milk to the creamery at Glasgow, about twenty-fivemiles away.
With three of us milking, it meant milking thirteen or sometimes fourteen cows, each of which would give about fifteen to twenty quarts of milk at a milking. Our normal milking time was about an hour. That meant that we were taking only four or five minutes per cow. Because the big Holstein cows gave so much milk, we usually had to empty the milk bucket once during the milking of each cow. It was great exercise for the hands and forearms, and I really didn't mind it at all. The hard part of the job, though, was to milk those same cows again in the evening, after a long hard day of irrigating, haying or threshing. Then the job was a real chore.
Often after finishing the milking in the evening, we would all hike down to the Milk River, about a half mile away, and go for a good cooling swim. We would get to bed about nine, and wasted no time with talk, as all of us were dog tired. For that kind of work, six days a week, with Sundays off (except for the milking), I received thirty dollars a month and "found"--that is, board and room. Did I suffer that summer? Not at all! The hard work, and the good food we had, with all the cream, butter, cheese, and ice cream we could eat, helped me to put on weight. When I left at the end of summer to go to school, I was hard as nails. I believe I had somewhat unusual strength for one of my height and weight. In those days I weighed about 140 pounds, and there wasn't an ounce of fat on me. I really think that hard work is good for a growing young fellow, and didn't resent it a bit, though I suppose I did my share of griping.
Too soon summer was gone. It was time to think of college. Meanwhile my parents had come up with a plan to allow both my sister Jean and me to attend Northern Montana College at Havre. I had to forget my dream of the University of Minnesota. I was very happy to go to some school. But that is another story, and will have to be covered later.

2009-06-08T17:04:00.000-07:00

SENIOR! Only sixteen, and a senior in high school! I was proud! Because I had skipped a year (or done two years in one) in grade school, I was a year or two younger than most of my classmates. While I was proud of it then, I realize now that it might have been better if I had been older. My social adjustment wasn't all it might have been. I was socially a "loner," and except for some playing and visiting with the Vogel and Grant kids, I didn't mix much with the other students in my class. Not that I didn't have an interest in girls! That was coming on a bit, though I was scared to death of talking to any of them. Secretly I greatly admired two or three different girls that year, and sometimes day-dreamed about being married to one or the other of them. I figured we could live off the land, dressing in animal skin clothing and moccasins. I never stopped to think of winter weather--it was always summer, and beautiful, with ripe berries and lots of game to shoot. Those were foolish dreams, I know, and I've never before told anyone about them. The change in our living situation that fall was a big one. Dad had taken a job at Fort Peck Dam that year, so we left the Burke place in late summer. We moved in to town, though Dad was living most of the time in a barracks at Fort Peck, housing provided for the workers on the dam. He was away all week, coming home most weekends. We sold nearly all the cattle, and pastured the few remaining with the Vogel's at a place on the river about five miles from town. It was known as the Clement place, from the name of a former owner. We sold the old team and wagon, too, so we really had become "town folks." I missed the woods on the Burke place, and the animals and birds, but found plenty to do in town. On some weekends I had to go to the Clement place to check on our few cows, and that meant walking the five plus miles down there and back. Later I will tell of one or two notable days connected with the care of thestock. As a senior, and with most of the required subjects already completed for graduation, I had a choice of what I would study in this my senior year. I liked Mr. Shaw so well I chose to take both physics and advanced algebra from him. I also took another course in animal husbandry, chiefly because I knew that would involve stock judging, which I very much liked to do. The fourth course I chose was typing, and that was tough! Both Robert and Jean had taken typing, and were good at it. But just as they had warned me about what a tough teacher Miss Dorothy Dutch was (my teacher for algebra and geometry), now they told me how awful Miss Adams, the typing teacher could be! There were about twelve of us in the class, and despite the warnings, I looked forward to learning to type. As it turned out, touch typing is probably the most valuable skill I learned in high school! I've used it all my life, and it has been a wonderful help. In this my senior year I decided what I wanted to do as a career: I would be a forest ranger! I read everything I could lay hands on about that line of work, and even decided where I would go to college. For some reason, it didn't enter my mind to go to Missoula, to the state university, where there was a fine forestry school. Instead, I planned to go to the University of Minnesota, because their school seemed to get the most publicity. I wrote for a catalog, and liked what I saw. Little did I know how difficult it would be to go there, pay the high tuition charges, and all that. It was a goal, and helped me to apply myself toward being a good student, I think. Back to typing class! Miss Adams surely was different from most of the teachers. She was a perfectionist! In order to learn one thing at a time, and because knowing the location of the various keys is essential to learning to type rapidly, we didn't even touch a typewriter for the first three or four weeks! I had never heard of such a thing! Instead of using a machine, we sat with our hands in the correct position on the edge of the typing table, and practiced for hours-- asdfghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz, over and over, or mixing numbers in with the letters. There were big charts on the wall in front of us, showing the location of all the letters and numbers on the keyboard. For the first week or so we could look at those charts. After that the charts were taken away, and we were supposed to know without hesitation where each letter or number was, and which finger was designated to hit it. The school typewriters had no letters or numbers on the keys, to tempt us to look at the keys. Then there was the proper finger stroke to use, too. We would be learning to type on old Underwood standard machines, of course; electric typewriters were unknown in our area. Miss Adams called it the "tiger stroke," meaning that the finger didn't just poke at a key, but must hit it with a clawing motion, sharp and precise. Miss Adams watched us individually, to make sure we were moving our fingers just right. It was practice, practice, practice for an hour each day, five days a week. I thought we would never get around to real typing! When we did get typewriters, most of us in the class found we could type 20 - 30 words per minute, with not too many errors. One other thing--Miss Adams wanted us to learn to type smoothly, rhythmically, without sudden spurts, pauses, or stops. So we had victrola music to keep time to, usually marches, very snappy. If anyone had come by and seen twelve people typing on imaginary typewriters, keeping time to the music, they might have thought we were crazy! I know some of us thought someone was! On the other hand, I know now how important that rhythm is. I learned that to achieve a certain desired speed in typing, one could estimate how many strokes per minute were required to reach a chosen rate of so many words per minute, and simply type along at that rate. Twice later, in typing contests at Malta and at State High School Week in Bozeman, I won by trying to type at a certain rhythmic rate, and hit the desired speed almost exactly. My other subjects were just as interesting to me that year. In animal husbandry, we made field trips to watch how the farmers used different feeds for livestock. We judged animals at the fair in Glasgow, and held meetings of the new Future Farmers of America club. The teacher, Mr. Skinner, was interesting, and a good teacher. Mr. Shaw, my friend from previous years, lived up to my expectations, especially in teaching physics. I got such a good grounding in physics that two years later, at Northern Montana College in Havre, I was selected to work as physics lab assistant, to help earn my tuition and college expenses. Town living was very different from being on the Burke place. There were no animals to care for daily, except for a few hens kept in the big old barn at the back of the lot. Thus I had more free time--free for reading. Hinsdale had only a very small town library, and for some reason I almost never went there to borrow books. In this my fourth year at high school, I had read nearly all the books that I found attractive in the school library. It was at this time that I began to borrow many books from Mr. Shaw's personal library--he had a whole wall of books on shelves. I had read a few of his books in the prior year, but now I sometimes went over to his apartment on Saturday, and read all day, or brought home a fresh bundle of books. The house we lived in was less than a block from his place, so I didn't have far to go. I mentioned that we had a few cattle left, pastured on the Clement place, with the Vogel's cattle. With Dad away at Fort Peck, I had to check on them occasionally. Thus one frosty Saturday morning, in late October or early November, I walked down there (about five miles from town) to see if they were OK. There was alfalfa growing along the river bank on the Clement place, scarcely half a mile inside the pasture. On that particular morning, I walked down along the river, and found what I didn't want to find: a cow terribly bloated from eating the frosty alfalfa. She lay on her side, with her belly so extended her legs were away up in the air. There was so much pressure she could hardly breathe, but she was still alive. She was not one of ours; she belonged to the Vogels. I knew she could not live long. There was not enough time to walk clear back to their place to tell them. If anything could be done for her, it was up to me. I had learned in animal husbandry class that veterinaries use a special tool for relieving cattle or other animals suffering from bloat. I didn't have anything like that. I had only my pocket knife. But I remembered that the sticking point was toward the back end of the rib cage, and with great fear I stabbed the cow right there with the largest blade of my knife! There was no question whether I hit the right spot! Gas whistled out of the cut, along with a fine green spray that pretty well stained all my face and front! That cow shrank like a punctured balloon! I knew that the wound should be sterilized, but I didn't have anything with me with which to do that. So after washing up a bit in the river, I walked around some more, checked to see that the other cows were all OK (and not eating alfalfa!), and then walked back to Vogels to tell them about their cow. When I left, the cow was already on her feet, though looking a bit wobbly. The long and short of it was that the cow lived on, whether happily or not, I don't know. I told my agriculture teacher of my adventure, and he was sure that the cow would die of infection. But she survived! In those days there were few vets around, and I am sure the Vogels didn't call one to come out to check on the cow. More later about my senior year - and no more gruesome stories!SENIOR! Only sixteen, and a senior in high school! I was proud! Because I had skipped a year (or done two years in one) in grade school, I was a year or two younger than most of my classmates. While I was proud of it then, I realize now that it might have been better if I had been older. My social adjustment wasn't all it might have been. I was socially a "loner," and except for some playing and visiting with the Vogel and Grant kids, I didn't mix much with the other students in my class. Not that I didn't have an interest in girls! That was coming on a bit, though I was scared to death of talking to any of them. Secretly I greatly admired two or three different girls that year, and sometimes day-dreamed about being married to one or the other of them. I figured we could live off the land, dressing in animal skin clothing and moccasins. I never stopped to think of winter weather--it was always summer, and beautiful, with ripe berries and lots of game to shoot. Those were foolish dreams, I know, and I've never before told anyone about them. The change in our living situation that fall was a big one. Dad had taken a job at Fort Peck Dam that year, so we left the Burke place in late summer. We moved in to town, though Dad was living most of the time in a barracks at Fort Peck, housing provided for the workers on the dam. He was away all week, coming home most weekends. We sold nearly all the cattle, and pastured the few remaining with the Vogel's at a place on the river about five miles from town. It was known as the Clement place, from the name of a former owner. We sold the old team and wagon, too, so we really had become "town folks." I missed the woods on the Burke place, and the animals and birds, but found plenty to do in town. On some weekends I had to go to the Clement place to check on our few cows, and that meant walking the five plus miles down there and back. Later I will tell of one or two notable days connected with the care of thestock. As a senior, and with most of the required subjects already completed for graduation, I had a choice of what I would study in this my senior year. I liked Mr. Shaw so well I chose to take both physics and advanced algebra from him. I also took another course in animal husbandry, chiefly because I knew that would involve stock judging, which I very much liked to do. The fourth course I chose was typing, and that was tough! Both Robert and Jean had taken typing, and were good at it. But just as they had warned me about what a tough teacher Miss Dorothy Dutch was (my teacher for algebra and geometry), now they told me how awful Miss Adams, the typing teacher could be! There were about twelve of us in the class, and despite the warnings, I looked forward to learning to type. As it turned out, touch typing is probably the most valuable skill I learned in high school! I've used it all my life, and it has been a wonderful help. In this my senior year I decided what I wanted to do as a career: I would be a forest ranger! I read everything I could lay hands on about that line of work, and even decided where I would go to college. For some reason, it didn't enter my mind to go to Missoula, to the state university, where there was a fine forestry school. Instead, I planned to go to the University of Minnesota, because their school seemed to get the most publicity. I wrote for a catalog, and liked what I saw. Little did I know how difficult it would be to go there, pay the high tuition charges, and all that. It was a goal, and helped me to apply myself toward being a good student, I think. Back to typing class! Miss Adams surely was different from most of the teachers. She was a perfectionist! In order to learn one thing at a time, and because knowing the location of the various keys is essential to learning to type rapidly, we didn't even touch a typewriter for the first three or four weeks! I had never heard of such a thing! Instead of using a machine, we sat with our hands in the correct position on the edge of the typing table, and practiced for hours-- asdfghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz, over and over, or mixing numbers in with the letters. There were big charts on the wall in front of us, showing the location of all the letters and numbers on the keyboard. For the first week or so we could look at those charts. After that the charts were taken away, and we were supposed to know without hesitation where each letter or number was, and which finger was designated to hit it. The school typewriters had no letters or numbers on the keys, to tempt us to look at the keys. Then there was the proper finger stroke to use, too. We would be learning to type on old Underwood standard machines, of course; electric typewriters were unknown in our area. Miss Adams called it the "tiger stroke," meaning that the finger didn't just poke at a key, but must hit it with a clawing motion, sharp and precise. Miss Adams watched us individually, to make sure we were moving our fingers just right. It was practice, practice, practice for an hour each day, five days a week. I thought we would never get around to real typing! When we did get typewriters, most of us in the class found we could type 20 - 30 words per minute, with not too many errors. One other thing--Miss Adams wanted us to learn to type smoothly, rhythmically, without sudden spurts, pauses, or stops. So we had victrola music to keep time to, usually marches, very snappy. If anyone had come by and seen twelve people typing on imaginary typewriters, keeping time to the music, they might have thought we were crazy! I know some of us thought someone was! On the other hand, I know now how important that rhythm is. I learned that to achieve a certain desired speed in typing, one could estimate how many strokes per minute were required to reach a chosen rate of so many words per minute, and simply type along at that rate. Twice later, in typing contests at Malta and at State High School Week in Bozeman, I won by trying to type at a certain rhythmic rate, and hit the desired speed almost exactly. My other subjects were just as interesting to me that year. In animal husbandry, we made field trips to watch how the farmers used different feeds for livestock. We judged animals at the fair in Glasgow, and held meetings of the new Future Farmers of America club. The teacher, Mr. Skinner, was interesting, and a good teacher. Mr. Shaw, my friend from previous years, lived up to my expectations, especially in teaching physics. I got such a good grounding in physics that two years later, at Northern Montana College in Havre, I was selected to work as physics lab assistant, to help earn my tuition and college expenses. Town living was very different from being on the Burke place. There were no animals to care for daily, except for a few hens kept in the big old barn at the back of the lot. Thus I had more free time--free for reading. Hinsdale had only a very small town library, and for some reason I almost never went there to borrow books. In this my fourth year at high school, I had read nearly all the books that I found attractive in the school library. It was at this time that I began to borrow many books from Mr. Shaw's personal library--he had a whole wall of books on shelves. I had read a few of his books in the prior year, but now I sometimes went over to his apartment on Saturday, and read all day, or brought home a fresh bundle of books. The house we lived in was less than a block from his place, so I didn't have far to go. I mentioned that we had a few cattle left, pastured on the Clement place, with the Vogel's cattle. With Dad away at Fort Peck, I had to check on them occasionally. Thus one frosty Saturday morning, in late October or early November, I walked down there (about five miles from town) to see if they were OK. There was alfalfa growing along the river bank on the Clement place, scarcely half a mile inside the pasture. On that particular morning, I walked down along the river, and found what I didn't want to find: a cow terribly bloated from eating the frosty alfalfa. She lay on her side, with her belly so extended her legs were away up in the air. There was so much pressure she could hardly breathe, but she was still alive. She was not one of ours; she belonged to the Vogels. I knew she could not live long. There was not enough time to walk clear back to their place to tell them. If anything could be done for her, it was up to me. I had learned in animal husbandry class that veterinaries use a special tool for relieving cattle or other animals suffering from bloat. I didn't have anything like that. I had only my pocket knife. But I remembered that the sticking point was toward the back end of the rib cage, and with great fear I stabbed the cow right there with the largest blade of my knife! There was no question whether I hit the right spot! Gas whistled out of the cut, along with a fine green spray that pretty well stained all my face and front! That cow shrank like a punctured balloon! I knew that the wound should be sterilized, but I didn't have anything with me with which to do that. So after washing up a bit in the river, I walked around some more, checked to see that the other cows were all OK (and not eating alfalfa!), and then walked back to Vogels to tell them about their cow. When I left, the cow was already on her feet, though looking a bit wobbly. The long and short of it was that the cow lived on, whether happily or not, I don't know. I told my agriculture teacher of my adventure, and he was sure that the cow would die of infection. But she survived! In those days there were few vets around, and I am sure the Vogels didn't call one to come out to check on the cow. More later about my senior year - and no more gruesome stories

2009-06-03T15:26:00.000-07:00

"BATCHING"
Do you know what "batching" means? I don't mean the kind connected with computer operation. The meaning comes from the word "bachelor," which commonly is taken to mean an unmarried man. From that idea, of living without a woman, comes the term "batching." To Dad and me, in the fall of 1934, it meant doing our own house- keeping, cooking, and so on. Mom and my two sisters were living in Hinsdale, in a house rented from Dr. Cockrell. Dad and I were on the Burke place, two and a half miles out of town, taking care of the livestock.
Dad was working that winter on the Works Progress Administration historical program, digging out and reporting on the early-day history of Valley County ranching. He was away often, going through old newspaper files in libraries, and talking to old timers who could remember the former days of big ranching. Dad did his writing at home, in long hand, of course, for we didn't have a typewriter. He sent his reports in to some office. Later some of his stories appeared in the WPA History of Montana.
With Robert away working at Fort Peck Dam that year, I vibrated between the Burke place, and the house in town. I had the usual chores to do, taking care of the stock, and continued to walk back and forth the two and a half miles to school. But now I could go to the town house (hey, I never thought of that before! We had a "town house!") for lunch on school days, and Dad and I usually were there for Sunday dinner, after attending church.
Mom loved her work at the post office, and took pride in doing a good job. When the usual crowd came to the post office in the morning to get their mail, Mom enjoyed visiting with the people. She put in a good long day, too--from eight in the morning to about five or five-thirty in the afternoon. The girls enjoyed living in town because it meant they didn't have those long walks in the cold each school day.
The house they lived in had two stories, and had electricity, and water (cold water only) piped into the kitchen. The outdoor toilet was enclosed in a long shed out behind the house, which also included a storage room for all sorts of odds and ends. The house was heated in part with a wood and coal burning heater, in the living room. Part of my work now included helping to keep firewood on hand for Mom and the girls.
At the back of the yard there was a tall old red barn, long unused, but storing all sorts of old gear--harnesses, parts of a buggy, and other odds and ends. The yard was large, with a good-sized garden area,which we planted the following summer. Most important for all of us was the electricity! We had never before had a home where we had that convenience. On my short stays at the house, I could listen to the radio, something which we had not had previously. The set we had was an old Philco, shaped like a big mantle clock. Of course there was no FM in those days. Dad strung an antenna from the roof of the house to the top of the barn. On winter nights that old radio would pull in stations like KOA, Denver, and another one in Ohio, whose call letters I don't remember. I thought then, and still do, that radio is a marvelous thing. I wonder if God didn't get a bit impatient, waiting for man to "invent" it, when He had made the thing possible from the very beginning!
In this, my third year of high school, I had some choice of subjects. That year was the first in which agriculture classes were introduced in our high school, and I signed up for Animal Husbandry. Along with the agriculture subject, I had the usual English, chemistry with Mr. Shaw, and civics (government organization, and things like that). I liked all my studies, and earned good grades without really putting out much effort. In those days, very little homework was required. We did have to write "themes" in most of the courses; these were usually written outside of class. I could do most of my studying in the hours I spent in the assembly room,between classes.
Chemistry was of special interest to me, and Mr. Shaw had a good deal to do with making it interesting. He liked to conduct little experiments, to show us how things worked. The laboratory was very primitive, and lacked many things needed to do a really good job of teaching or experimenting, but he "made do," as they used to say.
One of my classmates helped make things lively. Tom was the son of Dr. Cockrell, our local doctor, and was a great "cut-up" in school, beside being a good basketball player. One day, after discovering a can of ether in the chemistry supply cabinet, Tom soaked his handkerchief with ether, and anesthetized himself, right in class! He sat behind me (I was always a front row student, by choice) and all I knew about what was going on was a peculiar odor in the air.
Suddenly, while Mr. Shaw was talking, Tom became unconscious, and slid down out of his chair onto the floor. Naturally that caused a big commotion! Several of the other students had known what Tom was trying to do, so they weren't as surprised as were the rest of us. Mr. Shaw quickly determined what the problem was, and just let Tom sleep. He was recovering, I remember, about the time class let out, as he hadn't gotten very much ether before he passed out. I don't remember what trouble Tom was in for that escapade.
One day Mr. Shaw wanted to show us how metal would burn. He lit a bunsen (natural gas) burner, and proceeded to burn steel wool. This is not difficult to do. Steel wool can be heated until red hot, and then waved briskly in the air. The result is that the steelburns, with visible flames. That, however, was only the beginning of this experiment. Next Mr. Shaw placed a little steel crucible on the top of the wood laboratory table, and filled it with a mixture of powdered aluminum and ferric oxide, which is really only common rust put up in a can. To light the mixture, he used a little ribbon of magnesium foil, tucked into the powdered mixture in the crucible, like a wick.
Then he lit the magnesium ribbon with the bunsen burner. Like the magnesium in photo flashbulbs, the ribbon burned with a brilliant white light. When the heat of the burning magnesium ribbon reached the mixture below, it ignited and flared up in a big tongue of flame almost to the ceiling. The heat was so intense, the steel crucible became red hot at the bottom, and burned its way very quickly about a quarter of an inch into the top of the lab table! That was something Mr. Shaw hadn't counted on! When the smoldering wood had been quenched, and the crucible cooled off enough for us to inspect it, we found a little chunk of iron in the bottom. All the aluminum had been consumed, and the iron in the ferric oxide smelted. It had been very interesting, and became a subject for discussion for some time! I think Mr. Shaw wished he hadn't tried that experiment, though.
Another time we were learning how hydrogen is generated, and were treated to minor explosions of hydrogen in a big bell jar. Then Mr. Shaw had the happy idea that we also could generate some oxygen, mix it with the hydrogen, and have an oxy-hydrogen torch that would produce heat and water. (You know, maybe, that water is composed of a mixture of two molecules of hydrogen teamed with one molecule of oxygen--that's why it is sometimes called H2O).
The idea sounded good. We set up the necessary equipment. The oxygen generator combined sulphuric acid, strong stuff, with zinc oxide. A tube led from the oxygen generator to a "y" tube, to which was attached a tube from the hydrogen generator. The mixture of the two gases lit readily enough, but there wasn't enough of the gas to make a very big flame. For some reason, I was watching the operation at very close range, and reached up to give the oxygen generator a little jiggle, thinking that would produce more oxygen. Maybe it did; I don't know. The flame backed up through the tube to the oxygen generator flask, which exploded right in my face, spattering me with sulphuric acid, some of which got in my eyes! It burned like fire, believe me!
Mr. Shaw acted very quickly. He put my head in the sink, and ran cold water into my face and eyes immediately, and with his fingers opened my eyes so the stuff could be washed out thoroughly. The only harm I suffered was some lasting redness in my eyes, but there was no damage to my vision, for which I am thankful. One student in the class was standing clear across the room at the time of the explosion. He had a piece of glass about an inch long from the flask stuck neatly in the middle of his forehead! What could have been a tragic event turned out to be almost harmless. Several of us had some acid on our clothing, and that didn't do the cloth any good, as you could guess.
That experience didn't keep me from further experiments with hydrogen. We knew that it was lighter than air, and one of my classmates and I came up with a neat idea. We would fill some rubber balloons with hydrogen, write something on them, and let them go in the assembly room! They would go up against the ceiling where no one could reach them! We got a couple of balloons filled all right, and decided that we would tease our basketball coach and his lady love a little. So we painted on the balloons "Mr. U_____ and Miss P_______,", (we used their names, of course) and released the balloons in the assembly room as planned.
The only trouble was that it wasn't very difficult to trace down the culprits! The balloons were used as targets, and shot down with paper clips fired from rubber bands. The principal lectured us strongly, though he could hardly keep from laughing. But we didn't do that again! But let's get back to the batching. That winter I learned to do simple cooking, especially with things cooked in a frying pan, or boiled in water. We had plenty of vegetables from the garden to eat--potatoes and carrots and even some musk melons (our name for cantaloupe) stored in the cellar under the house. And beside those things, we had eggs and milk and cream in good supply. We didn't lack for food. I did help to increase our meat supply that year by shooting pheasants and grouse frequently. We had a small stack of wheat hay down on the hay field. Dad had tried raising wheat that year, in place of the usual alfalfa, but the grain was so poor it wasn't worth harvesting or threshing. So we had cut it with a mower, raked it, and stacked it as hay. The stack contained a lot of wheat, and the Chinese pheasants learned quickly that it was a good place to feed. Jack rabbits, also, came regularly to the stack on winter nights.
Since we were fattening the birds ourselves, we saw nothing wrong with harvesting a few of them. So sometimes I would go down to the haystack on Saturday mornings, hide in some loose hay, and wait for the birds to come out of the nearby brush. I think I always shot only the male birds. Whatever, they were very good eating! Also, there were a few grouse around that winter, and I shot two or three of them. We ate pheasant and grouse simply fried in the skillet; we didn't do any fancy cooking with them.
It was in that fall and winter that I developed an intense interest in learning to mount animals and birds. I saw ads in the outdoor magazines I read, of how just about anyone could quickly learn the necessary techniques through a correspondence course from the Omaha School of Taxidermy. So I wrote to the school, and received their literature. The course sounded fascinating, and I wanted to take it, but the cost was far beyond my ability to pay--something like fifty dollars. So I didn't do anything about the course, simply because I couldn't.
It was only a couple of weeks later that I received another letter; they were offering a special price! I could have the course for only twenty dollars, or something like that. Again, I didn't reply. Well, the end of the matter was that I could take the course for just five dollars, they were so interested in me, etc., etc. That I could handle. I sent in the five dollars, and a little more, as I needed some initial supplies of arsenic and glass eyes and other stuff, per their letter. It wasn't long before the whole course (a little booklet of about twenty pages) and the arsenic,etc., came, and I could launch my new hobby.
I'll have to give the school credit that the booklet adequately explained how to skin animals and birds, how to preserve the skin with the arsenic powder (deadly poisonous stuff!), how to put in glass eyes, and so on. What they couldn't do for me was show me how to put those animals in life-like poses such as I had seen in their advertisements. That requires real artistic abilities that I didn't have, or had never cultivated. But I struggled with it manfully. Here is where the pheasants, snowshoe rabbits, and great horned owls came in. I did learn to do a fair job of skinning birds, though the great horned owl I tried to mount proved to be very difficult. The instructions said that the skin of the head must be kept intact; in other words, the skin from the body and neck must be pulled over the head, without making any cuts. The book failed to explain how the relatively huge head of an owl could possibly be pulled through the narrow skin of the neck! It simply can't be done!
I did manage to mount an owl in a taking-off--or maybe it was a landing--position. I fastened the whole thing on a board, and proudly presented it to the school, where it was to serve as one of the objects used in Future Farmers of America club meetings. I was vice president of that club that year, and needed an owl as the symbol of my office, you see. Do you know that a few years later, in 1938, when I visited the school with the men's quartet from Northern Montana College, that old owl was still in use? He looked pretty bedraggled and woe- begone, but still had his wings stretched out as if he might fly!
I didn't have such good results with the big white pelican I shot and tried to mount. That was a messy job, trying to skin that big bird from a short slit in the skin on its stomach. When I got to the task of getting that huge head and bill and its sack out through the long neck skin, I was stumped. I decided belatedly that there was no way it could be done. So I just mounted the head and neck only, on a plaque to hang on the wall. I had to cut the neck skin at the back, but managed to sew it on the form without too much trouble. It really looked pretty good, in my opinion. It was something like a big game trophy.
But I had something new to learn. I had applied lots of arsenic to that pelican's head skin and the big sack under its bill, but evidently not enough. As it hung on the wall of my bedroom the next year, the sack under the bill began to change color. From a lovely yellow-orange, it changed to a pale green, and then to a bright pea green. At that point my Mom said it had to go! I hated to part with it, but there was no choice. With that my career as a taxidermist came to an abrupt halt.

2009-05-24T18:14:00.000-07:00

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?

My First Job Away from Home

2009-05-18T14:37:00.000-07:00

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.

Tonsils out - new president in

2009-05-11T15:59:00.000-07:00

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!

SECOND YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL

2009-05-05T11:50:00.000-07:00

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!

SPRING - AND MARBLES

2009-04-28T11:14:00.000-07:00

SPRING - AND MARBLES
With spring in that my first year of high school, came a new activity at school--playing marbles. Robert, of course, had played marbles in his previous three years at high school, and was really skilled at the game. For me it was totally new. All the boys played at every opportunity. We ate our lunches on the run, in order to claim a good plot of ground in the school yard on which to play. Our only trouble was our Mom--not that she played marbles, but she ruled that we must not play for keeps! (Playing for keeps means that when you shot a marble out of the ring, you got to keep that marble. The only exception was that you couldn't claim your opponent's shooter.) Mom thought that was gambling, and we never could persuade her that it was a game of skill. Nearly all the boys would only play for keeps. There were a few other boys who would play without playing for keeps, so we still had fun. But the really "big league" players were not willing to play with us.
Actually, we played two different marbles games. One involved marking a ring in the dirt, each player putting a certain number of marbles in the ring. Then we took turns shooting until all had been knocked out of the ring. When it was your turn to shoot, you could keep shooting until you failed to get a marble out of the ring. We became pretty good at both long and close-up shots, and learned how to make our shooter glance off our target in such a way as to stop near the next "victim." It really was a game of skill. Sometimes if one got off to a good start, you could clear the ring without missing. Then you had a pocketful of marbles to use the next time you played.
The other marbles game was called "lagging," I think. One player would put down a marble on the sidewalk, as a target. Then the opponent would try to roll a marble from about six or eight feet away to strike the target marble. If he hit it, it became his, and he got to "lag" at another marble. The players changed places when one missed the target marble. Naturally, we used our poorest, chipped marbles to set up as targets, though we protested vigorously when our opponent did the same thing. The sidewalks around the school would be filled with these "bowling" games during the lunch hour,and sometimes before and after school. I'm not certain, but I suspect that the term "he has lost his marbles" originated from the experience of frustrated marbles players who had just lost their last marble, and did something senseless. I now confess that at times Robert and I did not obey our mother, and we, too, sometimes played for keeps. Although I lost a good many marbles while learning to play those games, I never lost ALL my marbles--at least I don't think so!
My brother Robert was graduated from high school that spring, the head of his class! Jean had another two years to go. Our little sister, Mary, was doing well, I think in the fourth grade. Dad ended his rural school teaching that spring, and began work for the Works Progress Administration, as a researcher and writer of Montana history. Mom took care of us all. Though that first year of high school was soon over, and summer was upon us, I shall always look back to the pleasures of that year. As I grew older, many things came into my life to cause worry and anxiety. That first year of high school was most pleasant because I was so free of any troubles. The next three years were not always like that!

2009-04-21T16:58:00.000-07:00

STILL MORE ABOUT MY FIRST YEAR IN HIGH SCHOOL
Two things especially stand out in my memory of that first winter on the Burke place. First was the purchase of my first rifle! For years I had dreamed of the day when I could have my very own .22 rifle. I had spent many hours studying the rifles offered in the Montgomery Ward and Sears Roebuck catalogs. I knew the descriptions and prices of all the various makes of rifles by heart.
My big problem was that I had very little money. I had saved some of the money my teacher, Viola Woodard, had given me for doing so well in the county-wide exams in May. I had about four and half dollars to spend for a rifle. I finally made my decision, and sent off my very first mail order to Montgomery Ward, for a Western Field bolt action single shot rifle. It was the best one that I could afford, not nearly as good as I would have liked, but would be good enough, I was sure. In those days it took a week or more for an order to be shipped. You can imagine my intense excitement as I waited for it to come. I guess I should admit that my parents weren't nearly as excited about the whole matter as I was. They probably felt I didn't really need it, and should have used my money for something practical.
The package finally arrived! I can still remember opening the long box in which the rifle came, and tenderly taking it out, in pieces, of course. It didn't take long to get the parts put together, and to wipe out the barrel to make it ready to shoot. I had already purchased a box of shells, so was ready to use the rifle right away. Now I wouldn't have to ask permission to use the old worn-out .22 rifle any more; I had my own! Our dog, Laddie, seemed about as excited as I was.
It was probably the following Saturday--the first time I had free time for anything like going hunting-- that I took that rifle out to look for jack rabbits. There were rabbits around, but I quickly found that I had trouble hitting them! It took a bit of practice, and some adjustment of the sights, with Dad's help, to get that rifle to shoot where I was looking. But with that done, I became deadly with it, and shot many jack rabbits, some as far as one hundred yards away. Of course, the rifle had only simple open sights. Telescope sights were just then coming on the market, but were expensive, far beyond my financial reach.
The second important thing I recall about that first winter was learning to skate! We had never had opportunity for that before, but now we had a river right at our door. Relatives from Wisconsin had sent out some ancient clamp-on skates in various sizes for us, so that all of us--Robert, Jean, Mary and I--had skates we could use. All we needed to do was learn to use them.
You've never heard of clamp-on skates, have you? You haven't missed anything, believe me! But if you had nothing else, they could provide a lot of fun. Clamp-ons were made with a good thick runner, mounted on two metal soles. The skates were held on your shoes by clamps that were tightened onto the soles and heels of one's shoes with a key. Both ice skates and roller skates with such clamps were common in those days. The big drawback to clamp skates was that the clamps would often come loose. Just when you were flying along, one skate might leave you, or trip you up as it dropped down from your shoe, and cause great frustration and damage to one's pride. Also, it was not unusual for the heel to come off your shoe, still held firmly by the clamp. That would put a stop to skating until Dad could nail the heel back on the shoe. Fortunately, our Dad was skilled in repairing shoes, and he could take care of most of the shoe failures caused by skating--when he was at home. Robert and I did some renailing when Dad was away.
The ice on the river was great that first winter. Hard freezing weather came early, before the snow, and the river froze over smooth as glass. I can still remember one Saturday morning when "Duffer" Welton, the girl who lived with her parents across and up river about half a mile from us, came gliding down the river, and urged us to come down to go skating.
How do you learn to skate? First you put on your skates. We took those old clamp skates down to the ice, and clamped them on our shoes. We used stout leather harness straps around our ankles to give them some support, and were ready to start. But we could scarcely stand up, let alone move anywhere we wanted to go.
Duffer had the perfect answer to our problem. She told us we needed to get some chairs to hold on to as we learned. We used an old high chair mostly, taking turns pushing it along on the ice as we learned to stroke and glide. It really didn't take long at all, and by evening all four of us were doing well on our skates, although it took much practice before our ankles grew strong enough for long skating sessions.
After that skating became almost an obsession with Robert and me. Whenever we could spare the time (and sometimes when chores had to wait a bit) we were down on the ice, practicing our skating. We probably had some written information on skating, about how to turn, and how to skate backward. Mostly we learned it by observing other kids. The Vogel young people used to come over, and we would skate in the evenings, though it might be terribly cold down there on the ice. When snow came, as it surely did, we would shovel snow off large areas so we could play games, especially our own particular brand of hockey.
We knew nothing about hockey, but had heard about it. While today you who are reading this might simply go to a store and buy a puck and hockey stick, we couldn't do that. No one around Hinsdale played hockey, and we had no money to buy sticks and pucks if they had been available. So we made our own! Robert invented our puck. He cut two circular pieces about two and half inches in diameter out of an old tire tread, then nailed the two pieces together, and we had a puck, a good one. At least I can testify that it was deadly painful if it hit you in the shins or elsewhere, as it often did. It's black color made it easier to find, too, when it flew out into the snow.
Our hockey sticks we made from diamond willow. It took a lot of looking to find a stick of dead, seasoned willow with just the right bend in it. There were lots of willows all along Milk River, and after searching we found what we wanted. We whittled them down to about the right dimensions, and were all set to play. Our home-grown rules made sure that we never hit the other person anywhere with those heavy sticks, though they did sometimes cause an opponent to stumble and fall. We had hilarious hockey games, with Lawrence and Walter Vogel,and the Grant boys.
One evening I recall we were playing hockey long after dark. It was bitter cold, about thirty degrees below zero, and we had a big fire built right on the ice, to give us both light and some warmth. We played until my feet were totally numb. When we finally quit, and went up to the house, I found that the ends of my toes on the left foot were white and frozen. Oh, how painful it was to soak my feet in cold water, then in warm, until they thawed out! Though no part of the toes fell off, I have had bad chilblains on those toes at times ever since. Go to the doctor? We didn't even think of doing that; it would cost money that we didn't have.
We also played Fox and Goose on skates, and crack the whip, a lot that winter. On one or two occasions Robert and I skated all the way to Hinsdale, to school. We estimated it was about six miles around by the river, which meandered a lot. Despite the greater distance, we could arrive at school earlier on skates than we could by walking the two and half miles of our usual route. There was one barrier that Robert found--a strand of barbed wire strung clear across the river at one point. He found it when he skated right into it, and it put him down quickly and hard. It doesn't always pay to be out in front! He wasn't hurt badly, but we watched for wire pretty carefully after that experience. We could skate to town only when the ice was smooth and not covered by snow.
Because we lived so far out of town, and always had chores to do, Robert and I couldn't try out for basketball. That was the BIG sports activity of Hinsdale High School! Town boys, plus some of the lucky fellows who lived in the dormitory, made up the regular team. Competition with neighboring high schools was fierce. I wanted badly to learn to play, but never did. Oh, we played a little during the lunch hours, but I was never skilled in the game.
Robert and I enjoyed going to the games, and seldom missed one during the long season. It meant we had to walk home the two and a half miles, do our chores, then walk back to town, watch the game, and hike back home in the night. Some of those walks were pleasant, with the moon shining brightly on the snow, but others were just plain miserable, cold, dark, and lonely. Also, during that first winter, Robert and I sometimes walked to town in the evening to attend the rare movies (when we had the money!) or to listen to lectures.
That was an exciting winter for me. With my new rifle I wandered far and wide, hunting jack rabbits for their skins and to feed to the chickens. Frequently I shot a snowshoe rabbit, to use for bait in my weasel trapping, or for the chickens. Occasionally Mom cooked a young rabbit for us all to eat. They weren't nearly as good eating as cottontails, or the tame rabbits we had left out at the homestead. The truth of the matter is that I was terribly blood-thirsty in those days, and almost anything wild was fair game for me. I was always trying to kill any magpies that offered themselves within range, and also shot a great horned owl or two that first winter, ignorantly thinking they were predators that should be killed. They were very plentiful along the river, no doubt due to the large population of snowshoe rabbits.
I ran a considerable trap line, trying to catch weasels. I saw lots of weasel tracks around the place, and didn't realize then, as I did later, that one weasel makes an awful lot of tracks. They cover a wide territory regularly, hunting for mice or rabbits. I did manage to catch a few that winter, and earned a few dollars selling those skins and the skins of jack rabbits. The chickens that we had brought down from the old place were kept in a dug-out chicken house almost exactly like the one on the homestead. They made quick work of the carcasses of rabbits and weasels. Chickens love meat!
Another activity that took much of our time, and provided good exercise, was the preparation of fire wood. There was plenty of dry wood on the place, chiefly old dead cottonwood trees, and many clumps of diamond willow. Dry willows made fine fire wood for use in the cook stove. The cottonwood was used mostly in our little heating stove. The two stoves together served as the heat source for the whole house. As you can guess, without any system for moving the air around, the two bedrooms were always mighty cold! The little wood heater stove would accept chunks of wood up to two feet in length. If carefully filled with wood at bedtime, and the damper closed down to avoid too much draft, that little stove would keep warm for several hours. After that it got just plain cold in the whole house. Many times we had ice frozen on the water pail by morning! Frost a half inch thick would form on the heads of nails in the walls and ceiling on some cold nights.
Preparing wood for use in the stoves required much ax work, chopping willows into foot-long lengths, and sawing and splitting cottonwood chunks. Using a big two-man cross-cut saw, we first sawed the cottonwood logs into chunks about twelve or fourteen inches long. Then we split them into pieces small enough to go in the cook stove. Both Robert and I became so skilled in splitting wood in those years on the Burke place that either of us could usually split a match laid on the chopping block. Today I'm lucky if I can hit within an inch of where I want the ax to go!
I almost forgot another fun activity that Robert and I had that winter. I don't think we ever tried it again, but that year there was some good ice on the old slough that occupied a sizeable part of the land of the Burke place. Water flowed into the slough when the river was high. Sometimes heavy rain or melting snow run-off would partially fill the slough. That winter there was a nice area of smooth ice about half a mile long, roughly L-shaped. Our Dad had often told us of the thrills of ice sailing on the frozen lakes in Wisconsin when he was a boy. Now we thought perhaps we could do some ice sailing ourselves! One Saturday we rigged up a small square sail, about four feet on each side, and took our best sled down to the slough. We used the ax for a rudder. One of us sat facing forward, and holding the sail, while the other sat facing toward the rear, holding the ax wedged between his feet, with which to steer.
As I remember, the wind was fresh, blowing out of the southwest, so we moved down to the far end of the ice on the slough, settled ourselves on the sled, and raised the sail. I was in front. Our start was very slow on that first trial, but we soon gathered some speed, and scooted down the ice in great shape. We made the turn at the bend all right, without losing any speed; in fact, we were still picking up speed! All too soon we were approaching the end of the ice--and remembered that we didn't have any brakes! The only choice was to "abandon ship" any way we could, which we did. Even then we slid for some distance on the ice before coming to a stop. We made several runs that day, and with the wind coming up stronger and stronger, we had some great fun. As well as I can recall, that was the only day we tried ice sailing. The ax didn't work well for steering, and the stopping process was pretty rough. One person couldn't manage both the sail and the "rudder," and we just didn't pursue the sport any further.
Thus the winter passed, with plenty of things to do. I look back on those months with great pleasure. School work was always easy for me, and everything we were learning was interesting. The studies in General Science were especially so, as I already knew something of the natural world, and loved the simple little chemistry experiments we did. It was a good year.

2009-04-14T11:26:00.000-07:00

MORE ABOUT OUR NEW HOME AND HIGH SCHOOL
That first night at our new home was truly something to remember. The shack--for that was all it was--where we were to live was even smaller than our former house! There was one long, narrow room that served as kitchen, eating area, and "living room." The latter area became the folks' bedroom at night, with the same old lounge bed they had used for years pulled out to make a double bed. Then there were two small bedrooms, one occupied by Jean and Mary, and the other by Robert and me. The outside of the house was covered with tar paper--so we felt right at home. It was very much like the homestead. There was only one door to the outside, facing to the east. A roomy cellar under the house had an entrance on the south side of the house. There was no attic, or "back porch" where we could have the washing machine. Thus that valuable machine sat in the kitchen, near the stove. The room was very crowded, even with our scant furniture.
Directly in front of the house, about seventy-five feet away, ran the Milk River, which formed the east boundary of the place both north and south of the buildings. The river was bordered by thick groves of cottonwood trees and diamond willows.
About forty yards south of the house were the barn and hay yard. The barn was terribly small, with room for only two cows or horses at a time. It had been the original dwelling on the place, a very small log cabin, made of cottonwood logs. The building had a very low door, and only one window. The hay yard was fenced, with the corn on which Robert and I had worked so hard and long safely stored there. There was a fenced barnyard, too, enclosing not only an open area maybe thirty yards by forty, but also a patch of brush, mostly chokecherry bushes. That sheltered area was where the cows spent most of the winter, as in the brush they could find some shelter from the wind.
Just west of the barnyard was the toilet, a sad little structure with only half a roof. In the three years we lived there, we never repaired that roof! The result was a very airy situation, indeed, with snow on the seat whenever snow fell. Just south of the toilet, and dug into the bank of the slough, was the chicken house, much like the dug-out chicken house on the homestead. It was well lighted by the sun, and was cozy and warm in the winter months.
There were no other fences on the place, except the outside line fences that enclosed the whole property. I don't remember just how large the farm was, but would guess about three hundred acres. Brush and trees covered a large part of the land. An old slough (former river bed) and an alfalfa field of about eighty acres lay just south of the house and barn. The remainder of the land was sagebrush "pasture." It was not a prosperous farm, by any means. There were no machine sheds, or machinery, for that matter.
But to me it was a regular paradise. Except for occasional trips from the homestead down to the river bottom land, for wood, or fishing, I had never had opportunity to wander around through woods, or have a river so near at hand. As it was late in the fall, and the land had not been grazed, we simply let our cows and horses roam at will all over the place. It was my job to bring the cows in for milking, as before, and that let me explore the whole place to my heart's content.
One of my first discoveries was an ancient and huge cottonwood tree that had but recently been cut down. Someone--we never found out who--had found that the old tree was a bee tree, and had cut it down for the honey. They had taken most, but not all the honey. I soon found that by reaching far up into the hollow trunk I could find and break off pieces of ancient comb, some of which contained dead bees, but some contained very old, dark brown honey. I had never tasted anything so sweet! I don't know what had happened to the swarm of bees, but there were none there that fall. I enjoyed many a sip of honey from that old tree before we cut it up and made it into firewood.
When we first moved to the Burke place, the land and surrounding area claimed my attention and interest almost as much as the studies in school. Altogether, our lives were very different from the days on the homestead. Very soon after moving, we began to go to church at the little Methodist church in town. This pleased our Mom immensely; she had long wished for opportunity to attend worship services, having been somewhat starved for that while living on the homestead. The Methodist church was an ancient building, rather small, with seating room for perhaps fifty or sixty people. The church was too small and poor to afford a full-time pastor, so it was served by the Methodist minister from Saco, a small town thirteen miles west of Hinsdale. The most influential person in the church at that time was Mrs. Chester, who was the widow of a former pastor. We had known Mrs. Chester for at least two years. She was the owner of the little shack near town where Robert and Jean had batched with the Carter girls while attending high school during the past two years. At the church, Mrs. Chester seemed different. She always wore black, I remember, and appeared very severe and sober. I think she was probably officially a Deaconness. Secretly, we kids were pretty much afraid of her. Her son, Milton, who was for some unknown reason nicknamed "Mutt," had the job of taking care of the furnace at the church. He also was chief bell ringer on Sunday mornings. The bell rope hung down from the belfry right in one corner of the entry way. To pull on the rope and ring the bell at the wrong time was considered a serious offense. But, oh, what a temptation it was! A boy could quickly give the rope a yank and be out the door before the bell sounded, and no one would know who had done it! I know one who yielded to that temptation more than once!
It didn't take long for the people at the church to find out that our Mom was a good musician, and appoint her to play the piano and organ, and direct the choir. So that first winter of 1932-33 found Mom and us three older kids having a part in the choir. Would you believe that I sang bass, despite my youthful voice? It was the easiest harmony for me to sing, so you might say I got to second bass before ever getting to first! Robert also sang bass in the choir. We three older kids also were active in the young people's group, Epworth League. We soon made friends with the other young people in the church, and with our fellow students in the high school.
One family, the Vogels, lived on a farm about half a mile east of town, and we usually cut across their land when walking to and from school. They had five children. Cecilia was the oldest and worked as a beauty operator away somewhere. Lawrence, next older, had already graduated from high school, and lived at home. Marjorie was one of my classmates and a very good student. Walter came next; he was a couple years younger than I. I spent a lot of time with Walter, chiefly tending to the cattle. Then there was Lois, the youngest, about two years younger than Walter. All the children were musical, and we had some good times listening to them play their instruments.
Mr. Vogel was on the school board. He was formerly a country school teacher and early-day homesteader. He had a reputation for being extremely frugal and tight-fisted--a habit learned by many of the early settlers. He and his wife were of German origin. Mrs. Vogel made a notable sour bread.
Another family, the Grants, lived on the farm just north of the Burke place. They had but recently moved there from near Saco, west of Hinsdale. We had great fun with the three Grant boys. Wyatt, the oldest, was my sister Jean's age, and a classmate of hers. Next came Melvin, a year younger than I, and then Chester, the youngest, about the age of our younger sister, Mary. We boys got along fine, and had lots of fun together. Since we lived so near each other, Melvin was often down at our place on one excuse or another. Their Dad believed in hard work for the boys, so they were kept pretty busy when not in school.
Since we lived much too far from school to go home for lunch, we took our lunches, and ate in the room the school had designated for that. We had lots of company, as many youngsters from both the high school and the grade school ate lunch together. Our little sister, Mary, was one of the grade school youngsters. After eating lunch, we could play out of doors (if the weather were good) or in the gym. There we must remove our shoes! No one could walk on that gym floor with improper shoes! We had a running battle with Mr. Rundle, the school janitor, about that; he watched us like a hawk, and seemed to delight in making someone leave the floor. As I think of those days, in that first year of high school, I remember one bit of difficulty I had. An older boy, a senior, I think, was something of a bully, and decided to pick on me. He was considerably larger than I, and would come up behind me, throw his arm around my neck and throat in a choke hold, and hang on that way until I begged for mercy. This went on for several days and no one came to my rescue.
Then one day he tried it once too often. When he grabbed me I was standing in the hallway, right by the railing designed to keep people from falling down into the gym six feet below. This time I reached up with both hands, grabbed his elbow, and by bending forward suddenly, threw him over my head and down into the gym! He landed with an awful crash, and although he wasn't hurt badly, he apparently was convinced that he should leave me alone after that. He never bothered me again.

2009-04-06T09:28:00.000-07:00

HIGH SCHOOL - AND A NEW HOME
At last we were in school! I had no trouble at all in learning to know my way around in the school. Each of us was assigned a particular desk in the big assembly room. We kept our books and tablets and such stuff in our desks, and went to the various class rooms on a set schedule. During those hours when we weren't in class we sat in the assembly room, studying or reading. One teacher or another was in charge of the assembly each hour, and maintained strict discipline. There was no talking or whispering allowed. I guess (rather, I know!) quite a few notes were passed from one student to another, on the sly. Instead of just raising our hand for permission to go to the toilet, as we had done in grade school, now we had to go back and ask the teacher directly for that permission. But if we had trouble with some question in our studies, the teacher was available,and was generally very helpful.
I had gotten started in algebra, too! Although we were six weeks late in starting, I was able to catch up fairly quickly, and always (well, nearly always!) got along just fine with Miss Dorothy Dutch. Far from being a witch, as I had expected, she was a very good teacher, though awfully strict. If she thought a student was loafing, or being plain lazy, not trying to learn, she was pitiless. Often when we were at the blackboard, working out equations or problems on the board, she would throw an eraser or piece of chalk at some student who wasn't doing well. Believe me, it kept us on our toes! We, in turn, would occasionally accidentally, of course, hold our chalk just right to make one of those horrible, spine-tingling screeches that only a chalk against a blackboard can produce. She hated that sound!
Poor Miss Dutch! I had her as teacher for both algebra and geometry, and learned a lot from her. Years later she was killed in a train accident in eastern Montana. She was one of the outstanding teachers of my high school years, though she was very unpopular with most of the students because of her strict approach to teaching.
Studies were the most important thing in that school. Freshmen had no choice what they would study; only in the last two years of high school did we have a chance to choose. As freshmen, we had algebra, general science, English, and world history. I loved them all, and caught up with the others in all the subjects before Christmas.
In the meantime, the folks were very busy getting ready for the move to the rented farm, which we called the Burke Place. It had once been the homestead of a man named Billy Burke. He had been the husband of my third grade teacher, Mrs. Rose Burke. Billy had a bad problem with drinking, and had died young, I believe. Mrs. Burke made her living teaching school, and rented the farm out to various people. We were to live there three years.
Finally, about the middle of November, we were ready to move. I can still remember that last trip out to the old homestead. The job of loading the sad little bunch of furniture and other moveable things on the hayrack (because it held more than the wagon box),didn't take very long. We rounded up the cattle, put the chickens in coops, and were on our way. Dad had already hauled the corn and a lot of other stuff, on previous weekends. I drove the little bunch of cattle, walking most of the way to the new place. It was very hard for Mom and all of us, going down that winding road to the "Point," turning for one last look at the old place, and then passing around the point and out of sight of our home for all those years. Although Dad went back once or twice later, doing the final clean-up of the move, I wasn't to see the old home again until 1946. By then all the buildings were gone, virtually without a trace.
That first night at our new home was truly something to remember. The shack--for that was all it was--where we were to live was even smaller than our former house! There was one long, narrow room that served as kitchen, eating area, and "living room." The latter area became the folks' bedroom at night, with the same old lounge bed they had used for years pulled out to make a double bed. Then there were two small bedrooms, one occupied by Jean and Mary, and the other by Robert and me. The outside of the house was covered with tar paper--so we felt right at home. It was very much like the homestead. There was only one door to the outside, facing to the east. A roomy cellar under the house had an entrance on the south side of the house. There was no attic, or "back porch" where we could have the washing machine. Thus that valuable machine sat in the kitchen, near the stove. The room was very crowded, even with our scant furniture.
Directly in front of the house, about seventy-five feet away, ran the Milk River, which formed the east boundary of the place both north and south of the buildings. The river was bordered by thick groves of cottonwood trees and diamond willows.
About forty yards south of the house were the barn and hay yard. The barn was terribly small, with room for only two cows or horses at a time. It had been the original dwelling on the place, a very small log cabin, made of cottonwood logs. The building had a very low door, and only one window. The hay yard was fenced, with the corn on which Robert and I had worked so hard and long safely stored there. There was a fenced barnyard, too, enclosing not only an open area maybe thirty yards by forty, but also a patch of brush, mostly chokecherry bushes. That sheltered area was where the cows spent most of the winter, as in the brush they could find some shelter from the almost endless wind.
Just west of the barnyard was the toilet, a sad little structure with only half a roof. In the three years we lived there, we never repaired that roof! The result was a very airy situation, indeed, with snow on the seat whenever snow fell. Just south of the toilet, and dug into the bank of the slough, was the chicken house, much like the dug-out chicken house on the homestead. It was well lighted by the sun, and was cozy and warm in the winter months.
There were no other fences on the place, except the outside line fences that enclosed the whole property. I don't remember just how large the farm was, but would guess about three hundred acres. Brush and trees covered a large part of the land. An old slough (former river bed) and an alfalfa field of about eighty acres lay just south of the house and barn. The remainder of the land was sagebrush "pasture." It was not a prosperous farm, by any means. There were no machine sheds, or machinery, for that matter.
But to me it was a regular paradise. Except for occasional trips from the homestead down to the river bottom land, for wood, or fishing, I had never had opportunity to wander around through woods, or have a river so near at hand. As it was late in the fall, and the land had not been grazed, we simply let our cows and horses roam at will all over the place. It was my job to bring the cows in for milking, as before, and that let me explore the whole place to my heart's content.
One of my first discoveries was an ancient and huge cottonwood tree that had but recently been cut down. Someone--we never found out who--had found that the old tree was a bee tree, and had cut it down for the honey. They had taken most, but not all the honey. I soon found that by reaching far up into the hollow trunk I could find and break off pieces of ancient comb, some of which contained dead bees, but some contained very old, dark brown honey. I had never tasted anything so sweet! I don't know what had happened to the swarm of bees, but there were none there that fall. I enjoyed many a sip of honey from that old tree before we cut it up and made it into firewood.
Down at the far (south) end of the place there were some little open glades surrounded by brush and willows. How well I remember one night when I was after the cows, and spotted some strange animals in one of those little open areas. They were deer--white tailed deer! I had never seen one in the wild before, or anywhere, for that matter. I watched them for several minutes; they were unaware of my being so near. One or two of them jumped the boundary fence while I watched. I could hardly believe my eyes! They didn't have to take a run at it, or anything; they just walked up to the fence, and jumped over it light as a feather! When I finally scared them some way, the small bunch of five or six all dashed away, waving their long white tails gaily. After that I often saw deer in the area farthest from the house and barn.
I soon found that there were many snowshoe rabbits in the woods, and dozens of jack rabbits in the sage brush pasture area. Both varieties were changing into their white winter coats, and could be easily spotted. Great horned owls hooted nearby every night, and Chinese pheasants were plentiful around the alfalfa field.
There were lots of magpies, too--beautiful birds that I hated with a passion. They are terribly malicious things. Oh, they are not intentionally cruel, but in effect are terribly so. While on the homestead we had learned how magpies might find a horse or cow stuck in a mudhole, and eat the poor animal's eyes! Once while on the homestead we had a young colt that had suffered a cut on his back in a barbed wire fence. Before we discovered it, the magpies had eaten a great hole in his back muscles, so that he had to be destroyed. Oh, we hated magpies, all right. All the years we lived on the Burke place I conducted war on those birds.
More to come!

2009-03-24T16:58:00.000-07:00

LAST DAYS ON THE HOMESTEAD
"Oh, boy, we'll never get this done!" I muttered to myself as I stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat off my face. Try as hard as I could, I just couldn't keep up with Robert. He was 'way off down the row, far ahead of me, his machete swinging like a machine as he hand cut the corn we were harvesting. My job was to follow him, gather the corn stalks into bundles of ten or twelve stalks, and tie the bundles with a corn stalk. Then when we had enough bundles, we worked together to make shocks, using about a dozen bundles to make one shock. It seemed like an endless job, cutting and shocking that ten-acre field!
What worried us most, though, was that high school had already started in Hinsdale, and we were missing school! How could we ever catch up--especially, I wondered how I could catch up if I got started late in a strange school, my first year of high school? It bothered Robert, too, as he was a senior, and hated the thought of being behind in his studies. He was in a neck-and-neck race with one of his classmates to be valedictorian--the head of the class. Our sister Jean had already started on her second year, staying in Hinsdale with friends.
You see, this was the fall of 1932, and a momentous year for all of us. Dad and Mom had finally decided that it would be necessary to leave the homestead! When they first started out, in 1913, they had borrowed $1000 to buy horses, equipment, and building materials. Over the years, despite all their hard work, they simply had not been able to do more than pay the interest on the mortgage each year; the principal was unpaid. Those were terribly hard times. Part of that summer of 1932 Dad had been forced to work on the county roads, to pay the property taxes with labor, as many other men were doing. Now he was away teaching school on the South Bench, out south and across the Milk River. It was thirty or more miles in a straight line to the school where he batched during the week, and he could only come home on weekends.
Dad had located a farm two and a half miles out of Hinsdale that we could rent. But before we could move, we must cut the big field of corn! It represented the feed for our cows for the coming winter, and must be cut and hauled before snow fell. Thus we boys had the job of getting that corn cut and shocked, before we could hope to begin school. We had been promised that when we had the job done, we could start school.
You can imagine how I felt those days! Here I was ready to start in high school, in a strange town, a school with hundreds of kids, which seemed scary to me. The most students we had ever had at Richter school was seventeen! How would I get along with so many strangers?
Finally, almost six weeks into the school term, we finished the corn! The folks still weren't ready to move down to the new place. Accordingly, they arranged for the three of us Cumming kids to batch in a tiny apartment located upstairs in a remote corner of the school dormitory, in Hinsdale. The apartment had only a little gas plate, not a proper cooking stove, and there was room for our beds and almost nothing else. But it was a place to stay, and we got settled in quickly. Both Jean and Robert could do simple cooking, as they had batched the previous year, so we wouldn't starve.
In the meantime, the folks were very busy getting ready for the move to the rented farm, which we called the Burke Place. It had once been the homestead of a man named Billy Burke. He had been the husband of my third grade teacher, Mrs. Rose Burke. Billy had a bad problem with drinking, and had died young, I believe. Mrs. Burke made her living teaching school, and rented the farm out to various people. We were to live there three years.
Finally, about the middle of November, we were ready to move. I can still remember that last trip out to the old homestead. The job of loading the sad little load of furniture and other moveable things on the hayrack (because it held more than the wagon box), didn't take very long. We rounded up the cattle, put the chickens in coops, and were on our way. Dad had already hauled the corn and a lot of other stuff, on previous weekends. I drove the little bunch of cattle, walking most of the way to the new place--about twelve miles. It was very hard for Mom and all of us, going down that winding road to the "Point," turning for one last look at the old place, and then passing around the point and out of sight of our home for all those years. Although Dad went back once or twice later, doing the final clean-up of the move, I wasn't to see the old home again until 1946. By then all the buildings were gone, virtually without a trace.

More Fun and Games on the Homestead

2009-03-09T20:37:00.000-07:00

In about 1928, our Dad started using some very low-priced skiis (i.e. home made by the James boys) which he used for going across country to his remote school about 30 miles from home. Those were monstrous skiis, about six feet long, made of pine, and were rather wide. They had only a single strap which went across the arch of the one's foot. When he was home, on a week-end, I used to try my luck at skiing down hill.
I went one time, I remember, up on the hill in front of the house, where I wouldn't have to dodge any fences, though there were a few sage brush clumps, and some patches of bare ground, because it had been thawing. I made two or three fairly successful runs, not falling down more than a dozen times. Then came disaster! I was doing fine on my last run until I headed for and hit a patch of bare ground. Needless to tell you, I, or rather the skiis, came to a sudden halt. I didn't stop that fast, and in falling somehow knocked the knee cap on my right knee clear over on the side of my knee! Oh, my, how that hurt!
I couldn't even get up, but had to call for Dad, who was down in the barnyard, to come help me. He came, rolled my pant leg up and saw where the knee cap was. He simply pushed on it with his two thumbs, moving it back in place. Then, to my surprise, I could walk again, though the knee was awfully painful for many days. Did we go to the doctor? Oh, no--it healed up by itself. And I've never had trouble with that knee since that injury!
I mentioned neighborhood coasting parties. I think they were the result of our Mom's suggestion. For several winters, all the neighbors would get together by appointment, at someone's house, and we would all, old and young, go out coasting. I especially remember one coasting party at the Charlie Carter's. It was a beautiful cold, clear, moonlit night. You could literally see for miles, the light was so beautiful on the snow. We all went sledding on the hills north of their house, where there were great long swooping slopes. Some of the bachelor men from the area had come, too, including the James boys, Matt and Bill, and Magnus, the Norwegian brother of John Goodmanson. These fellows all brought their skiis, mostly homemade, and they had no fancy ski boots or poles to assist them. They had only single straps on their skiis, and crude willow sticks for poles.
It was the first time I had ever seen anyone who was truly skilled doing down hill runs. I can still see Magnus flying down that hill in the moonlight, making the run without poles, and on only one ski! He looked like a bird, swooping from side to side, never falling once. He was by far the most skilled person there. It was his night to shine! He could scarcely say anything in English, but he could surely ski! Another time we went to the Emil Richter's-- "Grandpa" and "Grandma" Richter to most of us. They didn't have any hills to coast on, but we were pulled on a rope behind a car or a saddle horse, down the road which was well covered with ice and snow. They went so fast it almost took my breath away! Again I remember Magnus on his skiis, holding onto a rope behind a galloping horse, jumping over the clumps of sage brush, yelling at the top of his lungs, having a great time. Whoever it was on the horse was having a wild ride, too, weaving in and out among the big sage brush clumps; he rode even faster than we who were being towed behind the car!
That night was memorable for another reason. After we had had our fill of being pulled around on our sleds or skiis, we all went in the house, had some hot cocoa and sandwiches, and then played games--"winkum," "spin the platter," and POST OFFICE! I had never heard of the latter, and was so embarrassed when sent into a nearby bed room with one of the girls (I can't even remember her name!) that I didn't know what to do. Of course you know that I was supposed to kiss her, but believe me, I never touched her! I have never played post office since! (Well, not the formal game, you understand.)
What did we do indoors? As I've indicated in previous chapters, our house was quite small, so there wasn't room for any vigorous play indoors. But we could and did play lots of table games. Tiddledee Winks was a favorite, played on a blanket on a table, with little celluloid disks. By pressing on the edge of a disk with another "shooter" disk, and snapping the shooter off the edge of the disk you wanted to move, you could snap it up in the air, and, if lucky, into a little catch basin. Scores were kept on the basis of how many disks you could shoot into the basin. One could really develop some skill, a sort of "light touch," which made accurate shooting possible.
Another game we sometimes played on the table covered with a blanket was croquet. Our set had little wooden mallets and balls, and rather fine wire hoops which could be moved around, and were not fastened down on the blanket. It wasn't very satisfactory, because when a ball struck a wicket, instead of going straight through, it knocked the wicket galley west. But we played croquet quite a lot, anyway. It wasn't until years later that I realized that our set was actually a miniature set, and that regular croquet was played on a lawn with big balls and mallets! Of course there was checkers, one of our favorite games. Dad and Mom used to tell us of how they played checkers a lot in the years before we kids came along. When they first homesteaded they didn't get around to the neighbors much, and after a long day of hard work would often sit down to play a game of checkers. They had a cat who would sit on an apple box next to the table where they played, and who would watch the game carefully. Every once in a while, apparently thinking it was his turn, he would reach up with his paw, and move a checker. And he was careful to only move it just one square! I don't think he ever won a game, of course. I wasn't very good at checkers, but could often beat my sister Jean. Then when she would get frustrated, we would play "Giveaway" which was just the opposite of checkers. The goal was to get rid of all your men by forcing your opponent to jump them, before your opponent made you jump all of his men. Jean was good at that. However, I don't think it improved our checker game skills a bit.
Years later, when I was in college, I used to play checkers with a man across the street from where my parents lived, in Glasgow. I thought I knew something about checkers, but soon found out I didn't. He would start the game with only eight checkers, against my twelve, and still beat me badly every time! He surely knew something about checkers, though I don't know how he would have fared against another really good player.
The indoor games we played were mostly card games. My Mom was a staunch Methodist, from the time she was a girl, and therefore we could not have a deck of regular playing cards in the house, let alone play with them, because she thought they were evil. She and Dad had played some kind of card game with neighbors, before we kids came along, but I can't remember the name of it, though it might have been "Pitch." There was a big thick deck of numbered cards, and we kids sometimes just monkeyed around with them, not knowing how to play the game. But we did have cards to play "Old Maid," and "Authors," and "Pit." The latter was one of my favorites, and I loved the busy trading of cards, trying to get a corner on the market in some grain. That may have been a wee bit educational, I suppose.
Then Mom discovered the game of "Rook." It was played with a special set of cards, with four different suites of different colors, with the cards numbered from 1 to 14 in each suite. It was quite complicated, calling for careful estimation of what cards your partner and opponents might have (revealed by how they bid to declare trumps), and very good memory of what cards in each suite had been played. We all really enjoyed that game, especially our mother. I don't think Dad ever played Rook with us. I suppose I had more fun playing that card game than any other I ever knew. Many years later, when I was in the service in World War II, I discovered that the experience with Rook helped wonderfully in learning to play contract bridge! In fact, except for the different cards, the rules were almost identical! I don't recall ever mentioning this to Mom; I wonder now what she might have said had she known!
We had a few toys with which we played indoors, but not too many. I always liked to shoot things with a pop gun, and can remember setting up dominoes (aha--there's another game we played and enjoyed) as enemy soldiers and shooting them down. I didn't think the cork ought to be on a string, as they were attached when the popgun was received, so would cut off the string, and thus have something like a real shooting gun.
Reading was another fun activity. We didn't have many children's books to read or look at, but the folks had accumulated stacks of old National Geographics and other magazines, and we had lots of fun reading and looking at the pictures in them. I remember that the relatives in Wisconsin sent out whole bundles of old Sunday papers, with beautiful sepia colored pictures, comics (we called them 'funny papers'), and one feature which especially appealed to me. In each week's issue there would be a story about the "Little People," a mythical community of tiny little folks who lived in a little town. I read those so carefully, and knew the names of just about everyone in the town. For a time, at least, I believed the stories were true, and that there were such little towns and people. I would pour over those stories and pictures by the hour. Another type of printed material which captured our attention for long periods of time, especially just before Christmas, was the mail order catalog. We always received the Sears, Roebuck & Co., the Montgomery Ward, and I think it was Spiegel's catalogs, both the Fall and Winter and the Spring and Summer issues. The coming of the Fall catalogs would start us off dreaming of what we would like for Christmas. In each catalog there would be pages and pages of beautiful Christmas things, toys, dolls, just about anything one could want. Our folks usually set a limit for us to choose one gift, only one, which couldn't cost more than a dollar, as our chief gift. Also, we could plan on ordering less expensive things for our brothers and sisters. Oh, what careful thinking that took--all of it fun. Then about the first part of November, we had to give our choices to Mom, and she would make up the orders, sometimes from several mail order houses. Of course we didn't get to see everything she ordered, as we usually received the gift of our choice, plus something else she thought we would like or needed. Lots of our Christmas gifts fell in the latter category, items of clothing, or things for school.
Those mail order catalogs would get absolutely dog-eared, with our thumbing through them. We thought the companies were great, and there is no question that they did provide a wonderful service to isolated families such as ours. I don't think we ordered much from Spiegel's, but we were surely familiar with their catalog. In late 1945, when I was in the Air Force and stationed in Chicago, I was pleased to find that a lot of our Air Force surplus disposal business had to do with the big warehouses owned by (and leased from) Spiegel's. I felt rather at home going there!
When we were recuperating after having some illness--measles, mumps, scarlet fever or plain flu--we liked to make and fly little paper airplanes. Then pages would be torn from old catalogs (or from less important parts of current ones) and folded to make simple gliders which we threw about the room. We had lots of fun with that, and it was very inexpensive fun. Standard disposal of the outdated catalogs was to move them to the outdoor toilet, where they would be sometimes read, and otherwise put to good use. We never had, so far as I can recall, any store-bought toilet paper on the homestead.
Swimming was an idea of Robert's--one summer he thought we kids should all learn to swim. Since neither of our parents were swimmers, we had to teach ourselves. The closest swimming water was John Goodmanson's pond, nearly a mile south of our place. We got his permission to swim there, and wearing cut-off bib overalls and similar old clothes for Jean, the three of us would walk down to Goodmanson's, carrying old inner tubes to keep us afloat while learning to swim. The mud was nearly as deep as the water, and it was quite a trick to wade out far enough to reach water deep enough to swim in. Then to launch ourselves into the water, freeing our feet from the sucking mud, wasn't easy.
But with a partially inflated inner tube around one's waist, we could manage a sort of dog paddling which we called swimming. We really worked at that, and all three of us got so we could truly swim, even without the inner tube. It wasn't particularly cooling, since we had to walk back home again in the hot sun after our swim, but it was great fun. We boys usually had spent the forenoon working at something around the place, maybe hauling water to the garden with team and stone-boat, or hoeing in the potatoes or corn, or something like that, and we would enjoy an afternoon, or part of one, spent swimming.
After a year or two, we all bought cheap swimming suits, again from the mail order catalogs. If I'm not mistaken, in those days we could get an all wool swimming suit for a dollar or less. We had choice of colors,too-- either navy blue or maroon. The skirts of those suits came half way down our thighs, on both the boys and girls suits. The boys suits had big cut-out holes under the arms. Swimming trunks were unknown in those days! We proudly wore those suits for our swimming times. Sometimes some of the other neighborhood kids would come to Goodmanson's and swim with us. We had some dandy mud fights, I remember. Later, when we moved away from the homestead down to the Milk River valley, we did lots of swimming in the river, where there was plenty of water, even enough for diving. Then we learned to use other strokes than the dog paddle!
On rare occasions we would swim in Brush Fork, a creek about two miles east of our home coulee. That stream had some deeper holes, though still awfully muddy, in which we could at least get wet. I remember one time, in the hot summer, when we rode on horses over there with Ralph Carter (or was it Vernon Richter?). Robert and I were riding double on old Snip, our saddle horse. We all went in swimming, and then decided to play Indian--I think that was it, anyway. We left our clothes on the bank of the creek, took the saddles off the horses, and on that hot summer day rode bareback up and down along the hills of Brush Coulee, on a dead run, pretending we were young Indians. Riding bareback without clothes wasn't that much fun that day, as the horses got as sweaty as we boys did, and we all ended up with some pretty touchy thighs and bottoms from that afternoon. We never tried that again, though it was fun--for a while!
With that I will tie a knot in this blog--though I may come back later to the subject of fun and games. The real truth of the matter is that we were happy youngsters, not at all deprived from not having radio or TV or ipods, or whatever, those devices that modern children think so necessary.