Speculation

One Hundred and thirty years later, nothing much has changed - opportunities bring speculators, which in turn bring opportunities to the common man and woman...if they're lucky.

Gamble Family Reunion

My Grandpa Neill "Bo" Gamble gave me this photo of the William Neill Gamble farmhouse where he grew up near St. Vincent, Minnesota. His mother, Lillie Maud Griffith Gamble has written on the back: "According to size Kathleen & Frances in the back row. Kathleen has her hands on Wilhelmina's shoulders. May below Frances and Neill in front of Wilhelmina. Taken when Jean was a few days old." (My Grandpa Bo added FALL 1914.) - Posted by Lori Kohut Bianco

As many long-time readers know, I serialized an important part of local history on this blog - the Gamble Family Letters. It's rare such documents survive, and being able to share them here with the public was an incredible honor.

The descendants of that family will once again be gathering for a family reunion this summer in Hallock, MN. They have roots in our area that they deeply appreciate, and I will be attending the reunion to meet more of the family. It's exciting to be reaching back through the sharing of our common heritage while at the same time realizing and appreciating where it's taken us!

While local history has a very special place in my heart, so does genealogy. Lori wrote this week to say they had exciting family history news, and it was tied directly to an early St. Vincent settler:

Exciting news on the genealogy front to report...Alice Edkins Jablonski - a cousin descended from Elizabeth Gamble Griffith, sister of William Neill Gamble (who will be attending the reunion) - has made contact with a distant cousin in Scotland, via some Internet genealogy message boards! His name is William (Billy) Irvine, & his ancestor, Samuel Gamble, was the chief police inspector in the city of Dundee and the brother of our ancestor, Alexander Gamble. He has promised to dig up some information to send us.

...we e-mailed him a copy of one of the photos...from Dorothy Griffith - the one from the photography studio in Dundee - & he has confirmed that it is of Samuel Gamble & his family.

History Detectives, Local Style

Wow, the news keeps coming on all the websites and history that our area encompasses, and changes to them. The following news is extremely exciting, because we've been working on resolving this problem for over a year: What to do about losing the Red River Valley history website started by Dennis Matthews, one of the earliest websites documenting my hometown area and surrounding region. It's a long story but in summary Dennis lost his host for the site and all the data is locked on his computer. A fellow expatriate wrote to say this, just this past weekend:

Meant to email you sooner. I am out in Seattle for a graduation and I am trying to set up a meeting with Dennis Mathews to see if I can get a back up of all of his historical data for you on Monday or Thursday of this week.

I wrote back to her to express my delight at hearing this news, and that her inquiry about if the Rootsweb site was still available and a viable option, to reassure her that yes, indeed it was!

The hundreds (probably thousands) of hours Dennis has put in on putting this website up is just amazing. He transcribed historical essays among other documents into web pages that had before only existed in rare hard copy format up until then. We owe him a LOT, and thus are going the extra mile to help him recover and preserve his work...

Honored & Humbled

Being the historian/archivist/documentarian type person I am, I felt I had to preserve the off-site reactions to the recent honor this blog received. Many readers expressed their congratulations on Facebook rather than in the comments here.

As I say below, I am honored but humbled...

Historical Society Website News

Glenn Brown, administrator for the Kittson County Historical Society website, wrote today to say that the website will be moving. The need was precipitated by the current site switching from being free to charging fees.

As anyone reading this probably knows, historical societies have a hard enough time surviving without this added financial stress. But there is good news! Glenn has found a viable and free alternative!

I encourage anyone reading this that cares for local history in the upper Red River Valley of the North, Minnesota, or Kittson County in particular, to join this site and participate. Read the details below...

...I have spent considerable time checking a dozen sites out and I picked Spruz.com as the most appealing. I have spent considerable time checking a dozen sites out and I picked Spruz.com as the most appealing.

I could write pages about the good and bad things found in my search but we have to act fast before our present pages on Ning.com are deleted.

Ning.com is preparing software in order to allow us to migrate our sites to other providers. That will not be ready until July 2010. Our site will be condensed into a special import file and when ready Spruz will be able to migrate our site and everything in it. Sorry, but I expect many trials and tribulations before this is all done.

Small uncomplicated Ning.com sites simply deleted their files and started all over on a new site. They then had to contact all their old members and sign them all up again. We cannot do that because we have too many groups and photos that would be lost, not to mention the data.

I have opened the new site that can be located at here. I have started a Blog that you can read but you cannot add any comments or suggestions unless you are a member. There is nothing else on the page and there will be little but the blog until at least July. I suggest you hold off joining and contact me at my email address if you have any comments or suggestions. I will also post information on my blog on the old ning page. If you would like to open a topic of discussion under the forums please do so.

In the 13 and a half months since our [original] web page was created I have contributed a great deal of time and effort and to lose it is irritating. If you are unhappy with recent developments I fully sympathize. I will keep you informed of developments as they arise.

Glenn Browne
Kittson County Historical Society (old site, up until July 2010)

Glenn, best of luck on the new site. From small acorns grow great trees!

SVM Named to "Top 100"

This blog have been named to the Top 100 Genealogy Sites as defined by MyHeritage.com - I'm pleased as punch to see that my little blog about my hometown area has gotten recognition. But I don't do this alone, folks...

Sure, I kill myself most weeks to research and write it and get it out there, but there are many others who tip me off on local content or share their stories or photos. Many of you reading this ARE those people! In the end, it's the history that's important. It's who we are...

Trick Drummer

One Dominion Day celebration in Emerson brought out a combined [brass] band from Fort Pembina, Emerson, and Dominion City. Tubby Ardis of Pembina was on the bass drum and during the street parade the band played the Ruby Rose March. Tubby was carrying the drum high, as bass drummers do, and marching along at a fairly good clip when he ran right square into the silent policeman¹ (big cast-iron affair weighing well over 200 pounds). The impact forced Tubby to turn a complete backward somersault which landed him right on his feet. Coming down he accidently hit his drum twice, right in time with the music, and never missed a beat. Spectators watching the parade figured the band had engaged a trick drummer especially for the occasion. From DOMINION CITY: Fact, Fiction & Hyperbole

¹ - Before the days of the horseless carriage, horse & buggy drivers pretty much drove where they pleased, obeying rudimentary traffic rules. Generally, horses would not run into each other, regardless of what kind of attention was being paid by their driver. There were no one-way streets around the turn of the 20th Century, and if everyone kept to the right, few problems developed.

However, with the advent of the newfangled gasoline-powered automobiles, which came upon the scene during the early 1900's, drivers, both horse and auto, would become much more aware of the problems which arose when they met.

Horse owners complained of the high speeds that autos drove–up to 20 miles per hour!–and the noisy engines, which scared their teams. To accommodate and protect the horse teams, proper etiquette dictated that cars must keep to the right of center, and not exceed a 6 mile per hour speed when turning street corners.

How far right, was right? Some vehicles would cut a corner, thereby getting into the oncoming lane, with potential disastrous results. Intersections were the worst, where four streets met. Few, if any, stop signs existed then, so who had the right-of-way?

Instead of having a traffic officer at each busy intersection directing traffic, the problem was solved with the installation of what was then called a “Silent Policeman”. It consisted of a cement pillar, about 5 feet high, usually with a shiny globe on top. The globe sometimes lit up at night for better visibility. It was understood that, upon entering an intersection, drivers must always keep to the right of the Silent Policeman. If one wished to make a 90 degree left-hand turn, the driver would have to turn right, circle the pillar and exit at the desired street. It was a type of “roundabout” commonly used in Europe at the time.

From Silent Policemen by Bill Schuette

BORDERTOWNS: Chapter 21

January turned cold and blustery, with nagging winds and a heavy depth of snow. Drifts to the south created rail delays and often a day or two went by without the arrival of a train. When the trains did get through, the clanking and rumbling as cars were coupled or uncoupled became commonplace. On the calm, frigid, below-zero nights, the mournful whistle of engines carried for miles.

Patrick realized the firewood was going fast and was thankful for the huge pile remaining near the barn. The railroad had recently begun to haul in coal from Duluth, selling it for six dollars a ton. In Duluth it cost only two dollars.

Bob Wilson, the sutler at the fort, visited the McLarens occasionally. He reported that many soldiers at the fort were suffering from frozen fingers, toes and ears, an indication that the wool uniforms provided by the military were inadequate for the frigid Dakota winters. Most soldiers bought toques and sheep-lined mittens from the merchants in town and covered their winter boots with layers of oversize socks. The officers disregarded the strange uniforms that appeared whenever the men worked out-of-doors. Every effort was made by Captain Collins to purchase potatoes, cabbages, onions and other vegetables to prevent an outbreak of scurvy.

Jerold and Knute formed a partnership and purchased a half-section of land a few miles to the east, adjoining the railroad. The previous owner had become drunk in St. Vincent, and lost his way home. He was found the next day, frozen to death. His wife, left with three children to support, was glad to sell and return to Minneapolis.

In addition to his employment with the railroad, Ian again began to purchase furs. Long buying trips were out of the question, greatly reducing his profit. Even so, when he finally turned the furs over to the Abram's representative from St. Paul, he found he had realized three times more than his original investment.

With the many cattle on hand, most of the short winter days were spent feeding, milking and cleaning the barn. The coats on the horses and mules were heavy, nature's way of protecting them from the cold. When mild weather came during the first days of February, Patrick, Jerold and Knute began cutting oak timber for their next winter's firewood.

It became obvious to Patrick that Maggy missed Mary's company, for she often took baby Kate and visited Susan, sometimes spending the entire afternoon. When he teased her about it, Maggy excused herself. "I've been helping Susan paint the interior of the house. The carpenter left all the decorating for her to do."

Toward the end of February Susan realized she was finally pregnant. She laughingly conspired with Maggy. "I think I've beaten Mary to it. Our new addition should arrive about the end of October, give or take a few days."

"Oh, my gosh! Have you told Ian yet?" Maggy was instantly excited.

"No, but I think he suspects something is wrong. He looked at me strangely when I had to leave the breakfast table this morning." She looked sheepish. "I darn near threw up the oatmeal on the table.” Rising to get the kettle from the stove, she added, "I've felt squeamish this past week, but I’m sure now. I'll tell him tonight. He wants a boy, and so do I. Still, a girl would be nice." She laughed lightly, "Guess we'll settle for whatever we get."

The evenings were quiet and lonely, for the boys were often out, visiting neighbors or at house parties. Ice-skating became popular, as clamp-on skates were cheap and could be mounted on any shoe or boot. Patrick often sat near the parlor stove while he carved wood duck decoys. Maggy spent her evenings in her rocking chair, either crocheting or knitting for Susan's baby. Frequently she tutored Mike in his first book. He was having trouble memorizing his multiplication tables. Light from the lone kerosene lamp was augmented somewhat by the parlor stove, which had isinglass windows in the door. The flickering flame seemed to add a warm, cozy glow to the room.

It was in late February when Patrick and Maggy received a surprise visit from Charley Brown. They were about to eat dinner when they heard a knock on the back door. When Jerold arose to open the door, he was surprised to see the sheriff. "Just in time for dinner, Sheriff! What are you doing out on this cold day?"

Charley stepped by Jerold and began taking off his heavy coat. Turning to Patrick, he dropped his bombshell. "I bring good news in a way, if you can call Brogan good news. He won't bother anyone any more. He's dead!"

Excited questions flew until Charley held up his hand. "He and another man showed up in Pembina last night and got pretty well oiled. Somehow they got to St. Vincent, and then decided to go to Emerson. Not having a ride, they stole a section hand car from the yard. Nearing Emerson, they were struck by a C.P.R. engine backing from the St. Vincent junction to Emerson. As you know, the C.P.R. locomotives don't have a light on the rear of their engines as ours do. I guess that with the noise of the north wind they were bucking, they never heard the engine approaching them from behind. Charley added wryly, "Booze probably had something to do with it, too. At any rate, the man facing south on the handcar saw the engine in time to jump clear, but Brogan didn't. He was badly mangled¹ and the handcar was destroyed. I just came from Emerson where I viewed the body. It's Brogan, without a doubt. Incidentally, I stopped to tell Ian about it. He's going over to see the corpse -- just why, I don't know -- said he could hardly believe the man is dead."

Maggy murmured aloud, "I disliked the man, but I wouldn't wish death on anyone. The Lord does work in mysterious ways though."

Ian had one purpose in mind when he rode to Emerson. He wanted peace of mind -- to know if the crooked-necked Brogan was really the man who attempted to rape his sister. Brogan had been on his mind ever since Mary had told of being accosted by a heavily bearded man after leaving Mrs. Traynor’s store the previous winter.

Entering the warming room of the Emerson Railroad Depot, he found the stationmaster engaged in a card game with three other men. Because the huge waiting room was difficult to heat, the players were huddled near the potbelly stove. Ian spoke to the stationmaster. "Frank, where did they put Brogan's body?"

He looked up. "Come to pick it up?"

"No, just wanted to see if it's really him."

"It's him all right, we all know the bastard. He finally got what was coming to him." He nodded, "He's in cold storage -- in the north freight room. If you want to see the body I'll have to come with you -- railroad rules. I hope you're the last to ask for a glimpse. Hell, I've already had to open up for Jack Bell and that sheriff from Pembina."

It was obvious to Ian that Frank was reluctant to accompany him to the freight room, seeing the great to-do he made of putting on his heavy coat and overboots. Ian waited patiently while the stationmaster unlocked the storage room, then he stepped forward to assist him in sliding the heavy door open. The inside of the huge room was stacked with crates and barrels, but a lone four-wheeled baggage cart stood near the door. Moving to the cart, the depot agent grasped the edge of a tarp and flung it back.

Even in the dim light Ian's stomach nearly revolted. The body was in pieces, but the head was still connected to a remaining portion of chest. Forcing himself, he examined Brogan's neck, but could see no sign of any external damage or scar. The head still held the same unnatural angle that it had when the man was alive. Ian decided it must have been a congenital deformity. One of the severed legs had a dangling shoe still attached. It was a huge shoe, easily a size 12 or larger, but it was old, with rounded edges and a run down heel. Ian realized it would not match the boot prints Pete had found in his wheat field. Satisfied, he tugged the tarp back over the corpse and faced the agent. "I've seen enough, Frank. Thanks for allowing me to look him over."

Both men grasped the door to slide it shut, the stationmaster quickly affixing the padlock. He abruptly turned without another word and hurried back to his card game. When Ian mounted his horse, he was momentarily confused. Although he had examined Brogan closely, he had no positive way of knowing whether or not he was the man who had attacked Mary at the bridge. Perhaps the man's neck had healed without leaving a scar. While tightening the scarf around his coat collar, he decided to see Charley in Pembina. Perhaps the sheriff could cast more light on the situation. He might even be able to get the Canadian authorities to do an autopsy on the body. Then he realized the unlikelihood of this, since it was an accident, cut and dried.

Entering Kabernagle and Brown's saloon an hour later, he found Charley the only occupant. He was behind the bar washing the previous night's glassware. As Ian removed his cap and coat, the sheriff tossed him a towel. "You wipe, and when we're done, I'll beat you in a game of pool."

While Ian wiped beer glasses, he related his problem. His evasiveness in skirting Mary's involvement drew Charley's suspicion.

"Level with me, Ian; it'll go no farther."

Ian went so far as to tell Charley that Mary had been attacked near their home in Orillia, and that he had struck the guilty man with a track splice-plate, thinking he had killed him. "When Dad and I returned the next morning, we found a pool of blood, but no body. The thing that has bothered me this past year is that Brogan's head was canted to the left, and he might have been the man I struck. Then, too, I had heard he arrived here from Eastern Canada shortly after we did. I examined his neck but could see no scar. Also, although his one remaining boot was large, it was badly worn. It wouldn't have matched the prints we found in my wheat field last fall."

For moments Charley seemed lost in thought, and then he said, "We know that he and Murphy were close, as were those other three men. Incidentally, Bell is attempting to find the names of the three. When I saw Mike Ryan last fall, he mentioned making a new pair of boots for Murphy -- even said Murphy still owed on them." He mused, "New boots would have left sharp outlines like the ones we found in your field. Murphy's boots were practically new at the time. There are a couple of other things that also fit. Murphy was at Roseau Crossing when that Indian child was abused and strangled. Also, Rosie informed me that Murphy mistreated one of her girls. I've heard that he acts weird at times and often talks to himself. He could be demented."

Ian suddenly recalled the day he and Susan had dropped Marguerite off on the hill leading down to the ferry and he had seen the heavily bearded, fully dressed man washing in the river. He mentioned it to Charley.

"It could have been Murphy. You say he was a big man with a full beard? Maybe he's the man with the scar and is hiding it. Yet, why would he hide it unless he suspects someone from the Orillia area would put two and two together?" Charley suddenly stared at Ian. "You suppose he knows or suspects your sister is the one he attacked and that she might recognize him, and that either you or your father might have been the one who struck him? If so, you and your family are in danger."

Ian's mind began to race. "Last year, in December, Mary was stopped at dusk on the Emerson sidewalk by a huge, bearded man. He said to her, "I know you from somewhere." Do you suppose it could have been Murphy?"

"I'll just bet it was; now to find him! The problem still remains; we have no firm evidence. We’ve a lot of guesses, but all are circumstantial. Still, it's beginning to fit together. I'll get telegrams out and see if we can locate him. He's probably somewhere along the railroad line in Minnesota, or maybe in St. Paul or Minneapolis. The problem as I see it is that the demand for labor is such that he could be working anywhere.

"Ian, the more I think of it, the more I believe he's the man who attacked your sister. Why my horse was damaged and finally destroyed in the fire, I can't justify. No doubt it is related to the whipping I gave Brogan. They were probably helping each other. Then, there are the missing two soldiers. I believe they're dead, probably murdered for their pay. I've been told Murphy didn't have employment at the time. He might have needed money badly, and those soldiers had just signed the Army payroll. You be watchful and tell your family to be on guard. That man might be vengeful enough to return."

Mary made it a policy to write her father, mother and the boys each Sunday. It was the letter that arrived in mid-April that really excited the family.

Easter Sunday.

Dear Father, Mother and all,

Two days ago I heard a knock on our door and found a well-dressed couple smiling at me. I was puzzled until the woman said, "You've got to be Mary. Kirby has described you in every detail."

I felt like a fool, for the few moments it took me to realize these folks were Kirby's father and mother. Although our house is small, thank goodness it was clean. At first, after inviting them in, I was tongue-tied, but after a short while I realized they were down to earth people like you and father. They were charming and instantly made me feel that I was one of them. They told me they were staying in the railroad yard, and it wasn't until a few minutes later that I realized they had arrived at Leavenworth in a private railroad car. Kirby had said his parents were well off, but he had never been explicit. To put it mildly, I felt like an idiot.

They are lovely, sincere people, and seem to like me. When I suggested tea, Kirby's mother countered by asking me to accompany them back to their railroad car. "We can have tea there," she said, "and what is more important, our daughter Laura is anxious to meet you." I knew Kirby wouldn't be home until suppertime so I left a note telling where I would be, and then Kirby's father added a postscript to my message.

Laura, an attractive brown-haired girl, met us just outside the car. She is Kirby's younger sister and I liked her from the moment we met. She is single and two years older than me.

I had been apprehensive about Easter, knowing Kirby's folks were coming to visit us. I no longer have any qualms; they have accepted me as Kirby's wife. Mr. Ralston seems much interested in our life in Minnesota, and in Jim Hill's railroad. It seems he is the director or manager of a railroad operating out of Washington.

Kirby's older sister, Marlene, is married and has two children, a boy and girl. They live in Richmond, Virginia.

The Ralston's railroad car has a living room with a rear, outdoor vestibule. Then to the front, what they call a dinette, then several small cubicles for bedrooms. It seems like a magnificent hotel suite outfitted with crystal lamps, polished brass fittings and several lovely paintings, which Mrs. Ralston said she purchased in Paris. They have an elderly couple that prepare meals and serve the family needs. They are treated more like members of the family, than servants. Kirby made a special fuss over them when he arrived just before the supper hour.

The Ralston’s have been here the past two days and will leave for home the day after tomorrow. They have invited me to accompany them to their home for a visit, but I won't leave Kirby alone. Poor little me -- a farm girl -- mixing with the wealthy! At any rate, we will continue to live on Kirby's pay -- he insists upon that! His father's pride in him is evident. They have been so kind to me. Now I really feel accepted!

That first night after their arrival, when Kirby and I went to bed, he remarked, "They've taken to you like a duck takes to water! I knew they'd love you!"

I am so happy!

Love to all, Mary Ralston.

P.S. I like my new name!

¹ - My great grandfather died in a similar fashion, i.e., drunk and run over by a train. The details, as given by the newspapers of the time in 1913, went like this: Mr. Fitzgerald was known to be a man of intemperate means. Having visited Emerson, it was assumed when coming back across the border on foot, he stumbled into or lay down unto the tracks, whereupon the next train ran him over. The accounts were vivid (or gruesome, depending on how you read it) in their descriptions, stating that his body was decapitated, and his remains had to gathered up in a bag. An American coroner that was called stated he had no jurisdiction because in his opinion the accident took place on the Canadian side of the border. Searches made by the author years later in all possible provinces and states has yet to yield a death certificate...

Interapolis: City That Never Was

I recently posted about a very real city that is now long gone called Huron City. 

That post drew responses that revealed to me that there was a proposed 'twin' to Huron City, a town that never was, called Interapolis...

Map from View from Inside the Portcullis: A History of Emerson Customs and General Area, by Elmer McClelland (1992)

A. W. Stiles, connected with the U. S. Land Office in Washington, D.C., walked up the street to take in Hallock the other day while the train stopped. Mr. Stiles is one of the pioneers of this country. He ran the first sutler store at Fort Pembina, establishing it in 1871, the year the fort was built. He also started the townsite of Interapolis, located between St. Vincent and Emerson, in this county, but which never amounted to much. [From Kittson County Enterprise, July 1894]

Since receiving a copy of the above-referenced book recently from Elmer McClelland (cousin of James McClelland, friend of this blog), I have since come to find out that the term I had coined for the town was already coined by him, i.e., the 'city that never was'...great minds think alike, I guess! Anyways, Elmer's piece from the book has this to say about Interapolis:

This town or city site was actually planned, with certain streets and avenues named. It was to have been on the east side of the Red River immediately south of the International Boundary - south of Emerson, Manitoba and due west of Noyes, Minnesota. Its name was listed as "Interapolis". To pinpoint exactly its mythical location, glance off to the south as you leave Emerson on Highway 75 and proceed westerly towards the Highway 75 bridge. The town or city that never materialized would have been about 200 yards to the south - at least, its most northwesterly corner would have appeared there, if all had gone as planned. This writer gained photocopies of the planned city from the Hallock, Minnesota deeds office. These copies show that Mr. & Mrs. Albert Stiles filed the plan on September 9, 1882. The office land description is as follows: North half of the South East Section 26 - Township 164, Range 51, in St. Vincent Township of Kittson County, Minnesota, U.S.A.

Mr. Stiles had arrived in the area to become sutler at Fort Pembina and probably envisioned great possibilities for his new city. The plan covered 62 blocks and the streets and avenues were named: International Avenue, Stiles Avenue, Manitoba Avenue, Missouri Avenue, Irvine Avenue, Pennsylvania Avenue, River Street, Wilson Street, West Lynne Street, and First to Fifth Streets. There was also a proposed ferry and steamboat landing site on the Red River.

Alas, not a building was ever to grace this proposed town. The plan remains in the Hallock deeds office and the land is used as prime agricultural land at this writing.

I can attest to that last statement. When I was growing up, I had horses as a teenager. At that time, Harvey Le Mesurier's old place was being lived in by Reuben and Gloria Ohmann and their family, and I was best friends with their daughter Kathy. The place was north of my parents, who lived in one of the most northern points of St. Vincent, by about a mile. Right north of the Ohmanns was where Interapolis would have been. Kathy and I used to ride our horses there quite often, and I always noticed it was a very isolated area, peaceful, with one of the only true hills around, believe it or not, quite a dip for our flat-as-a-pancake area, which was fun to run up and down on at a canter!

In Memoriam: Helen Tri

Today, a woman who touched many lives in my hometown area will be remembered at a memorial service, ironically in my new hometown of Thief River Falls. Her name was Helen Tri.

Helen was many things in life, including a teacher. She taught many people through the years, including my two older sisters. She also taught Mike Rustad, who has not only been a friend to this blog but encouraged me to start it in the first place. Mike wrote this to say about Helen's passing...

About ten years ago Dotty Boatz, a former Humboldt resident recommended that I place a call to Helen. I have known Helen all of my life. In my early childhood, she was our neighbor and I spent countless hours in the Tri yard along with many other Humboldt kids. Everyone was welcome at the Tri house and there was nothing that pleased Helen more than to have a pack of kids playing in the yard or large sand box. When we lived in town, Helen was right across the alley from us, a next door neighbor. Our other neighbors were the Dockens, the Diamonds, and the Turner/Hatherlies. Dotty thought that Helen might enjoy a call from me and I was reluctant to call after not being in touch for decades. I finally did make that call to Helen and kept in touch with her via email for a number of years on a weekly basis. Helen rarely emailed me but she seemed to enjoy hearing about all of the news I could muster from Humboldt. I learned a great deal from Helen as she had a unique perspective on Humboldt from the late 1930s. She taught both my Dad and Uncle Einar and has memories of my Dad as being a good student.

Helen had a deep affinity and interest in Sweden as her father was from Malmo which is a major city in Southern Sweden close to my Lund University, where I've taught in the summers for many years. Each summer when I visited Lund she would remind me to send her a post card from Malmo. She would enjoy hearing about Sweden and its very strong family structure and government. Helen was a voracious reader well into her late 80s and was well informed and very opinionated. I enjoyed her opinions because they were well reasoned and backed by data though sometimes we disagreed. She was a good listener and enjoyed debate and discussion. Helen experienced great adversity during periods of her life. She lost her Mother and was raised by Gottfrid, her father. I think this experience of being so responsible led her to have an independent personality and character.

Helen was born in 1915. She was a young girl at the infancy of aviation. In May of 1927, Charles Lindbergh made his famous solo flight across the ocean in May of 1927. We all remember film clips of Lindbergh's parade in New York where he was greeted by millions. Helen reminded me that Lindbergh toured the U.S. that summer. Here's the story Helen told me and I find it emblematic of her personality marked by great determination. She was only twelve years old and decided she wanted to see Lindbergh. She went to the local library and found addresses for hotels, book, and paid for a hotel in San Francisco. She traveled alone to San Francisco by railroad. When she arrived at the hotel, the clerk was reluctant to admit her--a twelve year old. Helen did not back down and said a contract was a contract. She told the clerk that she paid for the room and was entitled to it. She was able to see Lindbergh pass by in the parade. I asked Helen many details about the trip and they every detail fit. I do not doubt Helen but the image of a twelve year old taking a trip alone from Minneapolis to San Francisco and back is daunting.

As her obituary indicates, she was a graduate of one of the finest universities in the United States, Gustavus Adolphus College. As in Helen's day, this college was rigorous and drew good Lutherans from a Scandinavian background. Helen graduated from college thanks again to her determination. She worked at a large number of jobs. She told me about her academic success while working at a number of jobs. She remembered courses in sociology as being formative for her. I think Helen also studied political science and philosophy judging from her sophisticated understanding of the American polity. Helen gave me a window onto the world of my hometown of Humboldt Minnesota that stretches from the 1930s to the 1960s.

Throughout her life she had a deep love of Humboldt and its residents. She had plans to travel to Humboldt in the summer of 2007 but was to ill to travel. I am sorry that she did not make the trip because she would have so enjoyed it and seeing Humboldt in its glory. She loved hearing any news of the Baldwins, Boatzes, and my family, the Rustads. I learned that she was great friends with Marion Brown. Helen and Marion came to Humboldt around the same time as young teachers. She and Quint (as she called him) would double date with Don and Marion Brown. She loved Humboldt right from the beginning even though it was certainly less settled than the Twin Cities of Minnesota. She mentioned to me how much she enjoyed Grandma Bockwitz and was great friends with the Virgil Bockwitz family.

Humboldt was a close knit community in the late thirties and early forties. Baseball was important to the town. She remembers my Dad and Uncle Burton Turner playing for the Humboldt team and other area teams. She remembered when Herb Diamond and his brothers were still active in baseball.

Helen had a memory that was legendary and it was not just a past memory. Helen and I would talk about present day events as much as the past and her comments on present day events were just as sharpened. Helen and Quint started a bee business and began mailing specialty honeys all over the world. She was very proud that she sent honey back to Sweden and Germany. Quint's family was German and thus the new country was replenishing the old. Helen was one of those rare persons who continued to grow and develop throughout her life. She overcome a great deal of adversity losing her husband at such a young age, but she truly was Mother Courage!

I have so many memories of Helen and prefer to think of her tending her garden. Helen was a great gardener and my Mother was not. I remember her helping my Mother plan her garden. So, that is how I will remember Helen tending her garden. I feel very privileged to have known Helen Marie Tri.

Mike told me many times I should talk with Helen about her memories. I always meant to, but now I will never have the chance. Let that be a lesson to anyone reading this - don't put off talking to your older relatives and friends while you still have the chance!