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| Wallace & Matilda Cameron's Home during 1950 flood [Photo: Turner Family Collection] |
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| If walls could talk: the St. Vincent jail today... |
We love crows in Vermont too. They are intelligent, loyal, and wonderful birds. I love them and feed them! Ever since the Diamond's crow Cheer (named because he like Cheerios) graced our life, I've loved crows. He was an amazing pet crow that would sometimes take crackers from my baby sister's hand. Very gently. But Harvey Diamond had a lot of neighbor complaints and decided to drive Cheer out into the country. He shed a tear, but never fear - When he returned to his home in Humboldt, Cheer was waiting for him. Cheer lived a long life, but died in a tragic accident. He would perch on the Diamond's children's playhouse. One day a burst of wind caused the window to fall on Cheer and he was killed instantly. I remember crying because I lost a my dear bird friend.
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| Lyle Dexter, Michael Rustad, Jane Dexter, & Carolyn Wiese (in back) watch videos in church during 2007 town centennial/school reunion |
"This is difficult to believe but the video clearly shows Humboldt's Methodist Church in blazes from a fire last night. It's a sad day for us all and a catastrophic loss for the community and for those of us who love Lost Humboldt..." - Mike RustadThanks to Mike Rustad for letting me know about this. Thanks also to Bob Bockwitz for sharing video of the very sad event...
"I was told the Humboldt Methodist Church burned to the ground last night. Going up to Humboldt shortly so might have some photos of what is left tomorrow...First they burned my school to the ground and now the Methodist Church. What will be left of my youth if Pearls Inn burns to the ground? Humboldt will be a ghost town..." - William Ash
Cindy (Twamley) Ritteman remembers - and asks if I do - "...when your youth group came over and we made candy and had a good time running around Humboldt?" I sure do, Cindy, I sure do!
Hymnal in the ashes of Humboldt Methodist Church [Photos by Lynda Johnson Cassels]
A very moving blog post from expatriate Mike Haubrich, who grew up in Hallock. 
This last June and July(2008), there was an opportunity to return to America for a conference and a family holiday. During that time, we travelled yet again to Humboldt, Minnesota. We went there to see my Mom who was planning to stay up there for about a month. We stayed for ten days and got a chance to capture some new memories, perhaps for the last time.To read the whole post, go here...
I always ponder why the town is shrinking. The bottom line answer is that people just don’t stay because there is nothing there to do besides farming. There is some hope working for the elevator or even the bus factory and potentially for customs but these job choices are fairly limited and in high demand. Most likely people would work from Hallock or Pembina instead. It really doesn’t look good for Humboldt in the long run.
I was incredibly nostalgic when we visited Humboldt. Without limits, I wanted to soak up what it was and what it is. It is a hidden refuge, a placid timekeeper, a stabilize force. It is my roots. I did what I could. I took more than 100 pictures in and around the house and tried my best to remember what it meant to be in Humboldt. Hopefully that will be enough.
Now that my Grandparents are no longer in Humboldt and the house will potentially soon be gone, there is much less of a reason to go there. There is still some family nearby. However, things are not quite the same. Another factor is remoteness. If you are going to Humboldt, there really is not anything thing else on the way unless you are going to Canada.
I have enjoyed St. Vincent Memories for a period of time, so tardily, have decided to send you a note of appreciation for what you are doing. It's almost like you know me and are trying hard to assemble materials to please me! Keep it up! I feel you may have some interest in who is reading your material and why we have a shared a continuing interest in St. Vincent, Pembina and the surrounding area.
My parents, John and Margaret Hansen, were living in Pembina when I was born in the Hallock hospital in June 1926. They were renting a home on the south side of the coulee across the street from the Doc Harris home. My father was one of the first five people appointed to the Customs Patrol and was stationed in Pembina. The following year he received a permanent Customs appointment as an Inspector and Deputy Collector at Noyes, MN. In November of 1928 he was transferred and opened the Port of Entry at Noonan, ND. While I have memories from this period, at the age of two they are limited.After eight years in Noonan and two years in Portal , my father was transferred back to Noyes as Acting Appraiser and Deputy Collector in January 1939. We rented space in the north half of the Doc Harris home plus one bedroom upstairs on the Harris side. (This was during the period when Chuck Walker was away at school so, for all I know, it could have been in his former bedroom. Because of the timing, I knew most members of the Harris family very well (except for Chuck.) This was the first time our family had enjoyed an inside bathroom and running water but our arrangement was rather interesting. We shared the same bathroom with the Harris family and it was located just off of our kitchen area. The doors to both apartments would be left closed but unlocked. When in use by a member of our family, we locked their door. When in use by the Harris family, they did the same.
Father contracted the construction of a new home almost immediately and by the start of a next school year we had moved in. We were now located on the same street as the Catholic Rectory but at the west end of the block. This also placed us at a location kitty-corner from where the old courthouse was located. All that remained of the courthouse was its sunken foundation and its sewer system. The sewer system meandered by our home and down to the Red River. My father was aware of this during construction so this sewer line now served our new home.
I was in the middle of the seventh grade when we returned to Pembina. Because of WW II, I accelerated my high school program so I could graduate and enter the service when I turned 17. I was involved in athletics, band, boy scouts and many other activities and had the good fortune of having some very good teachers. I had friends from Pembina, St. Vincent and Noyes..
At that time, the kids from St. Vincent and Noyes were attending Pembina High School. Short's Cafe was our high school hangout. We would often stop in there after the Thursday night or weekend movie. With gas rationing, many of the trips from Pembina to Short's Cafe were made by foot crossing over the old Red River bridge.
While in high school, I worked as a part time clerk and delivery boy for Heneman's Cash Store. (Interestingly, many people charged and settled up at the end of the month.) This meant I was in charge of the stores Model A and used it to deliver groceries in Pembina and St. Vincent. This was another opportunity to meet people.
I lived in close proximity to Pembina in 1948-51, when I served as superintendent and basketball coach in the Bathgate schools. From 1951-55, I served in the same position at Crary, ND. While retuning to Pembina for my brother's wedding in August 1952, my wife gave birth to our oldest son, Mark, at the Fitzpatrick Nursing Home in St. Vincent. We stayed also in Pembina during the summer of 1954 when I had a temporary appointment in the US Customs.
My father was working as Custom Appraiser in the Pembina District Office when he died in 1961. My mother stayed on for several years before selling her home to be near her sister in Fergus Falls. After that our visits to Pembina became less frequent but would still occur for reunions and, sometimes, just to touch base.
Recently you added a number of pictures on the 1950 flood. I found them very interesting since I knew the photographer, they were excellent pictures and that was the year I got married. The flood did complicate the planning.
Mother Nature was playing games that Spring which mad the occasion especially memorable. The Red, Pembina and Tongue had all escaped their river bank and once again occupied vast portions of the bed of the ancient glacial Lake Agassiz. To the east was almost all water with the exception of some roadways or higher potions of ground. In Pembina, my parents home had flooded. In Bathgate, the home of my future in-laws had an early inundation from the Tongue. Even the Bathgate School, where I was finishing my second year as superintendent, was flooded. (It was a strange feeling standing in an upper story classroom to see the water a half mile away and heading for out building. We evacuated immediately and soon the school and school yard were flooded.
The flooding was not the start of my problems. It was a 42 mile trip from Bathgate to Langdon where my future wife was employed. We had well above normal snowfall that winter and getting through the Pembina Mountains en route became a progressively difficult challenge. My 48 Plymouth was equipped for many potential emergencies. It had a block heater and snow tires. In the trunk, I kept a shovel, chains, an old coat for under-wheel-tractions, a sleeping bag, and food. Sometime, in a blizzard, you would keep a window open to help look for the side of the road. You learned to judge snow drifts as you drove. In some cases you would accelerate. In some cases you would shovel. In a few instances, you might put on the chains and detour around through a farmer's field in order to by pass an otherwise impossible road blockage. In the end, snow plows gave up a loosing battle and Highway 5 remained blocked for the rest of the winter and did not open up again until about the middle of June. Langdon could only be reached by a near 200 mile detour to the south.
One weekend I picked up my bride to be in Langdon and brought her back to Bathgate for fitting her wedding dress. In order that we both could be at work on time that coming Monday, we arranged for a small plane to fly her back to Langdon. When she was ready to move back to Bathgate before the wedding, I again made the 200 mile detour trip to Langdon but our return trip to Bathgate was shorter and easier. I headed east and north using several county roads to end up on the escarpment just above the City of Walhalla. There was a road covered with a deep layer of mud that slowly followed the path of the road down the hill that went straight down into Walhalla. I entered this ooze, which came up to running board level ,and gently steered my way to the bottom. At that point, a person with a tractor pulled us for about a half block so we were out of the mud and could continue on our way.
My father was taking care of our flooded home in Pembina. Getting him out of there and to the wedding presented another challenge. While most of the land was under water, the County road to the east towards Highway 81 was serviceable except for two rather large washouts. Local farmers had resolved this problem by placing parallel bridge planks across these washouts. I was not too enthusiastic about their solution but if you made absolute certain they were parallel, the right distance apart and you could drive straight, they were possible to cross in an automobile. In order to not add weight to my car, and possibly other reasons, my passengers did elect to get out and walk or crawl across these planks. With slight unease on each occasion, I crossed these chasms going and our return trip. Reaching Highway 81, we drove north toward Pembina finally stopping where water covered the rode just south of the Pembina airport. Using hip boots and a pole, to avoid falling into the ditch, we waded north a short distance to the section line north of the airport. Following this road over to the Northern Pacific RR track, we only had about a mile to walk into town. Meeting Dad, we reversed our track and headed back to Bathgate.
My best man came by train from Minneapolis to Noyes, MN. The National Guard provided transportation to Pembina by duck boat and from there you know the route.
I probably have already written too much in introducing myself and expressing interest in your site. So, again, thank you, and I'll be visiting!
I heard from another expatriate of our area a few days ago. His name is Clarence L. Bingham. As many do, he found my website serendipitously, reading the post about Dick Lapp, who he knew and - you'll read below - worked with...A great blog. I went to work for Railway Express at the Noyes depot in January 1949. Scottie and I lived upstairs in the Fitzpatrick house in Pembina. In late 1949 I started work with U. S. Customs, assuming Dick Lapp's job as supply and seizure clerk when he was promoted to liquidator.I asked him if the Fitzpatrick home he stayed at was perhaps my great uncle Richard Fitzpatrick's home, and who was Scottie? He replied...
Yes, a big brick home just south of the hotel. We called him Dick and I cannot at the moment think of Mrs. Fitzpatrick's name. He was depot agent for the GN at St.Vincent.
Scottie was Mary Helen Scott Bingham. My wife of 59 odd years, who died in 2007 here in Oregon. We were married January 22, 1949 at Muscoda, WI. Took the train a couple days later to Noyes, MN. where I had taken a job with Railway Expess. I had heard of the job through my uncle Sheldon Joyner,who was depot agent at Noyes for both the GN and Soo Line. Our office was in the north (cold) end of the depot, so was acquainted with all of the section hands and depot clerks. C. L. Bingham
Recently, Hallock expatriate Mike Haubrich visited back home and had this to share... I was up visiting my dad last week in Hallock, Minnesota. The county seat of Kittson County is in the far northwestern corner of the state. With a population of 1200 people, it is not a big town. It is, at that, still the biggest town in the county. I grew up in Hallock, but my parents’ roots are in a far smaller town. Orleans is 10 miles north and, during its heyday, peaked at some fifty people.
Fifty people is not a large enough group around which to build a full social circle. My parents had friends and family in both Humboldt to the west and Lancaster to the east. While I was growing up, my grandparents lived in Lancaster.
Read the rest of the story here...
This is Maurice Godon. 
I am thankful to have the long continuity in my life that goes back to Humboldt with Ralph and many of you! With Ralph, our friendship goes back to the Hallock Hospital when Ron Baldwin, Ralph and I became the "Big Three" of Humboldt. Our Mothers gave birth to us within a two week period and the rest is history. One of our topics of conversation was how the three of us all became world travelers. I think I mentioned before that Ralph had an extended trip in Jordan as a part of the policy work I described.
From Mike Rustad:So, ladies and gentlemen: Do you think anyone would have predicted that one of the local sons of Humboldt and St. Vincent would be in an executive management position deciding policy for the U.S. and arguably policies affecting the world?The Brookings Institution and Harvard are the twin towers of policy and our friend Ralph Giffen was selected for both programs. The Harvard program, which Ralph is enjoying immensely, has top policymakers around the world in an informal setting and his schedule also afford him the opportunity to explore our greater Boston. He did a walking tour of Concord and Lexington. Ralph is very well versed in the Civil War and now can add to his background. Ralph lives in Manassas, Virginia with his wife Nancy and two sons Benjamin (7th Grader) and Alex (5th grader).
I discovered that Mike Haubrich has moved to another website. Another native of our area that writes about his memories of Kittson County. If you visit his blog, be sure and click on the title of each entry to see the FULL entry; some of his earlier ones don't make it clear that there is more to the post, but there is, and trust me, you don't want to miss what he writes. 
Ada, daughter of a resourceful, creative brick - maker - cum - landowner - cum - horticulturist father born in the Orkneys, and an artistic, meticulous, musical mother, had attended the Glasdstone school as a girl. There she had studies at the foot of her favourite painting, "The Doctor," yearning to be a physician some day and save lives, too. At home, Ada had read the Wilsons' big Doctor Book from cover to cover. During summer holidays she had often gone to stay with friends at a nearby lake, and from afar had worshipped their family doctor whenever he and his wife had visited at the lake, too. At home, Ada had been her father's helper, and had loved to nurture their apples and strawberries, and had even tried her hand at brick-making as well. In the house, she had helped her mother, and had learned the mysteries of art and music and hardanger (an intricate Scandinavian embroidery). But by the time her senior years at school arrived, Ada had made up her mind to study Medicine although her parents would have preferred that she chose a life at home with them, and avoid the hardships of study and practise. But Ada had prevailed. She had applied for entrance to the Manitoba Medical College and had been accepted. To her delight, she found herself registered for 3 years of Science followed by 5 years of Medicine. Until her final year at College, no other woman was registered in Ada's class along with the 30 male medical students. The young Ada, destined to one of the first lady graduates of the Manitoba Medical College, experienced no discrimination because of her sex or age, and participated fully in all study sessions and all laboratory sessions throughout the 8 years at the College. During her final year at Medicine, Ada, along with two male medical students from her class, was invited to intern at Misericordia Hospital in Winnipeg at the same time continuing and successfully completing her studies at the College. In May 1922, Ada graduated from the Manitoba Medical College complete with a beautiful bouquet of her father's special tulips from Gladstone.SHE DARES FLOODS TO HELP THE SICKAnd now the Second World War was over, and many doctors and ministers were returning home to Canada. The Wallaces both yearned for a warmer climate, bade farewell to Emerson, and spent a winter in Florida. The following May 1949, they moved to British Columbia, where Dr. Harry had been appointed by the Superintendent of Home Missions to a term as pastor of the North Kamloops United Church, and as well, of the North Thompson Mission Field whose parishioners were strung out along a 160-mile trail from Kamloops to Blue River. Together the Wallaces undertook a week's "survey" of the latter area, a hazardous car-and-tent trip over a rough, narrow, gravel road that jutted like a rocky shelf halfway up the mountains, with the North Thompson River foaming far, far below! Dr. Harry and R. Ada met Scottish people at Barriere - some worked at the power plant there; scheduled services in a large Community Hall at Little Fort; Church at Bi4ch Island (and visited a hermit who claimed to live there happily for $6 a year); used a schoolhouse for meetings at Avola; and chose quarters in the temporarily empty Red Cross Hospital at Blue River. Thereafter, once a month Dr. Harry, and usually Dr. Ada, held services, conducted Sunday Schools, and made pastoral visits in each of these isolated congregations, travelling by car-and-tent until October. In winter Dr. Harry continued his monthly services to the five settlements, travelling by freight or passenger trains, alert for possible landslides. For the remaining 3/4 of each month, Dr. Harry devoted his energies to serving the congregation of North Kamloops United Church.
Lone Emerson Doctor lauded for her work
EMERSON, Apr 27. A grey-haired woman doctor has disproved for us any theories of the female being the weaker sex. If there is one person deserving to be singled out of the scores who have aided in the salvage of this water-ravished town it is Dr. Ada Wallace. The only doctor in a 30-mile radius, she has worked night and day on an international basis since the flood broke ten days ago. Monday afternoon after completing 75 typhoid inoculations for townspeople in a two-hour period, she took time out to outline the work of a country doctor during a flood. Dr. Wallace was called from her home during a heavy rainstorm last Saturday night, to rush aid to a seriously ill woman across the river in West Emerson. A 4-mile trip by auto and boat was required to reach the home of Mrs. Hunter Storms. The return trip was a race against time. Dr. Wallace won, and the woman was lifted aboard a Winnipeg-bound freight train to receive emergency treatment in a city hospital. Another trip made since the floods began took the Doctor to the farm home of George Johnston. Minutes after stepping out of a boat into hip-deep water, she had diagnosed measles for two of Mr. Johnston's children. A third emergency call took Dr. Wallace to Pembina ND, five miles from here. During the trip she was initiated into the intricacies of the U.S Army 'Duck", an amphibious vessel. "It was a lot of fun," the doctor smiled. "We had quite a ride in it." Treatment by remote control is another of Dr. Wallace's specialties. She prescribed treatment for John Kohut, will with pneumonia five miles from town. The messenger took the prescription and instructions back Sunday, and Monday the sick man was improving. Dr. Wallace was planning yet another mission, the transporting of the town "handy-man" to the Hallock, Minnesota hospital.
Dr. Harry's one-year term in the Thompson River Valley ended in the summer of 1950, following which he and Dr. Ada drove to Montreal. From there they sailed to Liverpool to explore by car Northern Ireland, Eire, England and Scotland from Land's End to the Orkney's. On their return in November, Dr. Ada and Dr. Harry settled in Vancouver near their daughter, Kathleen. Dr. Harry continued his service in the Masonic Lodge, and in June 1964, was appointed Grand Chaplain of the Masonic Order for BC and the Yukon. From 1951 to 1961 he served at Ryerson United Church as Associate Minister. In 1974, a biography of Dr. Ada was published in a prestigious Canadian book, "The Indomitable Lady Doctors", by Carlotta Hacker. On his 90th birthday in 1980, Dr. Harry's name was enrolled on the Honour Roll of the United Church of Canada.
I am a bit tardy in posting this since the Fargo Marathon was almost a month ago, but I thought it was fascinating to read that a native of St. Vincent was a runner, and he placed very well!"My family grew up on a farm between Orleans and Humboldt, and they moved to Lancaster in the 1950's and then to Hallock in the early 1960's..."
I recently discovered Mike Haubrich's blog quite by accident when doing general searches for this blog. I regularly do searches on keywords to locate information about our county, towns, and the general region that would be of interest to those from our area. You might be surprised how many people visit the website here, from all over the country and many from other parts of the world. Some are looking for general history that happened in our area, others are just interested in the site because it's a little window into a small part of our world. Others are expatriates like Mike, who grew up here but moved away. Like me, Mike moved away and moved around all over. Eventually, he - like me - moved back to the region. We're still not 'back home', but we are back close enough to have perspective and appreciation of our respective backgrounds.Sure, Hallock gets very cold in the winter. Brutally cold, as I have written in prior entries. But there are treasures in the north that people to the south don't get to experience. Real rhubarb pie, stands of white poplar and quaking aspen, traces of the summer sunset in the northern sky lasting until 11:30 at night, seeing the entire Big Dipper and best of all, basking in the glow of the Northern Lights.Death of a Friend and Fellow Hallockite:
Tim Hanson died over the weekend. I only knew him as a friend of my sister. People had suspected but weren't really sure about his sexuality as he was growing up. Turns out he was gay. I partied with him a couple of times after my sister moved to St. Paul. I had gotten out of touch with most of my age-group peers after I moved away from Minnesota in 1983, and when I moved back to Minnesota in 1993 I visited more frequently. When my sister moved to St. Paul I got to know some of the people that had been her friends when she was in school here.Starting With Hallock:
Tim was proud to have been from Hallock. We talked about our background and some of the things we shared by growing up there. It was then that I learned that he had a partner of 15 years. A male partner. Tim was one of the good guys. His life's chosen work was in helping the developmentally disabled, until he died in a car accident on March 17th. His car hit a telephone pole. Phil survived.
We need to clear up one thing, right now. The weather people in the Twin Cities report on the temperature in "Hal-eck" and I cringe. I would bet that most people think they are talking about Alexandria, which is nowhwere near the top left corner of Minnesota. Hallock is the county seat of the farthest northwest county in Minnesota. Our county borders both Manitoba and North Dakota, and is not in Lake Country.Midnight, Midnight Hope to See the Ghost Tonight
The name "Hallock" is pronounced differently by the natives than by anyone else. We call it "HAL-lock" and everyone else calls it "Halleck." We stretch the first syllable and make sure that the second is pronounced, while the others try to squeeze two syllables into one. They want to make the name as short as the town is small. We want to remind people that even though the town has a population around twelve hundred, it is the biggest town in Kittson County and worthy of a full two syllables.
Our house on Forest Street was big and old. It had a front porch, which we only used for play. We had a big yard, separated into a north section and a south section by the house. The east side of the yard provided plenty of room for play as well. We took advantage of it.Minimum Wage in the 1970's
Hallock's furniture store sat in two buildings on Second Street, across from the jewelry and drug stores. Gary Melin took over when his dad, Wilbur was too ill to carry on. Gary was only in his twenties when he took over management, but the people of Hallock liked working with him and trusted him to sell the best quality home furnishings at a reasonable price, considering the size of the town. Melin's carried appliances, paint, carpeting, TVs and of course furniture.
He hired me when I was sixteen to complement his staff of four; his mother Ella, Jan Carlson, me and himself. He paid me the grand sum of $1.95 per hour, which was minimum wage at the time. I didn't negotiate for a higher wage, considering that this was not bad money at the time and I had just completed a temporary job working the harvest for a local farmer at $1.50 an hour and thought I was rolling in tall clover.
Telling this story to a colleague at the financial services firm where I'm now employed, ignited memories and experiences about growing up in our rural Midwest towns. He also recalled learning specialized skills in his youth, becoming an avid roadside hunter and trader. Decades have passed and later generations of children have missed the opportunity of earning real money by marketing discarded bottles. Yet for me, it was pop bottle collecting that was the genesis of a frugal career in marketing and trading. |
| Click to Enlarge. You can see Elmer in the shade [Photo: David Stewart] |
Mayme Jury’s store represented the high end of the business. She used more discretion in purchasing bottles, rejecting those containing chips and cracks, flaws which inevitably destroyed all commercial value. Mayme, who was a kind but practical business person, quickly pointed out: “We purchase the bottles as a service. It is a small monetary remuneration in lieu of the previously paid deposit given when the bottles of soda were originally purchased. I'm not really a bottle dealer.”
The money I earned from pop bottle collecting was usually invested in another market, baseball and football cards. Even as a child I sought “diversification and balance” in my collection keeping players from every team. I enjoyed organizing according to position and appearance and reading and memorizing the statistics. When I was not spending time sorting and playing with the cards, I carried them in my back pocket tied by a rubber band with cover cards and team cards on the outside edges. I learned how to protect my favorite cards (this was the day before cards had value) by holding them out of any floor games. I learned that the cards that slid along the floor better lost their edge after being used several times. I wanted my favorites like Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris and Hank Aaron to hit the homer, but eventually the harder push would wear out the card and make them less desirable as a trading commodity. For that reason, I benched my favorites and played cards which I did not like very much such as Marv and Faye Thornberry. Willie, Roger, Harmon, Hank and the Mick were used as pinch hitters at appropriate times in the game, but it was Marv and Faye Thornberry that saw the floor action. Later in life I observed that my habit of saving the stars for special occasions was a technique used by major league managers to get the most out of aging stars. The aging stars did not play every day and sometimes only were put in the lineup in the hopes that their special magic would ignite a rally.
