Used Cars and Fish ... They're The Same

by June T. Bassemir

Selling a used car is just like fishing for bass in Lake Champlain so…….

You park the car on the front lawn for all to see.  It has a red “For Sale” sign on it showing your phone number displayed prominently and is sure to bring results.

*** Now, set out to go fishing in your new “Whaler”; drop a line in the water with this year’s fishing lure that the top salesman at Dick’s sporting goods store said, “It’s the best lure this season and guaranteed to catch lots of bass.”

The phone rings and a buyer is interested in your car.

***There is a nibble on the line… you play it appropriately, although it might just be eel grass.

“Are you the original owner?”  Is the price firm?

You explain “Yes, you are the original owner and for now the price is fixed.”

He says he’ll get back to you.

***You reel in the line and remove the eel grass.  Set the line out again and watch as it trails behind the boat...

Another ring from the phone and this time it’s a woman.  She is definitely interested - so much so… she wants to drive it.

***Whoa …The nibble on the line is steady now and you set the hook with a jerk.  Ah… you got a big one…but wait…..

The lady comes back after driving it and says “I like it.  Will you take a check?”  Huh?...You don’t know this lady from Adam, so you say: “Sorry No checks…Cash or a Bank check.” .

***The bass is on the line but breaks the water.

The woman leaves.

*** Then the line goes slack and the fish has spit the hook!  Ugh 

Lots more phone calls……

***And nibble after nibble, but so far the fish net is dry and there are no bass in the bottom of the boat.

But lo! The woman calls again.  “Have you sold the car yet?”

***Ah…Now, .there is an unmistaken drag on the line and you have just hooked the biggest bass in Lake Champlain.

She has a fresh Cashier’s check in her hot hand and you sell the car on the spot.

***The bass is big; breaks the water but stays on the hook and you reel him alongside the boat.  “Get the net.. get the net.  It’s fish for dinner tonight and money in the bank tomorrow.” 

Selling a used car is just like fishing and it's fun! 

April 28, 2012

copyright, 2012, June T. Bassemir

U.S.S. Barb: The Sub That Sank A Train

Found on the Internet, author unknown.
 
In 1973 an Italian submarine named Enrique Tazzoli was sold for a paltry $100,000 as scrap metal. The submarine, given to the Italian Navy in 1953, was originally the USS Barb, an incredible veteran of World War II service with a heritage that never should have passed so unnoticed into the graveyards of the metal recyclers.   The U.S.S. Barb was a pioneer, paving the way for the first submarine launched missiles and flying a battle flag unlike that of any other ship. In addition to the Medal of Honor ribbon at the top of the flag identifying the heroism of its captain, Commander Eugene "Lucky" Fluckey, the bottom border of the flag bore the image of a Japanese locomotive. The U.S.S. Barb was indeed, the submarine that "SANK A TRAIN".
 
July 18, 1945 (Patience Bay, Off the coast of Karafuto, Japan):
It was after 4 A.M. And Commander Fluckey rubbed his eyes as he peered over the map spread before him. It was the twelfth war patrol of the Barb, the fifth under Commander Fluckey. He should have turned command over to another skipper after four patrols, but had managed to strike a deal with Admiral Lockwood to make one more trip with the men he cared for like a father, should his fourth patrol be successful. Of course, no one suspected when he had struck that deal prior to his fourth and what should have been his final war patrol on the Barb, that Commander Fluckey's success would be so great he would be awarded the Medal of Honor.
 
Commander Fluckey smiled as he remembered that patrol. "Lucky" Fluckey they called him. On January 8th the Barb had emerged victorious from a running two-hour night battle after sinking a large enemy ammunition ship. Two weeks later in Mamkwan Harbor he found the "mother-lode"... More than 30 enemy ships. In only 5 fathoms (30 feet) of water his crew had unleashed the sub's forward torpedoes, then turned and fired four from the stern. As he pushed the Barb to the full limit of its speed through the dangerous waters in a daring withdrawal to the open sea, he recorded eight direct hits on six enemy ships.
 
What could possibly be left for the Commander to accomplish who, just three months earlier had been in Washington, DC to receive the Medal of Honor? He smiled to himself as he looked again at the map showing the rail line that ran along the enemy coastline.
 
Now his crew was buzzing excitedly about bagging a train!
 
The rail line itself wouldn't be a problem. A shore patrol could go ashore under cover of darkness to plant the explosives... One of the sub's 55-pound scuttling charges. But this early morning Lucky Fluckey and his officers were puzzling over how they could blow not only the rails, but also one of the frequent trains that shuttled supplies to equip the Japanese war machine. But no matter how crazy the idea might have sounded, the Barb's skipper would not risk the lives of his men. Thus the problem... How to detonate the charge at the moment the train passed, without endangering the life of a shore party. PROBLEM?
 
Solutions! If you don't look for them, you'll never find them. And even then, sometimes they arrive in the most unusual fashion. Cruising slowly beneath the surface to evade the enemy plane now circling overhead, the monotony was broken with an exciting new idea: Instead of having a crewman on shore to trigger explosives to blow both rail and a passing train, why not let the train BLOW ITSELF up? Billy Hatfield was excitedly explaining how he had cracked nuts on the railroad tracks as a kid, placing the nuts between two ties so the sagging of the rail under the weight of a train would break them open. "Just like cracking walnuts," he explained. "To complete the circuit (detonating the 55-pound charge) we hook in a micro switch... Between two ties. We don't set it off, the TRAIN does." Not only did Hatfield have the plan, he wanted to be part of the volunteer shore party.
 
The solution found, there was no shortage of volunteers; all that was needed was the proper weather... A little cloud cover to darken the moon for the mission ashore. Lucky Fluckey established his own criteria for the volunteer party:
 
....No married men would be included, except for Hatfield,
 
....The party would include members from each department,
 
....The opportunity would be split between regular Navy and Navy Reserve sailors,
 
....At least half of the men had to have been Boy Scouts, experienced in how to handle themselves in medical emergencies and in the woods.
 
FINALLY, "Lucky" Fluckey would lead the saboteurs himself.
 
When the names of the 8 selected sailors was announced it was greeted with a mixture of excitement and disappointment. Among the disappointed was Commander Fluckey who surrendered his opportunity at the insistence of his officers that "as commander he belonged with the Barb," coupled with the threat from one that "I swear I'll send a message to ComSubPac if you attempt this (joining the shore party himself)." Even a Japanese POW being held on the Barb wanted to go, promising not to try to escape!
 
In the meantime, there would be no more harassment of Japanese shipping or shore operations by the Barb until the train mission had been accomplished. The crew would "lay low", prepare their equipment, train, and wait for the weather.
 
July 22, 1945 (Patience Bay, Off the coast of Karafuto, Japan)
Patience Bay was wearing thin the patience of Commander Fluckey and his innovative crew. Everything was ready. In the four days the saboteurs had anxiously watched the skies for cloud cover, the inventive crew of the Barb had built their micro switch. When the need was proposed for a pick and shovel to bury the explosive charge and batteries, the Barb's engineers had cut up steel plates in the lower flats of an engine room, then bent and welded them to create the needed tools. The only things beyond their control were the weather.... and time. Only five days remained in the Barb's patrol.
 
Anxiously watching the skies, Commander Fluckey noticed plumes of cirrus clouds, then white stratus capping the mountain peaks ashore. A cloud cover was building to hide the three-quarters moon. This would be the night.
 
MIDNIGHT, July 23, 1945
The Barb had crept within 950 yards of the shoreline. If it was somehow seen from the shore it would probably be mistaken for a schooner or Japanese patrol boat. No one would suspect an American submarine so close to shore or in such shallow water. Slowly the small boats were lowered to the water and the 8 saboteurs began paddling toward the enemy beach. Twenty-five minutes later they pulled the boats ashore and walked on the surface of the Japanese homeland.
 
Stumbling through noisy waist-high grasses, crossing a highway and then into a 4-foot drainage ditch, the saboteurs made their way to the railroad tracks. Three men were posted as guards, Markuson assigned to examine a nearby water tower. The Barb's auxiliary man climbed the ladder, then stopped in shock as he realized it was an enemy lookout tower.... an OCCUPIED tower. Fortunately the Japanese sentry was peacefully sleeping and Markuson was able to quietly withdraw and warn his raiding party.
 
The news from Markuson caused the men digging the placement for the explosive charge to continue their work more slowly and quietly. Twenty minutes later the holes had been dug and the explosives and batteries hidden beneath fresh soil.
 
During planning for the mission the saboteurs had been told that, with the explosives in place, all would retreat a safe distance while Hatfield made the final connection. If the sailor who had once cracked walnuts on the railroad tracks slipped during this final, dangerous procedure, his would be the only life lost. On this night it was the only order the saboteurs refused to obey, all of them peering anxiously over Hatfield's shoulder to make sure he did it right. The men had come too far to be disappointed by a switch failure.
 
1:32 A.M.
Watching from the deck of the Barb, Commander Fluckey allowed himself a sigh of relief as he noticed the flashlight signal from the beach announcing the departure of the shore party. He had skillfully, and daringly, guided the Barb within 600 yards of the enemy beach. There was less than 6 feet of water beneath the sub's keel, but Fluckey wanted to be close in case trouble arose and a daring rescue of his saboteurs became necessary.
 
1:45 A.M.
The two boats carrying his saboteurs were only halfway back to the Barb when the sub's machine gunner yelled, "CAPTAIN! Another train coming up the tracks!" The Commander grabbed a megaphone and yelled through the night, "Paddle like the devil!", knowing full well that they wouldn't reach the Barb before the train hit the micro switch.
 
1:47 A.M.
The darkness was shattered by brilliant light and the roar of the explosion. The boilers of the locomotive blew, shattered pieces of the engine blowing 200 feet into the air. Behind it the cars began to accordion into each other, bursting into flame and adding to the magnificent fireworks display. Five minutes later the saboteurs were lifted to the deck by their exuberant comrades as the Barb turned to slip back to safer waters. Moving at only two knots, it would be a while before the Barb was into waters deep enough to allow it to submerge. It was a moment to savor, the culmination of teamwork, ingenuity and daring by the Commander and all his crew. "Lucky" Fluckey's voice came over the intercom. "All hands below deck not absolutely needed to maneuver the ship have permission to come topside." He didn't have to repeat the invitation. Hatches sprang open as the proud sailors of the Barb gathered on her decks to proudly watch the distant fireworks display. The Barb had "sunk" a Japanese TRAIN!
 
On August 2, 1945 the Barb arrived at Midway, her twelfth war patrol concluded. Meanwhile United States military commanders had pondered the prospect of an armed assault on the Japanese homeland. Military tacticians estimated such an invasion would cost more than a million American casualties. Instead of such a costly armed offensive to end the war, on August 6th the B-29 bomber Enola Gay dropped a single atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima, Japan. A second such bomb, unleashed 4 days later on Nagasaki, Japan, caused Japan to agree to surrender terms on August 15th. On September 2, 1945 in Tokyo Harbor the documents ending the war in the Pacific were signed.
 
The story of the saboteurs of the U.S.S. Barb is one of those unique, little known stories of World War II. It becomes increasingly important when one realizes that the 8 sailors who blew up the train near Kashiho, Japan conducted the ONLY GROUND COMBAT OPERATION on the Japanese "homeland" of World War II. The eight saboteurs were:
 
Paul Saunders
William Hatfield
Francis Sever
Lawrence Newland
Edward Klinglesmith
James Richard
John Markuson
William Walker
 
 
Footnote: Eugene Bennett Fluckey retired from the Navy as a Rear Admiral, and wears in addition to his Medal of Honor, FOUR Navy Crosses... a record of awards unmatched by any living American. In 1992 his own history of the U.S.S. Barb was published in the award winning book, THUNDER BELOW. Over the past several years proceeds from the sale of this exciting book have been used by Admiral Fluckey to provide free reunions for the men who served him aboard the Barb, and their wives.
 
PS: The Admiral had graduated from the US Naval Academy in 1935 and lived to age 93, passing on in 2007.


Wiki article is at:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eugene_B._Fluckey

In A Gray Motor Car

by Mollie McMaster

1913

 

Evans sat in his mean looking little car and gloomed.  He had passed no less than a hundred motors, and in one and all of them there had been fragments of the feminine world.  He alone, in all the vast creation, seemed without a companion.

The day was glorious, and the nigh twould be perfect with a full moon waning into dawn, and still Evans was alone in his car.  He swerved quickly to one side as a car as mean looking as his own and of the same make, hurled itself along the road.

"Idiotic driver!" muttered Evns and felt a little less gloomy.

He watched the gray car ahead of him careening across the road and was fearful for the occupants.

Evans quickened his own speed that he might better keep the other car in sight.

That man knows about as much about the car he's running as I do about making  blouses!" was Evans' next comment as the car came within an inch of a farmer's wagon.

"He has no business taking a woman out with him," growled Evans.  He drew a quick breath.  The gray car had come to a jerky stop.  Whether it had collided with something or not Evans was not near enough to see.

"They got a jolt, anyway!"  He put on greater speed and finally drew near the other car.

A sign of relief escaped Evans' lips.  Tthere was no accident; something wss wrong with the engine.  He went slowly past and turned a glance at the sole occupant of the machine.  Control of his own car for a second was lost to Evans.

The girl in the car was the most beautiful woman in the world.

But what did it matter.  Three Weeks ago, the light of the universe had been snuffed out for Dave Evans.  What did it matter how beautiful the woman in the car was now?

He went slowly past.  The head of the girl was averted and she spoke to the man who was crawling in a helpless sort of way under the car.

Evans swore under his breath as he caught a fleeting glimpse of the man's legs.  Even they expressed inadequacy to cope with the situation of a broken engine.

Evans put on  speed and swept rapidly along the road, and as he reached the less frequented roads his speed grew to an alarming rate.  And through it all, in the swiftly-sighted then vanishing scenery, the face of the woman in the gray car haunted him.  Yet he flung himself farther and farther from her.

After a half hour of speeding, the nervous energy had in a measure exhausted itself, and Evans began to review the situation more calmly.

The sight of the girl had certainly wrought havoc in his heart, yet he felt loath to present himself in the capacity of succor.  The man, sprawling under the car might take his offer as an insult.

Evans found that he was turning again in the direction of of that gray car.  He went slowly, intending to go past without apparent interest. 

As he drew near, his heart pounded.  the girl had descended from the car and was sitting on a comfortably established boulder.

That the man sitting on the step of the motor and the girl on the boulder had had a slight difference of opinion was evident to Evans.  There was airy indifference expressed in every line of the girl's attitude.

Evans looked at the man.  Then he brought his own car to an abrupt stop.  Jumping out he took off his great goggles with one hand and held out the other to the man on the step.

"Evans!"  They gripped hands joyously.  "I would have known you anywhere."

Reminiscences of college days followed for the next 15 minutes.  Evans kept a wary eye on the girl on the boulder.  After one quick glance from beneath her eyeglasses she maintained a haughty indifference, and hummed  while the two men talked.

With tardy politeness Danny Wood turned to the girl.

"Miss Turner - I have run across an old friend - Mr. Evans, Miss Turner."  He made the introduction over the intervening space.

The girl's color rose, and she inclined her head slightly and went on with her humming.

"It's a wonder you didn't run across a chicken - or something important," Evans said by way of breaking a chilly, awkward silence.

Wood winked and said in low tones, "Miss Turner is a bit peevish because I refused to walk ten miles to the garage for help."  He drew out is watch.  "By Jove!  I absolutely must catch the 10:30 train for the west tonight!  It means my position.  That blamed machine is out of commission ... "

"You don't seem to know much about a car," Evans said.  "I will have a look."  He went down under the gray car, but came quickly up.  "No more go in this car for the present!"  He looked straight at the girl on the bulder.  "If Miss Turner will be so good as to remain here I will run you to town and return for her."

"Oh I say!  I don't care much for that!"  Wood expostulated, but cast hopeful eyes toward Heaven.  "Couldn't we manage three in your car ... I could sit on the step?"

"Too risky," Evans shook his head.  "We will have to make a dash for it now, and I won't chance putting anyone on the step."

"What do you say, Helen"? Danny Wood turned to the girl.  "I am sorry the thing has happened -- but it was unavoidable.  I can trust you to Evans."

The blood mounted slowly to Helen's cheeks, but her smile was politely sweet.  Dave Evans felt his teeth clinch and determined to break that spirit.

"Since there is no other way," she said in a voice that made Evans' heart beat quickly, "I will wait here."

"I don't exactly like the way you said that," laughed Danny.  "Promise me - you will wait."

Helen threw an indignant glance at him and blushed for what she had in her mind.  "I promise."

Evans sprang into his car while Danny made his adieu and, without a backward glance at the girl, Evans was off down the road.

Twilight was settling down over the fields when he again approached the girl.  Her attitude was much the same save, perhaps, that her eyes were a trifle less cold, and her lips had a little wistful curve.

"Did it seem long?" Evans asked in his most polite voice.

"No," she returned, and permitted him to help her into the car.

They were crawling slowly along through the twilight.  The girl turned half way toward Evans, who looked straight ahead.

"Was the other car badly damaged?" she asked.

"I could have fixed it in one second," Evans said.

The girl cast a startled glance at him.  She was silent, then, and after a moment Evans felt that a trembling emotion had swept through the girl's figure. The strain of the afternoon, he decided, and the long wait on the lonely road had told upon her.  He turned, intending to tell her that he was taking her to a little inn not far distant where she could get a cup of tea.  He looked into her eyes and his own said that which she had been looking for.

"Davie, dear," she said, quickly and with the light of the world shining in her expression, "I have spent three miserable weeks ... I am sorry I told you I didn't ..."  She stopped confused, and hid her eyes on the broad shoulder so near.

"Didn't what?" Dave asked and gripped hard at the wheel of the mean looking little car.

" ..... love you,"  Helen concluded.
 

Found online in an edition of the Clinton, NY Advertiser.  Date cut off, but between 1910 and 1913.

The Incredible Resilience of Books

By Peter Osnos

Jun 19 2012

Despite challenges faced by the publishing industry and past predictions, the written word has not seen its last day


In the mid-1980s when I joined Random House as an editor, there was widespread angst in the publishing industry about the growing role of mall-based bookstores -- Walden and Dalton were then the major chains -- because they emphasized bestsellers and genre categories such as science fiction and romance over literary titles and serious nonfiction. A trend toward discounting, led by Crown Books based in Washington, was another worry, opening the way to price competition instead of the traditional acceptance of prices set by publishers. Walden, Dalton, and Crown are all now gone, along with Borders, which was then becoming the up-market retailer because of its commitment to so many varieties of books and its innovative inventory system.

(But) Based on the record, I have one certainty: books will endure even as those of us responsible for them are in a perennial, sometimes frenetic contest to keep pace with change.

Excerpts from:
http://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2012/06/the-incredible-resilience-of-books/258677/?google_editors_picks=true

Prairie's Edge - Conclusion

When David Bruce was in the 4th grade in Seattle, he was assigned  to interview one of his grandparents and find out what life was like when they were in the 4th grade.  Bill started to write up what he remembered and so enjoyed it that he gave David much more than expected.  The story was hand written by Bill and Kim typed it in 1997. It was filed in a folder and stored in a box. Kim found it when she was cleaning out a storage area a few weeks before Bill passed away on April 16th, 2012.

Conclusion

In late winter of the 4th grade, the measles came to Hawley.  This meant house arrest behind a prominent sign tacked to the door for a period of 2 weeks.  There were about 20 people in our class and seats would empty 2 or 3 at a time with me still there.  Finally, most of the students were back in school and I thought I wouldn’t get it.  I was the last to get sick and last to get back.  When I got back I had lost the smell of the hive and at recess was relegated to defense of the fort along with Vern Grincker and Loppy Johnson.  The fort was ground higher than the north playground and attack was made uphill along a 180 degree front.  The attack group figured on pelting me along with the other 2 defenders.  About that time the temperature rose to the point ice balls could be quickly manufactured.  Loppy was about 4 years older than the rest of us and had a great arm.. Vernon and I ceased throwing and made snowballs as fast as we could.  I think Loppy nailed all 8 attackers on one of their charges.  The attack force stayed in there for a couple of disastrous days and we then went on to something else for a 15 minute recess activity.

Hawley grade school in 1032 was an 1890’s 2 story brick building with 1st, 2nd and 3rd grades on the first floor and 4th, 5th and 6th on the second. There was a long hall from front to back of the first floor with a branch hall at the middle leading to 1st and 2nd grade.  Two open stairways were adjacent to the long hall and lead up from the short hall.  When we first graders marched between the stairways for the fire drill the students from the upper classes would already be on the stairways waiting for us to clear.  The fire drills were always a surprise test and there was a go go atmosphere as we marched along with in arms length of students waiting on the stairs.  I always imagined I could smell smoke.  By 4th grade we had an enclosed slide and I never experienced the wait on the stairs.

January 1933 found Hawley experiencing cold and strong winds.  The school was heated by a coal fired boiler with hot water radiators.  I was comfy after something went wrong and our classroom cooled!  After all, I had my long johns and a wool sweater.  Miss Carlson, our teacher, was not as well equipped and I suspect she wished she could afford a fur coat.  At this time a nice girl, Betty Hoagl, sitting just ahead of me asked me about the operation of a thermometer.  She didn’t buy my explanation and I told her I would prove it.  I either opened a window or there was snow coming through around the windows.  At any rate, I got a small ball of snow and applied it to the bulb of the thermometer. I showed Betty what I had done and we went back to our seats.  Miss Carlson had gone over to the high school and we had scarcely sat down when she came in with the superintendent.  After a brief discussion with audible repetition of the word “cold”, they went over to the thermometer.  I slunk down in my seat and probably said one of the numerous prayers that speckled my childhood.  Superintendents were imposing from the vantage of a small 9 year old, kind of like a King, and I didn’t want to discuss anything with him.  He walked with a not so bad attitude but came to attention when he looked at the thermometer.  They probably heard him in the 5th and 6th grades when he called out” Good gracious, Forty-five!!”  Betty apparently wasn’t in love with me, as after the superintendent left, she tried to report my actions to Miss Carlson.  We were out of school for 3 days while repairs were being made. Miss Carlson had chosen not to listen to Betty and I didn’t volunteer.

My brother Keith and I spent our 1 week Easter vacation with our Dad and Mother in Argyle, Minn.  Friday or Saturday evening we were in East Grand Forks when my Dad decided to buy us some clothing.  The only store open was a small rather dark men’s clothing store. There were no boy’s clothes in sight. On my Dad’s inquiry, the proprietor smiled and said “I have just the thing, I over ordered when I ordered blue caps for the school”.  It was dark at the back of the store but the man was able to dig out two caps that perfectly fit the small heads of a 2nd and 4th grader.  We were pleased.  Back at school on Monday, we got there just as school was starting and weren’t able to show off to the other kids.  At recess, I proudly came down the step wearing my blue cap.  Conversation came to a stop as the kids stared and one of the girls said “purple”.  I recognized the scorn in her voice and the look of the others.  I went around the building, cap in hand, and when I reached the back steps found a 2nd grader with purple cap in hand approaching from the other direction.  We stuffed the caps under the steps and never saw them again.  We had arrived at a mutual consensus without conversation.  The caps were bright indeed.  Small wonder Mr. “I have just the thing” was smiling as he made the sale.

I can’t recall playing many games when I was in 4th grade.  When weather permitted, a lot of softball was played.  I had poor depth perception and was a washout as a ball player.  We played tag, hide and seek, Auntie-I-Over, Run Sheep Run and Fox and Geese.  At home we played some checkers and card games.  Lots of sledding. Marble games were played in the spring.

The men in our town fished, hunted, went to town team and high school games.  They belonged to lodges and clubs, played cards and in general were busy.  We had a town band.

Radio and movies made great advancements during the 1930’s.  Radio stations proliferated nationwide.  President Roosevelt spoke to the nation when his fireside chats were broadcast.  Prior to the 1932 election Eddie Cantor sang “ Roosevelt, Garner and Me” and after the election we heard, “Happy Days are Here Again”.

In the late 1920’s talkies came and replaces the silent films. In the 30’s, we began to see color films. Going to the movies was inexpensive and often the theaters would be packed.

In October 1931, I was and 8 year old 3rd grader and my brother Keith had started 1st grade.  We had two science heroes, Franklin and Edison.  We had sat around campfires as had the caveman. The same as Abe Lincoln, we had lain and studied in front of a fireplace.  We had lived in houses lighted by kerosene lamps, but hadn’t seen gas lighting.  If we were with our grandfather after dark at the farm, the light would be from lamps.  The light we saw other than from fires was from light bulbs from electricity.  We knew about Edison’s work developing the filament.  Our grandmother had talked about Edison and we knew there were no electric lights when she was our age.  The electric light had been invented little more than 50 years prior to 1931. Edison died that October and our town was to honor him by turning off the village power for one minute.  The leaves had fallen from the trees and as we stood with our grandmother at the living room window. We had a view of town street lights and part of the downtown lights.  I think it was 6 o’clock but may have been later as it was dark outside.  All the lights in town went out. We stood at attention and I noticed that 1st grader Keith was also saluting.

During the decade of the thirties, a federal Rural Electrification program along with private power and farm coops brought electricity to the farms.

In the early 1030’s a farmer, Mr. Friday, came with his milk wagon and delivered milk all thru the town.  His horse knew the route and would automatically make the stops. About mid decade, the creamery started pasteurizing the milk and we got a new milkman.

The iceman delivered chunks of ice to us in the 30’s. The ice had been cut on a nearby lake and large blocks were stored in ice houses.  The housewife had a square with numbers such as 25 and 50 on the sides.  She would put the card in the window and the iceman could tell how much ice she needed.  He would expertly chip off the right amount and carry it in with his tongs.  The ice chests were being replaced by electric refrigerators during the 1930’s. The iceman would give us small pieces of ice on hot days and we would suck them. 

My brother and I would rush home after school to listen to radio serials, especially Little Orphan Annie.  I sent for one of her decoder pins and entered one of her word game contests. My brother would figure out a way to keep the radio going when it would stop.  When we took it to Moss Aury, town inventor, for repairs, he expressed amazement that it still ran with so many things in bad order. Keith, a tinkerer, solver, doer later became an electrical engineer.

Before I stop writing, will comment on smoking. My dad smoked cigarettes and my grandfather a pipe.  Dad was hooked.  At a basketball game or other school events, he would go outside to smoke. He would stop working to go and get cigarettes if he ran out.  Our friends smoked, picking up butts from the streets and later were buyers.  The people in the movies smoked and would enjoy a cigarette as thy expired at the end of the movie. There was cigarette advertising everywhere. By 4th grade, I had decided I didn’t want to be stuck with a habit and never have smoked a cigarette.


Bill’s  Grandparents: William and  Delia Ritteman
Uncle who owned the paper: Archibald Whaley

Boyhood Memory: Visitin' Folks

by Dean Rea

Howdy, neighbor. Come over some evenin’ and we’ll set ya fur uh spell.

Course we ain’t got no radio to entertain you ‘cause we ain’t got no ‘lectricity. They ain’t run no line down here yet. Still readin’ by coal oil lamps and heatin’ by a wood stove. Makes it a bit chilly on a winter’s eve, but we can warm things up with some of Uncle Ed’s shine.

The last batch was a bit bitter, but it could put hair on your chest. Grandma took a swig last Saturday evenin’ and got outa her deathbed and danced a jig while Uncle Ed sawed away on his fiddle.

Or we could serve you with a cup of sassafras tea and a slice of mom’s homemade bread slathered with Aunt Mae’s gooseberry jelly. It’s a bit tart though.

Don’t you come over ‘til we milk the cows and slop the hogs. We’ll tell about our plans to shivaree Jake and Sally, who eloped last Saturday. They had been courtin’ fur at least five years. I suppose Sally got tired uv waitin’ and put ‘er foot down. They’re both way past their prime and probably won’t have no kids, but Jake sure knows how to raise hogs. Got at least a hundred or so.

Well, you’re always welcome to visit us down here. Jest pull the latch string and set yourself fur uh spell.


 ______________

Dean Rea, 83, is a retired journalist-educator who lives in Eugene, Ore. As a hobby journalist, he prints a letterpress journal, Oregun, and edits an on-line  journal, Author’s Bazaar, at:

http://authors-bazaar.com

Copyright Dean Rea, 2012

Published in his letterpress-printed journal, "Oregun," No. 70, June 2012

My Mistake

by June T. Bassemir

She was only a wee mite,

with hair of snow white.

She reminded me so much of Gram.

With unsteady feet,

she crossed the broad street.

It was then, I looked down at her hand.

There was white curling smoke,

and this is no joke;

her fingers had nicotine stain.

How revolting that sight,

and to boot – she was TIGHT!

It gave me a queer sort of pain.

                  

(ca: 1950)

copyright June T. Bassemir, 2012

Coming Up

We have several stories "on the spike," as they used to say around newspaper offices many years ago.  And no, each doesn't have a nail-sized hole through the middle of the paper it's typed on.  There isn't even any paper in this operation.


Part 2 of Grandpa Bill's memories will be along and so will a short verse and more articles from June Bassemir.  We've got another story or two from Frank Beresheim.  Kevin Schmitt says he's working on another short novel and Bill Payne's "El Cid" will run in a couple of weeks.  I want to get in touch with Dick Laurey and convince him to let me run one of his stories ... he's shy about such things.  So is Dick Naegele, whose stories I've enjoyed since he began writing them for the old More Stories website.  We'll be running a couple of his pieces. And I should put up one of mine, too.  I think I will!


Hey!  here's a song for all of us.


Can't Find My Way Home - Steve Winwood with Eric Clapton 

Prairie's Edge

When David Bruce was in the 4^th grade in Seattle, he was assigned  to interview one of his grandparents and find out what life was like when they were in the 4^th grade.  Bill started to write up what he remembered and so enjoyed it that he gave David much more than expected.  The story was hand written by Bill and Kim typed it in 1997. It was filed in a folder and stored in a box. Kim found it when she was cleaning out a storage area a few weeks before Bill passed away on April 16^th, 2012.

In October of 1997, Grandpa Bill Folger wrote:

When I was in the 4^th grade, I lived with my pioneer grandparents in Hawley, Minnesota.

Hawley was a small town, population about 1000, located about 20 miles from the North Dakota border and about 125 miles from Canada.  We were on the prairie about 4 miles from the edge of the big woods. We had good outside communication, being served b US Highway No.10 and the Northern Pacific Railway.  The extreme weather fostered a hardy people, although this didn’t occur to me at the time.  I was an amateur ornithologist in bird heaven.  There were casuals from the woods, prairie birds, locals and a tremendous spring migration.  By 4^th grade, I spent a lot of time along the river.

Ours was a business town serving an estimated 3000 farm people.  The farmers brought potatoes, grain, turkeys, eggs, milk and cream to our potato warehouses, grain elevators and creamery.  We supplied them and ourselves with a seemingly endless array of goods and services.  There were 2 blacksmith shops, a harness shop, 3 doctors offices, 2 dentists, a bakery, 4 grocery stores, post office, 2 banks, 4 restaurants, 5 beer parlors, a drug store 4 garages, a shoemaker, 3 barbers, 2 butcher shops, 2 farm machinery outlets, 3 places to buy clothing, 2 furniture stores and a funeral parlor along and adjacent to our 3 block main street.  In 1932, most of the farmers had horses for work at the farm and to pull the sled to town when roads were blocked by snow.  There were trucks and automobiles, but many farmers didn’t have them and there were lines of horse drawn wagons on the streets at harvest time.  The main street was graveled as were most of the side streets.  There were hitching posts for horses at our end of town, just like in the cowboy movies.

My father was a civil engineer, a bridge inspector for the state highway department.  He was with them throughout the depression, the decade of the 1930’s.  He built bridges in the northern half of the state and so was away from home much of the time.  My brother and I were with him during vacations and with our grandparents during the school year.  He was fun to be with and knew everything.  He would take us to see things of interest and constantly tell us things of interest. One time, he took us to see a slightly smelly dead whale that someone had hauled by truck from the Pacific.  I remember feeling it and I think my brother and I climbed on top of it.  My Dad always had something to report when he came home for a weekend.  I think one time he saw moon dogs and another time a moon rainbow.  He had a Quaker background and emphasized respect for other races and religions. My grandfather was a businessman who took care of his potato house and grain elevator and rental of several business properties. As I move along, I realize I didn’t mention the jeweler, a veterinarian, lawyer, theater, plumber, electrician and bootleggers.  The bootlegger supplied liquor which was not legally sold in our town.  I have the impression they didn’t prosper.  In spite of there being low prices paid for commodities and little money available, the business buildings were seldom empty.

My uncle published a weekly newspaper.  He ran articles of local interest and specialized in short notes on activities of local people.  In addition to his paper, two daily papers from outside were delivered by boys and 2 others came by mail. At this time I was reading one of the papers along with parts of two weekly magazines and at least 5 monthly magazines.  We also listened to the radio.  In addition to the media, we got news about the country from the transients.  In harvest season, thousands were on the freight trains.  I counted 300 on one train.  My grandmother cooked with them in mind and fed hundreds of them.  She never asked that they work. Sometimes one of them would voluntarily chop wood for her cook stove.

In 1932, money was a problem.  To put this into perspective, I will tell some of my experiences with a dime.  If I wanted to bring something to my friends at the bum’s camp, I could buy a soup bone for a dime or for free.  My brother and I would see a cowboy movie every Friday night for a dime (a bargain as we stayed for both shows).  When I was in 5^th grade, I garnered several dimes in a short period of time.  I sold 3 Ladies Home Journals for 10 cents each and the salesman gave me a gyroscope that would spin on the edge of a water glass.  I found a hip flask and sold it to a bootlegger’s wife for 10 cents.  She pulled back her rug and opened a trap door to put the bottle in the cellar before giving me the dime.   I borrowed $5 and spent a day going to business places getting change. I was collecting Indian head pennies.  Somehow the day ended with me holding $5.10.  I saved that dime and a few weeks later as walking through an alley where am auctioneer was selling furniture.  I bid 10 cents for a table and the auctioneer held it for me while I ran home and got the dime. I understand candy bars were 5 cents each, coffee and donut 5 cents and soda pop 5 cents.  I don’t recall buying any of these.  For 10 cents, I could get a stamp collection premium and stamps on approval from ads in Boy’s Life.  At the Salvation Army in Fargo, I could buy Henty and other boys books along with old National Geographic’s for 10 cents each.  My folks would drop me off Saturday afternoon when we went to Fargo and usually I was the only person at the bookshelves.

Hawley in 1932 was hot in the summer and cold in the winter.  There was not air conditioning and sometimes people slept on the lawns.  My grandmother had a screened in porch where my brother and I slept safe from mosquitoes and in position to enjoy the frequent lightening storms.  There was little rain.  We liked the weather extremes in winter and summer.  In winter there were snow storms and cold weather.  The coldest I experienced was -40 degrees F. My Dad reported -55 degrees F.  We went our n the storms but not in the blizzards.  We wore wool long johns (underwear), heavy socks, boots and overshoes to keep our legs and feet warm.  We also wore sheepskin coats and I always had a cap or hat over my ears.  Sometimes my friends wouldn’t have their ears covered and their ears would turn white.  This indicated freezing and they would thaw them with their hand or with snow.

In a small town, people usually walked when they went to school, downtown or to church.  It would be unusual for any of us to be given a ride.  When we went to another town, it was usually by automobile.  Rarely, we would take the train.  I can recall no one from our town traveling by commercial air.  I think Northwest did stop in Fargo by that time but I’m not sure.  The Gophers traveled by bus when they went to Seattle to play the Huskies in the first series game in 1943.  In 1960, I met the Missoula Florence Hotel bellhop who led the team through the smoke filled corridors when the hotel burned.  I was thrilled to meet him and more thrilled when I found out he was going to college at Missoula courtesy of the University of Minnesota. He had waited 25 years and when he contacted the university, someone remembered him and he was given a full scholarship as promised 25 years earlier.

My grandparent’s home had 5 rooms on the first floor and 4 bedrooms and a bath on the 2^nd floor.  My brother Keith, 2 years younger than I, slept with me.  We sometimes slept on the davenport in the parlor, sometimes on the porch and sometimes in one of the upstairs bedrooms.  We didn’t have a room of our own.  We constantly fought about the location of the bed centerline.  During vacations with our parents, we would usually live in a rented summer cottage on a lake or in a small rented house near the bridge currently being built by our Dad.  I don’t recall my brother and I ever having separate rooms.  Most of our friends lived in modest homes, none as large as my grandparents.

Our grocery store was small, mostly dry food and canned.  Fresh foods were limited to potatoes, onions, oranges, apples and sometimes bananas.  In local season there would be fresh vegetable such as corn and tomatoes.  The grocery clerk took care of the orders.  Orders were made by telephone and delivered by a delivery boy.  Sometimes we would take a list to the counter and the clerk would fill the order.  Seldom or never would the buyer take the item from the shelf.  The shelving reached to the ceiling and rather than use a ladder, the clerk sometimes used a long handle with a control on the bottom connected to a metal clasp at the top. It was at least 6 feet long.  Sometimes he would tip the item and catch it as it fell.  Pretty exciting!  Many things packaged today, such as peas and beans were taken from a barrel or box and weighed by the clerk before being bagged.  There were no bag options as modern plastics had not been invented. There was very little refrigeration, possibly milk and soda pop in a chest with ice as a coolant. The only frozen food I can remember was the lutefisk stacked outside one of the stores.  Maybe it was dried as it was not outside at night.  There was refrigeration for the ice cream sold at one of the restaurants and for the meat at the meat market.

The nearest hospital was 20 miles away in Moorhead, Minnesota.  It was a 2 story brick building with about 20 rooms.  I stayed there overnight when my tonsils were removed.  I thought there might be some delay in the operating room so took my new Boys Life magazine with me on the gurney.  Not a great experience as the ether didn’t agree with me, my throat was sore and worst of all, I lost the magazine.  It was between 6^th and 7^th grades.

To be continued.

The Storyteller

by Frank Beresheim


When I saw my brother’s name in the paper, it brought back many memories of growing up in the sixties.  There were many good times, and many times I would really like to forget. It seemed as if our world revolved around Dad, and Dad’s attitude.  Mom was always perfect, making sure we were fed, clothed, clean, nurtured and loved.  Dad had some really good qualities but he also had some that hurt.
      I remember when my brother Jimmy and I were little, Dad used to tell us stories in his bed.  He would make them up on the spot, and no two stories were alike.  We would ask him to repeat stories but he would tell one similar but very different.  He would use the bed as a vehicle, and we would blast off into space seeing different creatures.  I can remember the countdown, ten, nine eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, Blast off!  I went to Mars many times and spoke to Martians using a special decoder device.  When we went to Saturn Dad told us all about the ring and that it was really made of candy. We went to Neptune, and saw a city surrounded by water and ruled by fish people.  Pluto was a very cold planet, and our make believe visit was in the middle of our winter, it was cold, and made the story more believable.   Sometimes Dad would have us go in a race car using the bed, and would make the race realistic by tilting the bed. We would enter the Marty Five Hundred, or the Jimmy Junker Demolition Derby.  There was no telling what Dad would come up with.
       He would make up stories and would include local streets and our friend’s names.  He would tell us stories about treasure hunts, and at the end would give us gold coins filled with chocolate.  He made up stories about sailing ships, and made us fear Davey Jones Locker.  We were poor, because of Dad’s lower paying job as a warehouse worker, and he wouldn’t let Mom work.   We had no money for vacations, so he took us on an imaginary vacation with theme parks named for us, and it was so much fun.  I had my own Marty’s Martorama, a ride with twisting and spiraling climbs, and quick plummets.  Jimmy used to like when dad told him about Jimmy’s Jalopy race.  Sometimes he would carry our stories into the department store. 
We would go for clothes shopping in the bargain department store, and Dad would go over to the toy section, grab a toy sword, or toy gun, give us each one, and pretend to duel with us like swashbucklers, or policemen fighting criminals with their guns.  I remember how he would raise his sword, sounding like a pirate, he would say “Prepare to die!” and let us stab him with our toy swords.  With the guns on the other hand, we were the lawmen, and he was the criminal.  He would pretend to be shot, and use the old cliché’ when we got him “Oh you got me!”, falling to the ground, followed by “crime doesn’t pay.”  As we got older, my sister was born, and Dad would just sit on our bed to tell us stories and not pretend fight in the stores.
     Dad stopped telling us the stories as much as he had done in the past, and I noticed he would tell my sister Shannon stories.  It looked like Dad was spending more and more time with Shannon, and less time with me and Jimmy.  One time I saw Dad was telling Shannon a story, and I tried to stop and listen, but Dad told me that this is Shannon’s time, and I was not welcome to stay.  I also began to notice other things like we would only go to the bargain store for clothes, and they would take Shannon to special shops for clothes.  The thing I hated the most was that I always used to get the bone from the steak, my favorite, and now Dad was giving it to Shannon.  I was never resentful of my sister, but of my parents for doing these things.  There was a time I will never forget, Dad told Shannon “I love you”.  I said Dad you never say that to me or Jimmy, and he said ”Men don’t tell other men I love you”.  This reminded me of when he said, “boy’s don’t cry”.   Jimmy on the other hand was quite verbal about how Dad was treating Shannon differently, and would often have shouting matches with my father.
      My father had a problem managing his anger, as well as other things.  I think the thing that stood out to me was when he was angry at my mother because the canned vegetables were not in alphabetical order.  He was not usually violent but on this occasion he destroyed the table in the kitchen, the one we ate dinner at.  We had to eat in the living room for about a month because there wasn’t enough money to buy another table, and no one keeps spare tables laying around.  I remember right after it happened, all the neighbors looking at us when we came out of the house that day.  This was one of the few times I saw Mom get upset, she cried for about a week.  I often wondered if she cried because of the table or he broke the table over her not keeping the cans in order, or just how it made her feel.  Dad used to get very upset when he saw me draw cartoons, and would say “that stuff is for kids, and you are not a kid!”, even though I was eleven or twelve, so I had to hide my drawings.   Jimmy would often call Dad out about the negative things Dad did, causing much unrest in the family.  We would never know when Dad’s anger would be triggered, or who would step over his imaginary line.  Many times Dad would get mad at someone trying to sell him something on the phone and pull the phone right out of the wall.  When it became too costly to costly to repair the wall, he got a desk top model.  One time I saw him throw the phone at Jimmy, if it didn’t have a cord Jimmy would be dead meat because phones were very heavy in those days.  He would continue to have verbal fights with Jimmy, especially after we saw Dad out with another woman.
      He was sitting at Timo’s Bar and Grill, with his face pointed down, with a big smile, his eyes squinting, and staring at her, while she blew kisses at him.   Jimmy said “Marty did you see that, that woman is blowing kisses at Dad, I am going to go get him.”, followed by “I am going to call him out”.  I told him no, he will just get mad and make a scene that will get out of hand, let’s just go and keep it to ourselves.  Jimmy said “what’s Mom going to think?”  I said she doesn’t know, but Mom is smart, she will find out sooner or later.  As luck would have it, Mom was going to get us ice cream at Creamy Sweets Ice Cream when she saw him with the blonde.” 
      I heard Mom called him out and there was a big ruckus, which followed them home.  I had never heard Mom yell, but she did that night, and I heard “Either you go, or I go”.  Dad said “I am not going anywhere”.  Mom then came upstairs with Dad yelling ”Why are you walking away, Maureen?”,  “Where are you going?”, but he stayed down stairs.  Mom came and started packing our clothes and with a tear stained face and smile said “We are going to stay with Gramps and Grammy for a few days”, but Dad did not try to stop us.    
      We stayed with my grandparents for a few days in another part of town, but it was tight.  My grandparent’s house wasn’t designed for three adults and three children.  Getting into the Bath room was difficult, especially with Shannon taking her time.  She would be in there for over an hour, doing makeup or her nails.  Let me tell you, when you got to go you got to go!  Sometime Jimmy and I sunk to the level of dogs by going outdoors in the yard.   We all couldn’t sit at the dinner table because it only seated four people, so us kids would eat first then Mom and my grandparents would eat.  It was difficult to get to school, as it took us twice as long to get there.  We spoke to Dad on the phone every day, and as always he spent more time with Shannon.
      One day Dad came to my grandparent’s home and left with Mom.  When they came back, Dad was all smiles, and Mom wore frustration face. Dad said that we were all going home to our house.  He thanked Grampy and Grammy for their hospitality to his family, but they didn’t look to pleased.  In fact the only one that was really smiling was Dad.  I know I wasn’t happy to go home to hear his anger, but I wondered why Mom looked frustrated, and Grampy and Grammy did not look pleased.  When I got older, I found out Dad said he wouldn’t give Mom any money.  He told her to take him to court for child support, wait for the money, try to support the family on her own, or she could come back home to be his lawful wedded wife.  We were soon packing our clothes to go back home, using the best type of luggage, brown paper bags.  I never thought I would want to go home, but it was very tight at my Grandparents, and I welcomed the return.
      When we got home, Dad behaved himself for a week, but then slowly his anger would start popping out.  I noticed it when he was struggling to open a pack of cigarettes, shouting colorful words followed because he couldn’t open them.  Then another day he started yelling because he couldn’t find his towel in the bat room.  It was a royal blue towel, that was very soft to the touch, and only he could use.  He later found out Mom was washing it for him so it would be clean.  If someone’s shoe was in the doorway instead of the shoe rack, he would throw the shoes into two separate rooms, so we had to look in two places for them.  He was also not so nice to Mom, demanding she wait on him.
       Dad expected Mom to be his servant, and do everything that a servant would do for the master of the house.  He often criticized her for the way she put groceries away, even though he did not do any of the cooking.   He used to watch Friday Night Fights on TV, drinking beer, eating raw chop meat, and often he would yell to my mother to get him a beer, even though she was upstairs.  He expected that the dinner be on the table when he got home from work.  This went on until I graduated High School. 
      Since I was the oldest, I was the first to graduate.  I knew that since we were so poor, there would be no money for me for college, and that I either had to get a scholarship or take out loans.  I also got the biggest shock of my life, and it was at the school.  Dad told me he needed to talk to me, we walked into the men’s room, and he motioned me to come closer.  He leaned over and whispered, “You have thirty days to move”.  I asked him if he was serious, and he said “yes”.  I had no money saved, and was quite unprepared for this, but none the less I got a job, and found an efficiency apartment.  Dad said that I would only return home for the holidays and special occasions.
      Dad did the same thing with Jimmy, even though I tipped Jimmy off.  Jimmy didn’t believe me, and said “Dad wouldn’t do that to me”.  Jimmy was a bit taken back when he was told, and asked if he could stay with me.   Jimmy moved in with me, he slept on the couch, and I slept in my bed.  I told him he could stay as long as he wanted.  When Shannon graduated, they had a big party, and invited many friends over.  Shannon didn’t have to move, Dad had let her stay at the house.  The next big event was Shannon’s wedding, she married a Doctor, and he was well off, from a well off family.  Jimmy eventually finally found a place of his own, and left my place.  Dad and Mom were alone, and I can only imagine how things went. 
      Dad still had his temper tantrums, yelling and throwing things.  He had a stroke between his anger and his cigarettes.  Only Mom went to visit him in the hospital. He finally went home and appeared to be okay with stuff around the house.  A couple of months later He went to get a can of soup and blew a gasket, because they were out of alphabetical order, followed by having another stroke that killed him.
      My old man was laid out the Slygger and Sons Funeral Home.  He didn’t look real in his blue suit, almost like a replica Dad.  Jimmy and I were just there to support Mom, Shannon bawled her eyes out.  I know I didn’t have that love for Dad because of his anger.  Jimmy told me, that he wouldn’t miss Dad, because of all the fights they had, and how he would treat him afterwards.  Mom had cried the whole time, while Jimmy and I took turns consoling her and Shannon.  We had the reception at the bar Dad liked to drink, Moonshine Inn.  We didn’t see the next tragedy coming, and it changed our lives forever.
      Mom was crossing the street after going grocery shopping and had her grocery cart in tow, and a car came right around the corner hitting her.  She was hit and was thrown over the car, and her cart went flying.
The police were right on the scene but could not locate the hit and run driver.  There were discrepancies over the make, model of the car, even who if the driver was male or female.  Mom was taken to the hospital, and was dead on arrival.  They eventually found the car about five miles away, and it was a stolen car, missing for several days.  Mom looked so bad, they wouldn’t let us see her.  We went to pay our last respects to Mom at the Slygger and Sons Funeral Home.
      It was a dark and gloomy day, when we walked into the church.  We asked my namesake, Uncle Marty to read the eulogy.  I was surprised at how many people showed up, the church was packed with people standing outside.  There ladies from the Rosary Society, and other religious affiliations.  After the mass, people kept coming up to us telling us stories about how Mom had helped them in some way.  One guy said if it weren’t for Mom’s encouragement he wouldn’t have graduated from High School.  A woman told us that Mom would bring her elderly mother home cooked meals a few times a week.  Someone anonymously paid for Mom’s reception at a quality restaurant, The Diamond Americana.  The restaurant refused to tell us who the donor was, so before we ate, I said a little speech, and thanked whoever the kind donor was.  There were all kinds of cards there from many people, many we never had the pleasure to meet.  After the dinner we agreed to meet at the house in a few days.
      We met to decide what we were going to do as a family with our parent’s house. We sat down at the kitchen table, and Shannon started to cry, she said “Dad, and now Mom, we are all that is left.”, both Jimmy and I started crying too.  After a while I said “I know, but we have to figure out what to do with this house”.  “I know I can’t swing it” and Jimmy said” me either!”  Shannon said, “my husband and I can buy this house, we will have an appraiser come and look at it, and we can split the money three ways”, I looked over at Jimmy, who was already saying he was in for it, and I agreed as well.  Shannon got the appraiser, and later gave me and Jimmy our share.  Shannon had major renovations done on the house, doubling her money.  A few years later I started to think, what of Dad’s legacy.
      All these memories came flooding back to me after reading in the paper that Jimmy was involved in a Bar Room fight.  Jimmy hit the guy one time, the guy hit the ground and was dead.  I always worried about where his anger would take him, now I wonder what his sentence will be, and what prison life will do to him. Shannon married a Doctor, and lives on an estate.  They have three lovely daughters, she named one for me, Martha, and asked me to be Martha’s godfather.  What happened to me, well, I write and draw a comic strip called Marty, based off of a lot of the stories Dad told us as children.  My comic strip is in many US papers, and is translated into nine different languages.  I have four Honorary Doctorates, even though I never went to college, but often think about going now because I can afford it.  I think of Dad often, and think of the Dad I grew up with and loved, not the mean angry Dad.  Dad’s anger still affected my life in many ways.  Instead of lashing out, yelling or screaming like Dad did, I hold my anger in.  I have been married two times now. My first wife would push my buttons, and I would go hide in my office for days at a time, until she had me served with divorce papers.  My current wife is a Social Worker, and understands that I have problems expressing anger.  She gives me books to read, and encourages me to seek professional help.   I have always read books but now I read box on how to express healthy emotion.  I don’t know if I can see someone about my anger, as I am still quite embarrassed by it, and what they might think of me.  I have been thinking about starting another comic strip about a character with anger issues, one that you can laugh at how he boggles up his emotions.  He will look for something getting angry over not finding it, building his anger and trip over it looking for it, getting angry over tripping over it.  Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but that’s my story and I am sticking to it.    

copyright 2012, Frank Beresheim

 Frank Beresheim was born in New York City in 1959 and  moved to the Catskill Mountains as a child, returning to Queens at age 16, where he began writing poetry and playing music.  Married in 1988, Frank found his way back to the Catskills and never looked back.  He lives with his wife and two teenaged sons in the friendly community of Saugerties, NY.