Water Cooler V: Aunt Mildred's "Books"

In this edition of the "Water Cooler":  A wonderful visit among old friends and neighbors brings up some interesting recollections and memories - plus a tantalizing clue about Aunt Mildred's "books" that could provide a treasure trove of local Humboldt history!  Read on...

Darlene Liedle Daugherty What are you doing up? 

Cleo Bee Jones Same ol' same ol'...it gets old, doesn't it?  

John Nelson Home on the prairie. Homesick! 

Geo Howry Did you attend classes in the Elevator or the grain storage buildings? 

Cleo Bee Jones Actually, George it was in Selmer Locken's restaurant! I studied Buddy Holly's music... 

Bernie Marek I think my dad went to school there. 

Cleo Bee Jones Bernie, what is your Dad's name ? 

Keith Finney George, I later studied at the elevator with Punky. 

Bob Bockwitz Selmer's restaurant goes back a couple years... 

Michael Rustad Selmer - Selmer and Sandra Locken. The old bank building made a pretty good restaurant. I wonder why they tore it down as it was a brick building. And when was Selmer's restaurant torn down? Who remembers the It Cafe? Dotty Boatz had an amusing story about Bob going for lunch there until he discovered one of the kids pounding out hamburger patties with their feet! I remember that the Voits ran the It cafe and conceived of it as a dinner supper club with music. It missed the mark. I wonder what years that Ward and Ruby Finney had the restaurant. The Voits had it in the mid-sixties. Does anyone know what year Mayme's Fairview Grocery Store closed? The building stood for a decade of so after the closing. 

Cleo Bee Jones Keith, we are waiting for you to tell us... 

Bob Bockwitz Yes, Keith, we're waiting... 

Harry, when he worked for the Great Northern 

Bob Bockwitz The years back then all seem to turn to mush in my head, but I would say that the It Café would have been open through '63 and '64. Run by Kenny and Jean Voit. Kenny helped my dad for a short period of time. My dad and Harold Borg would take the football team there for hamburgers. Ward and Ruby would have been in there about '60-'61. Years may be a little off, but would be pretty close, based on 1964, when I graduated. Ruby had a pin-ball machine with a corner broken out of the glass. On the wall next to the machine hung a 'tool' made out of a coat hanger. The tool was bent just right to reach through the hole in the glass to give yourself a couple of games to start with. Ruby (bless her heart) thought it was cute, and never took away the 'tool'. I remember, too, Warren Reese. Warren had lost his legs and as we went to school in the morning, we would pick him up and carry him into the café. These conversations trigger a lot of memories. 

Bob Bockwitz I think Mayme would have closed at the very tail end of the sixties...? 

Cleo Bee Jones I recall Warren Reese when he had the little tiny restaurant in Pembina, the best malts ever, way before your time...! It was across from the Immigration bldg. Just a tiny little hole in the wall ! I wonder what happened to her [Aunt Mildred] "books", journals, as with Viola gone, too. 

Bob Bockwitz You got me there. I wasn't even aware he had a café. All I really remember of him is carrying him in and out of the café in Humboldt. I have a book that I acquired after Mom got killed. She had written almost everything about the family in it. Mostly family, though, and not so much about the community at large. I'll have to dig it out again and read through it to see what tidbits I can find. I know Ruby is mentioned because they were such close friends. 

Cleo Bee Jones I am trying to recall if he was son of Sid and Hattie Reese? Was Lorraine his sister...my story about her, I was singing at the Golden Nugget in Vegas and got a note that said, Do a song for the gal from across the "big ditch"...it was from her, as she and her husband had known I was there and come over to Vegas from LA (I think it was) to see me. I loved it. She was friends with Virginia and the family and I thought she was beautiful... 

Bob Bockwitz I think you're right. For some reason I don't recall Lorraine, though. Rodney is at the lake, so I can't ask him. I really need to get him talking some time and take notes. 

Cleo Bee Jones It was always sort of a joke, about Aunt Mildred's "books" as she must have stayed awake 24 hrs a day, to know everybody's moves in Humboldt, but I thought the world of her, even until she was quite up in age, as she really liked my late hubby...I know I have talked about this before, but worth another stab at it...after an appearance at Hallock Fair she got right up on the stage to visit with him. I was just so surprised and loved it. Quite a gal!! 

Michael Rustad Thanks everyone. Now this is one of the really useful and brilliant forms of communication on Facebook. 

Bob Bockwitz I know. I can look in Mom's book and see what day in 1954 she got a new sewing machine, or the day I got my hand in the lawn mower. Unfortunately, she didn't write too much about out in the community, even though she loved the community so much. 

Keith Finney I think Mildred knew when the Pope Pooped. She wrote everything down. 

Trish Short Lewis This has turned into another Water Cooler post, Michael...!

Across the Alley: The Ryan Siblings

Andy and Toots Ryan (Andrew and Margaret Ryan, to be exact) were brother and sister.  They lived together in a small, tidy house in the middle of St. Vincent, across an alley just north of my grandparents' home.  Toots and Grandma were friends...

Andy worked for the Great Northern Railway; Toots kept house for her brother.

I remember often going over to visit at Toots' home with my grandma.  Sometimes I'd come on up our road to visit Grandma and if she wasn't home, I'd run across the alley, across the Ryan lawn, and up Toots' high, large steps.  Their house was on a very high foundation, probably made that way to avoid flood waters.  Their steps did not match what that foundation needed, and despite the high steps, the last one into the house was a doozy in itself, especially for a little girl.

I remember the inside of Toots' house very well, as well as I remembered Grandpa and Grandma's. When you went through their door, you were immediately in a small kitchen.  It had a stove and small old fridge one-step-above an icebox.  The sink and counters were on the west side of the kitchen, with a window over it.  The sink did not have a faucet, but rather had a hand pump that drew up the cistern water when you hand-pumped it.  The floors - like my grandmother's house - were covered with old-fashioned linoleum.

The door into the next room was on the far right (east) of the north wall.  That led into a parlor where there was a big chair in the northeast corner, that sat on a large, old, threadbare oriental rug.  When Toots wasn't in the kitchen, she would hold court in the living room, sitting in the chair, while Grandma would sit in a rocker nearby.  Her feet sometimes didn't reach the floor, because she was a small woman.  I remember her as seeming as round as she was tall, and having white hair.  She called me "PK", because my first and middle names' initials (Patricia Kaye) reminded her of PK Gum.

When I was very little, I remember being at Toots' house with both Grandma and Mom.  They were visiting as usual, and I think they were laughing over something.  I began to stare at Toots and really take her in.  It wasn't like I hadn't noticed her before, but something about the situation, the light coming in from the nearby window shining on her...I don't know...but I suddenly REALLY saw her. Her hair was fluffy white around her face, she was missing a tooth or two.  As she laughed her face lit up and made me smile, too even though I had no clue what the grownups were talking about.  She had a dress on, with a full apron, and as she laughed her whole body shook including her large belly.  She felt my eyes on her, and looked my way.  I suddenly blurted out, "YOU'RE FAT!"

The room went silent, and for a moment or two, you could hear a pin drop.  Then Toots began laughing, and said, "PK, so I am!"  I had no sense of it being wrong, but my Mom soon told me different.  I apologized, but Toots and Grandma both continued to find much amusement out of the situation.

There was also a very old piano in the northwest corner of the room, with a round stool that you could spin around to adjust the height of. Its four legs ended with cast iron claws that clutched glass balls. As you might imagine, I had a lot of fun sitting on it and spinning!

The piano was a dark walnut, and some of the keys were missing. But of the many keys that were still covered, they were covered with real ivory, and were so beautiful compared to the keys of modern pianos.  The seat was worn very smooth, evidence of many people who had sat upon the stool over the years.  One can imagine the many songs that were played, maybe even sung to, at that piano. Evenings where the piano brought music and joy into the Ryan home. Now, however, despite its beauty and history, it was a shadow of its former self, including the tuning. It sounded like a piano in an old western saloon, so out of tune, it had a sort of tune all its own.  As a little girl, the sound delighted me, and I loved playing little ditties I knew by heart.

My nickname's inspiration

The kitchen and parlor were the only rooms in the downstairs. However, in the southwest corner of the parlor were stairs that came out of the wall and projected into the living room.  There was a curtain that closed the opening where the stairs met the wall, but beyond that was open stairs, upon which were stacked books, and a plant or two.  There was just enough room to allow a person to get up the stairs. I never did get upstairs, although I was always curious.  I was too timid to just go up without asking, and never felt brave enough to ask.

There came a time, after my Grandma got more ill from her diabetes, that her friendship with Toots waned and we saw her less.  She was friends with the Friebohle family, through St. Anne's, who took her under their wing and helped her out to get to the store, or to the doctor.  I'm not sure what happened to Toots, except that she outlived her brother Andy, who has forever lived in my memory as a stout man in striped overalls and a trainman's hat, as he appeared every so often upon return home once upon a time.

Water Cooler III: Further Down Memory Lane

This time, the water cooler chatter turned to our neighboring town - and good friends - Humboldt, MN.

Michael Rustad My Mother, Pat Carrigan Rustad, would have been 88 today. She died in 1989 at age 63.

Dan Ducharme So young

Cleo Bee Jones For sure, way too young

Donald Reese I think your dad was one of my closest friends.  I think he passed haway younger than that. I don't remember at what age...

Michael Rustad Dad passed away in 1986 at age 63.

Connie Lang Fowler I've already passed my mother's death by 16 years as well and all of the above died young as they say!

Maury Finney She and your Pop were super people!!! Great Humboldt memories!!

Michael Rustad Dad loved everyone in Humboldt. I remember him taking me to hear your Mom play the piano in the town hall. We actually had pretty vibrant town hall parties where everyone danced, roller-skated, played basketball. I think my Dad was just in love with Humboldt and everyone in the community. In all of his years, I never once ever heard him say anything remotely negative about anyone. Think the best of people was his watchword or his motto.

Cleo Bee Jones Sounds right...the more one thinks about it all, up there, the more one misses that way of life, my eyes leak so much when I remember all the people, friends, relatives, and just the life style and all...

Michael Rustad I was speaking last night with Aunt Norma and she told me that they would clear out the living room and have a house party with 50 or more. Everyone brought food and BYOB. She said she misses those house parties and where you can talk to your neighbor.

Maury Finney I really think when and where we grow up, we are so influenced by the community around us...Your mom and dad along with so many in Humboldt mentored a positive attitude and kindness. We were so fortunate to get our start there.

Donald Reese You're on-the-job education in a little community like Humboldt, including the surrounding farmers, really could be used for a foundation for your future,  I remember being interviewed at my workplace for an apprenticeship in maintenance job and was asked where I got my mechanic ability; my response was you don't grow up on a farm in Minnesota without knowing which end of the wrench to use. I got the job.

Water Cooler II

In this edition of the "Water Cooler", St. Vincent natives recall the simple pleasures of curling and ice skating.

I am younger than those in the conversation, but even I remember the curling rink when it *was* a curling rink (the building still exists), as well as the outdoor rink at Pembina. I even remember trying to go down those "creepy" steps once, as a 6-year old little girl. By then, the steps were getting a bit rickety, as well as being very steep; I chickened out! But I recall seeing others skating on it, especially at night with the string of bulbs that seemed to float above the ice. The rink was down a steep embankment, right alongside the Pembina River.

When the 1966 flood came, it was the end of the rink forever...

St. Vincent Curling Rink

Tess Dissmore THERE WAS A CURLING RINK IN ST.VINCENT ACROSS FROM THE GARDINERS. WE USED TO WATCH THEM PLAY , MY BROTHER -IN-LAW MANUEL GOOSELAW WAS PLAYING THERE ONE NITE AND THRU THE ROCK AND DIED OF A MASSIVE HEART ATTACK. , HE WAS MARRIED TO LEONA CAMPEAU. I BELIEVE IT WAS 1959 OR 60.

Ginny Grumbo-Mcallister Eva and Frank Gardiner were my aunt and uncle Dave Geddes In the late 1920.s when I learned to skate Pembina did not have a indoor rink.

Dorothy Barber Ted Ryan used to skate on a small rink that someone made sort of under - to the north - of the Pembina bridge.

Tess Dissmore WELL I WAS AROUND TILL 1957 AND WE ALWAYS WENT TO PEMBINA TO SKATE AND I DO REMEMBER TED RYAN.  SOMETIMES WE WALKED AND SOMETIME WE GOT A RIDE BUT IF WE HAD TO WALK HOME WE HAD A LONG TREK, IT SEEMED, BUT WAS SCARY TO GO OVER THE OLD BRIDGE. MANY GREAT MEMORIES SKATING ON OPEN RINK BY PEMBINA BRIDGE. TED RYAN, I REMEMBER HE WOULD THROW HIS HAT ON THE ICE AND HE HAD LONG BLADES ON HIS SKATES AND HE WAS A VERY GOOD SKATER AND WOULD COME AROUND FAST AND PICK UP HIS HAT W/ HIS SKATE. WE HAD A SHOW FOR US...ENJOYED HIM.

Cleo Bee Jones I loved going into Pembina to skate at the rink, the last time I skated there was 1958! Memories, la da da da da da da da da

Trish Short Lewis No one alive now has memories of the 1897 INDOOR skating rink in Pembina, but it evidently once existed...

Tess Dissmore THERE WAS A SKATING RINK IN ST. VINCENT RIGHT NEXT TO THE CURLING RINK, BUT I JUST DON'T REMEMBER SKATING THERE A LOT; JUST DON'T KNOW WHY NOT?

Donald Reese I remember the curling rinks, but not the Skating rink, the curling rink had wooden bleachers up on one end so you could watch them curl, and of course the brooms were different then. those old curlers could really make those old broom whisk. [Note:  In the early 1960s, I once sat on those bleachers myself.  It was towards the end of the building's use as a curling rink, and I was there to watch my grandfather play one of his last games...]

Delphine Mundorf yup those old brooms were like the old straw brooms we use to have. Watched grandpa use one in Bemidji in a tournament. He also threw the stone at different Times.

Betty Jeanne Short Thorsvig Sharon and I used to skate A LOT on the Pembina rink. She was a better skater than I. My memories of the Pembina Skating Rink are: how cool it was way below the city, made on an open plain above the river. When you entered to go down the creepy (steep) stairs off the main street, there was like a hundred wooden steps to even get down to it. They would play music. There was a wooden shack where you could borrow skates if you didn't have any. Wooden benches to sit and put on your skates and a stove to keep you warm. I also remember skating on Lake Stella and also Dad would clean off a spot for us on our land where was a pond. I LOVED winter as a kid!! Wish someone would have pictures far and near of that rink.

Chewing the Fat @ the Virtual Water Cooler

Recently, on a social media site, a few individuals who grew up in or near Humboldt, MN were reminiscing...

Deacon Jim Hunt One of my fondest Humboldt memories was living across from the Tri Honey Apiary. Old P.N Tri would let us go in when they were loading the extractors and get gobs of wax and honey on our fingers to chew. It was delicious and fun for a small boy growing up in the 50's in the little Minnesota town.Still love that honey and think of the Tri family every time I taste it.

Keith Finney I have lots of fond memories of them and the honey as well. Only got stung once and PN put a gob of wet mud on it. My eye still swelled shut. Ha. Tony and I used to stop by his grandma's after school for peanut butter and honey snacks.

Deacon Jim Hunt Henrietta - Very kind old woman.

Michael Rustad I used to worry about the bees but never once got stung. I spoke with Helen Tri often in her last years and I learned that Humboldt honey was mail-ordered around the world. They had a large number of dedicated customers in Germany, Switzerland, and Austria to name just a few. We had our specialty food business right in Humboldt across from the Hunt house. And speaking of that house, it was huge! We had some really big houses in Humboldt and some really small ones too. The Boatz house, built by the Elevator Association, was tiny. Our house later occupied by my Grandparents and still later by Dick Gatheridge was a nice size. Does anyone remember Ree Schoenberger and their house. I think Bill Sylvester lived there before Ree and his wife.

Does anyone remember an incident when a massive tree was cut down near or at the Hunt's place by an unknown vandal. I wonder how that could have happened.

The Mists of Time

A recent newspaper article reminded me of how quickly we can be forgotten.

I have often imagined the St. Vincent of the future as being a Brigadoon.  Every 100 years, it will come back for a time, rising amidst the mists along the Red River. Nothing left but memories, but memories so strong, they materialize.

I also have imagined the St. Vincent Cemetery residents as characters like in Our Town's third act, remembering for a time who they were, but slowly forgetting.  For a time, they hold conversations, remembering the past, looking onto the living, their comments both insightful and bittersweet.

And then there is me (Trip to Bountiful).  I cannot let go of the powerful memories that invade my dreams and daytime thoughts, that compel me to write about the places and people who were, and are now gone. But no, they are not gone.  They live in my memories.  They live in many of your memories reading this.  And for all we know, they live on past this life in a way we cannot yet comprehend.

Each one of us affects far more than we ever realize...

Mike Rustad: County Fair Memories

Ah, the perceptions of youth!  In this reminiscence, Mike Rustad takes us back to the Kittson County Fair of a generation ago.  If you're like me, it will resonate strongly with your own memories of that time and place...

I looked forward to the the Kittson County Fair each summer. I enjoyed the rides as well as the carnival. My brother Tony and I collected pop bottles to save for the Fair. We would frequently have 4-H exhibits at the Fair. I remember once we were on a Tilt-a-Whirl (or similar ride) and Tony got sick on the ride. The operator of the ride was a crude man with a number of tattoos including something like "Born Loser." In any case, he would not let us leave until we cleaned up the ride. Since Tony was in no condition to help, it was left up to me. As farm boys, we were somewhat intimidated by the carnival workers. It was quite common for the carnival games to be rigged. I think that we would lose only a $1 or so on these games but they were cheap tuition. I think that the Fair illustrated the seedy side of society as well as the best.

The Fair was like the Tale of Two Cities: the best of times and the worst of times. One of the worst moments was experienced by my Mother. In an essay she wrote for the Scribe Tribe¹, she recounted how she placed her glasses case dutifully beside the hole.The case was cylinder shape and began rolling toward the hole because apparently the toilet was not level. In her haste to grab it, the clasp came open. Her glasses and keys went down the the dark smelly abyss. She was embarrassed but decided to take action. She found the Fair Manager and asked him for a flashlight and a shovel. The Manager asked her what she wanted them for. She was stopped numerous times by friends asking what she was doing with the shovel and flashlight. She dragged the odorous privy for a long time without success. For years after the episode, she was asked about how she got home without her glasses and car keys. For my Mother, this was the worst of times. 

The Fair was also the best of times. The lights of the rides were beautiful. For many years the Fair was not complete without a tremendous thunder storm and sometimes funnel clouds in the area. Later, a tornado destroyed the Fair Grandstand only a short time after it was filled to capacity. The severe weather conditions and the lights brought an indescribable excitement to the Fair. The 4-H exhibit hall was a favorite place. I always took time to look at every exhibit. I always wondered how I could never get beyond a red ribbon for my vegetables and insect collection. There were a number of local merchants who had exhibits. One of the highlights of the Fair was when the car dealer would give away a car and also bicycles. I never won but the anticipation of winning such a prize was greater than Publisher's Clearing House. 

My favorite place to eat at the fair was the Larson Family Stand which made the best hamburgers and generally had the best food at the Fair. Joyce Baldwin from Humboldt was a Larson and so many of the Baldwin kids helped out at the "Larson" food stand. Each of the 4-H clubs had special exhibits which depicted our activities for the year. I belonged to the "Stick-To-It" Club which was one of the oldest Kittson County Clubs. We had very good adult supervision. The Gatheridges, Baldwins, Bahrs, Wieses, Diamonds, Clows and many other families were active in the club. I remember that the older kids in the club were very helpful to the younger ones in exhibiting their products. Dennis Diamond was one of those older kids who was always helpful to Scott Clow and I who also showed sheep. Another memory I have is a 4-H parade through Hallock. A very pretty young lady asked me to help control her very large and unruly 4-H calf. I managed to keep the calf from stampeding through the streets of Hallock, but still received only a white ribbon. I can still remember the smell of those hamburgers at the Larson family stand. I hope that other former Kittson County residents will contribute their memories of the Fair and of their "Wonder Years." 

¹ - The Scribe Tribe began as a continuing education course in 1966.  The writing class morphed into a club with meetings in homes. These were more than social events - everyone in the club felt a great social pressure to produce writing. It was Dotty Boatz who first suggested that a writing course taught at Humboldt-St. Vincent High School continue on as a club and she was one of the most active members. The Scribe Tribe proved to be a huge success, and Gloria Swanson and Virginia Ott ended up writing a very interesting book on Fred Jones, who was an innovative handyman and inventor who lived in Hallock for many years. The title of the book was Man With a Million Ideas: Fred Jones, Genius/Inventor.

Past Resident Memories: John Stranger

John Stranger - Back row, middle

A MEMOIR OF A LIFE, FOR BETTER OR WORSE

By John A. Stranger

CHAPTER ONE

Beginnings

This all begins in a small town in Minnesota during the 40's when growing up was a struggle without all the things a boy wants and dreams about. Outdoor toilets and dressing behind the oil burner turned up full blast where my brother (4 yrs. Younger) and I learned to dress very fast during the cold Minnesota winters.

My brother was a great kid even though we would have our brotherly confrontations. We had a younger sister too and she learned to hold her own with us boys. Our parents were very strict on almost everything that they thought was for our best interests even though we tried to disagree with our parents at times but trying to obey seemed better than a beating, (most we probably had coming).

Thankful

Dan Ohmann made these to hand out as thank-yous at
this summer's town reunion, using the town's
actually official seal stamp/press...

As Thanksgiving approaches, I reflect back on this year's town reunion.  I'm so thankful that we were able to make it happen, and that all those who attended were able to make it.  It was a wonderful day, a time for so many to reconnect, to reacquaint themselves with old neighbors and friends.

Memories: Alan E. Wilwand

As a youngster growing up in Pembina, I had a second town - St. Vincent.

Wallace & Matilda Cameron's
Home during 1950 flood
[Photo:  Turner Family Collection]

My grandparents, Wallace and Matilda Cameron lived there.  I was crossing that old Red River bridge whenever I got the chance.  I loved my grandparents.  Grandma made the greatest date-filled cookies!  The house where they lived was north of Short's Cafe.  The house is gone now, but the memories linger on.  My grandmother was a seamstress and speculator.  She gave me the deeds to about half of the places that she had bought in St. Vincent.  Who knows?  I may own half of the town!

After WW II, my Uncle Ralph (Ike) Cameron worked at Short's Cafe.  He would give me those double ice cream cones, one side vanilla and the other cohcolate or strawberry, heaping the helpings.  Ma Short was taking a big loss on ice cream with those!

If walls could talk:  the
St. Vincent jail today...

I remember so many things about St. Vincent.  My Grandfather was the town constable.  I believe the old jail is still standing.  He gave me the big lock and key for it.  He also gave me the pair of handcuffs that he used.  I donated his daily log that he carried in his breast pocket, to the Kittson County Museum in Lake Bronson.  That diary saved his life the time that he was shot.  I believe the museum also has one of my paintings that I did of the old fire hall.  I remember the fire hall well.  This is where he set up his office once in awhile.  The depot that was established in 1878 was close by.  My grandparents' big barn floated down the Red River in the flood of 1948.

Interview: Beth Lapp

Elizabeth Lapp in 1948
[Courtesy:  Digital Archive, UMC] 

Thanks to Kristine Baldwin Ohmann, who facilitated our get together, I interviewed one of the oldest living natives (and a resident) of St. Vincent last weekend.

Elizabeth Lapp, better known as Beth, was raised in St. Vincent.  Her parents, Richard (Dick) and Lillian Lapp, met in 1926 when her mother came to town to teach at the school. Dick's parents were early settlers of St. Vincent, arriving in 1879 from Canada.

I share with you here the interview in its entirety, as it happened.  As you will read, there are a lot of clues for further stories, which I intend to explore in future posts...

1. Her earliest memory is of getting ill and vomiting on her workbook at school. In those days, you only got one workbook to use for your schoolwork, so she was mortified. She was sitting near chalkboard at the time. Her teacher was Miss Penovich.

2. Some of her other teachers were: Elaine Bergh, Gunda Hanson, Mrs. Isley, and Mrs. Monte(gue) Clinton.

3. The year she had Mrs. Clinton, “we didn’t learn anything”. Math and Science were "sacrificed for art". All she remembers is Mrs. Clinton having the class place chairs facing west and looking out towards Christ Church and drawing what they saw…

4. When it came time to go to high school, students during her time had three choices: Hallock, Pembina, or Crookston. Hallock and Pembina were public school (free) while Crookston was a boarding school and charged tuition. This was during the 1940’s and into the 1950’s.

Northwest School of Agriculture Crookston MN
[Photo Courtesy Digital Archive, UMC]

5. Crookston was called the ‘Ag School’. It's actual name was the Northwest School of Agriculture.  Several area natives attended it, including Beth and her siblings.

Triggered Memories

I received an email from Michael Rustad saying my recent post about P.N. Tri brought back some memories of his own, and that he hoped those reading the posts here will share with me any such triggered memories they may have.  That's always been one of my hopes, that people reading these memories and histories, will share their own memories and histories of this little corner of the world.

PN Tri was a major figure in the history of Humboldt and St. Vincent.  I did not know that he was the first advisor to the Humboldt Stick to It Club. 

"Incoming!"

I belonged to the Stick to It Club and it was one of the best 4H clubs in N.W. Minnesota.  We had great leadership.  Marian Anderson from Humboldt won the state 4H dress making competition and was crowned at the State Farm.  Dennis Diamond was a consistent State Farm prize winner.  We had so many innovative parent and teacher advisors over the years.  Earl and Beatrice Bahr helped us immensely when they built our equivalent of the Diamond of Dreams on their farm.  Earl mowed a field so we could practice for our 4H softball team.  The year was 1965 and Humboldt's Stick to It 4H club was a powerhouse softball team.  It was boys and girls who played.  Dee Dee Diamond played on that team on the girl's side.  My brother Tony and I were the stars of the team.  We were the home run hitters, the ringers of the team.  Tony and I practiced softball daily.  We would pitch to each other and invented a game.  A home run was when we hit it over the barn with a towering drive.  A double was a hit into the chicken wire.  The chickens soon learned that they were to go in the barn when we played. We never hit a single chicken despite many hits into the chicken's yard.

Tales of St. Vincent:

Rev. Kimberley's Grandson

In my eternal quest for stories and history about my beloved hometown, I came across a former resident's grandson¹ who lives in far off Oregon.

Here is a story the grandson remembers being told about...

Yes, I am the grandson of Rev. James Kimberley.

My father grew up in St. Vincent. I've never been there, but he told me many stories about growing up there. I think their house had a white picket fence around it. My father told me that when his parents were gone for the day, he was to rake up all the leaves. He had some matches and set little piles of leaves on fire, then stamped it out. It got bigger and bigger and the stamping didn't work. It caught the fence on fire. half of it was burned when his parents came home. He hid upstairs under their bed. His father found him and in his British accent said, "I say, Gurney, are you there?"  He responded, "NO!" His father was not amused. He caught hell for that one.  

 [as recalled by Ogden Kimberley, shared with me February 26, 2011]

¹ - I think Rev. K would like that his grandson is a bagpiper!

Fading Away

Population 6...plus two big dogs
[Photo: Ghosts of Minnesota]

There are towns even smaller than St. Vincent, but not many.

One of them is Tenney, Minnesota.

Tenney recently dissolved, meaning they are no longer a town.  I can't help but realize that it's only a matter of time before St. Vincent has to face that decision.

When I was growing up, St. Vincent had around 200 people.  It was already in its descendency, a shadow of what it once was.  But there were hints of its glory days, such as the sidewalks - some sections had been maintained well, others were disappearing under encroaching soil and grass.  We still had a general store, a gas station (two, when counting the Junction), a post office, a school, and four churches (St. Anne's Catholic Church, Valley Community Church - later known as St. Vincent Evangelical Free Church - Christ Church, and the Plymouth Brethren Church.  We also still held an annual fall event, the St. Vincent Fair (which was at one time, vying to be the county fair.  Despite Hallock prevailing, St. Vincent continued their fair tradition for many years, and people from around the area continued to enter their produce, livestock, hand work, and baked goods in friendly (but deadly serious) competition!

But I digress.  The point here is, all of that is long gone.  It echos in my mind how my mother and grandmother used to talk wistfully about what the town used to be like, all the life of the town now gone, they said - businesses, families, parks, public concerts and socials.  They pointed out here was where a saloon was, there was where the blacksmith's shop was.  Across the road by that alley - which was actually the old railroad track bed - was where the depot used to be.  On a trip with my father to the nuisance ground, my mother told me that was where the park used to be, and there was a gazebo there, where town brass bands would play on Sunday afternoons.  The fair itself used to be down by the river once, too, but later was held in the downtown.  Exhibits were in the Quonset, near the old temporary holding pens once used by the railroad for livestock, now used for sheep, hogs, etc. at fair time.

Now there are only around 60 souls.  Every block has vacancies, empty space where once stood homes and businesses, where circumstances have, like a cancer, dictated surgical removals.  Natives like myself can walk the streets, seeing and hearing what once was.  Like ghosts bearing witness, it is all too real.  The poignancy is very bittersweet.  I once saw a movie that hit all too close to home, and it made me think how my hometown was headed in that same direction.

Most people don't face a death in the family involving their hometown, but that is how it feels to me.  St. Vincent has never just been where I'm from, it's my family.  All those souls from the past, that I grew up with, related by blood or by just being neighbors, were not merely faces and names to me, but family.  I miss them all, and their memories will never fade from my mind as long as I am alive.  This blog is testimony to them as much as I am able to make it...

Poem about Humboldt

Downtown Humboldt around the time the poem was written...

Ode to the North
[With apologies to Longfellow, and
acknowledgement to the Franssens]
Author anonymous
(Written circa 1938)

I
In the old Red River Valley,
Near the muddy, rusty, river
There’s a town by the name of Humboldt
Little town, quite far from St. Cloud!
Up, far up into the Northland
Where the people are dirt farmers
Strong and handsome sidewalk farmers.
Farm one farm and then another
Farms the whole damn country round them
Rent the land by sections, even
When we farm only 100 acres!

II
Much the things they do there different
All use tractors ‘stead of horses
Trucks and trailers ‘stead of wagons
People there are great on motors,
All got cars and big machineries
Packards, Plymouths, Dodges Chevies
Buicks, Fords what got the shimmies
Deering, Farmalls, Allis Chalmers,
Bradley, Deere John, and Missus Harris
All own combines, lusty swathers,
But they don’t have cultivators
Cause they don’t grow corn way up there.

III
In the springtime comes the rainstorms
Rains and rains and comes the gumbo
Slippery, slimey, black and dirty
Charlsie scrapers and calls it cowshit
Cause its all so smooth and stickey
Trucks get stuck, must be pulled out
By the fat man’s caterpillar
Gum gets tracked in the houses
Housewives have to clean and scrub them
But they do these little labors
Think not much of little labors
Glad to live up in the Northland.

IV
Up from St. Cloud comes the girlies
Stay to sport away vacation
With Aunt Pearl and Uncle Ollie (Berg)
Tear around with neighbor laddies,
Goes to shows with Wimp and Gordy
Vamps around and goes to Bronson
Have themselves a plenty good time
Play the checkers and the ping-pong
Drink root beer and eats the pop corn
Rides in trucks and on the combine
Drive Joe Diamond's “Master Chevie”
And with his beloved, Jerry!

V
In the town there is the people
Leonard, Herb and Lawrence Diamond
Big B’S-ers, them three fellows
Like to tease and tell big stories
All in fun does Ikey do it
Him the Cop, - - - the Chief of Police
Him the Fire Sergeant also,
But not the Mayor,
Him is Tom Brown.
Squirty little duck, the mayor,
All for work and money getter.

VI
Bumped his head on Bud’s truck mirror
Wondered what the hell had happened
Looked around and pulled his whiskers
Bud and Donnie blowed a tire
Knocked the cap from Uncle Bud off
Blew the cigarette from his mouth out
Donnie Brown rolled over backwards
Laughed & laughed and rubbed his stomach
Him the kid that can fry “burgers”
Juicy, greasy hot hamburgers
He displayed his art one winter
At Aunt Pearl’s and Buds Household

VII
Also for Tom, works Sylvester,
Fat and happy Slim Sylvester,
Went with teacher from the "Hoc Schule"
Drives himself a pretty Chevie
Scoots around with old "Shell" gas truck
Round town and in the country
Bringing gasses to the farmers
Much he teases little Mary
Also Pete and sassy Jerry

Reminiscing

In photo (l to r): Uncle Charlie (Cresien) & Aunt Norma (Carrigan); a very young
Mike Rustad held by his father Alfred "Rusty" Rustad with his wife, Patricia
(Carrigan); and Aunt Virginia (Carrigan) with Uncle Al (Alfred Ducharme)
"This picture was taken right outside of our house in Humboldt.  We 
lived in town and my Dad worked on my Grandfather's farm.  We moved 
from Humboldt when I was 7 years old.  I was the first grandchild on 
both sides of the family - Rustad and Carrigan.  At about that age, 
I would entertain the residents of Grandma Carrigan's rest home in 
East Grand Forks, Minnesota.  I still seem to like the center stage!" 
- Mike Rustad

Michael Rustad - What I remember most is that there were no vacation days when you had cows. I was fairly young around 7 or 8 when I was given the responsibility to change the bedding for the cows and it was always dark when I had to open up the barn door--which was sometimes frozen! Did you find it a relief of sorts to move into the town when your parents ran the cafe? I envied the town kids--Lofbergs, Boatzes, etc.

Keith Finney ¹ - Funny thing Mike. I used to go out to the Stewart's to help with chores. I remember Glen walking out to the farm north of Humboldt many days. That brings up a memory. Jay Hoglin and I had skiied out to Grandpa and Grandma Turner's farm one Sunday. We were hunting rabbits. We took supplies so we could melt snow and make some soup while we were out there. I remember it being a pretty nice winter day. It soon started to snow real hard so we started making our way back to Humboldt. We got back to Diamond's farm and started following the railroad track south. We had our hands full of skis, guns and supplies. We had the wind at our backs so we were staying warm. We had just passed the Stewart farm and still could not see the lights of Humboldt as it was storming so bad. Then the surprise! Bang! I bumped right into Ben² who was walking the tracks out to his farm to do chores. It surprised us all and when we all regained our composure we went our merry ways. One thing I remember was Ben was wearing a mackinaw which was wide open. (not buttoned), He was only wearing one glove as he had one off to carry his Lucky Strike. He was a hardy man. We then made our way home to our worried families and a warm home. Just another day in Humboldt.

¹ - Keith is my second cousin once removed - his grandmother Mary Fitzpatrick Finney was my grandfather Sheldon Albert Fitzpatrick's sister.

² - Ben was the nickname for Glen Stewart; sometimes he was called Big Ben...

Letter to Rusty

The letter below was received by Alfred "Rusty" Rustad while he was in the service during WWII. It was written by a local representative of the Red Cross; the introduction is from an article that featured the letter, which appeared in the Kittson County Enterprise a few years ago. It paints a unique picture of his hometown area around Humboldt, capturing the people and events of that time...

Another View

by Rev. Hugh Bell

It's been almost one year since my last "View" so when I received a copy of this enclosed letter I thought it a most opportune time to catch up on correspondence in the Enterprise.

The enclosed letter was sent to Alfred Rustad, Jr. "Rusty" 60 years ago this month. For those of us old enough to remember WWII, we remember a time when just about everyone was in the same boat. It was a time of sacrifice and unbelievable hardship. It was also a time of great family support and great national support. Something that perhaps is lacking in the most recent of our wars including the present day battle in Iraq and Afghanistan. WWII was a time when the whole country pulled together for a common good. Today it seems as tho more energy is put into political rhetoric and profit seeking than into freedom in the Middle East. If we could just stop blaming others for our problems, wouldn't it be a wonderful world. Enough sermon, now to Rusty's letter.

March 1941 Blizzard Revisited

Coverage of 1941 Blizzard in Minnesota & North Dakota
[WILMINGTON MORNING STAR, North Carolina, March 17, 1941]

Last year I wrote about the 'Ides of March' blizzard of 1941, sharing a story that a reader of this blog sent me of his memories of that event.

Now, in the course of my new job, a patron shared with me that a book had been written about the blizzard.  In the book, there are several references to local/regional stories of people touched by that storm, including the following two stories...

Guy Maddin & Me

Maddin's documentary is built on myths and memories

When Maddin agreed to make a film about his hometown...it became what he calls a “docu-fantasia,” a potent, highly personal blend of fact and fiction. My Winnipeg is a hypnotic vision of a dreamy burg trapped in eternal winter and heavy, hibernating passivity. Shot in gauzy black and white...

From Home Truths

I adore Guy Maddin.

His narration in My Winnipeg strongly resonates with me. It's how I feel about St. Vincent. He talks about the city haunting him in his dreams. How no matter where he is, Winnipeg is right there with him. Boy, do I relate...