The Christensen History of Farm Life in the Depression and Dust Bowl Years (The "Saga")

These accounts were written by three of my Dad's siblings, my Uncle Clifford, my Aunt Eunice, and my Uncle Gordon. To see where these people fit in the family tree, look here.

  

GREETINGS

Regarding: THE CHRISTENSEN SAGA

Gordon and I started a little project with the intent of providing some anecdotes yielding information about our early experience, with a particular emphasis on our farm experiences and the period from birth to the time we left home.

We have prepared a batch that might inform and interest children and grandchildren. I have presented mine first with the addition of Eunice's contribution. Gordon's follows.

This is pretty much a draft, some parts rougher than others, and we are soliciting additions from all of you [siblings]. We urge you to jog your memory and formalize it on paper.

I admit that labeling this a SAGA is pretentious. But, what the hell.

WITH WARM, AFFECTIONATE FEELINGS I AM YOUR BROTHER:
Clifford


Intro

I was born into a large family of seven children, four boys and three girls. Six are still living but all of us are in our seventies. One sister died at the age of eighty. By reasonable standards or criteria, all of us were successful. More than half of us obtained at least one University degree and all of us held positions or managed businesses that others considered significant. All of us became good citizens, free of drugs and crime. Equally important, we reared children who also succeeded and in turn are in the process of rearing promising grandchildren.

So what. Why should this be of any interest to anyone other than me and my siblings? Perhaps it isn't, but our background is somewhat unusual or, at least, contrasts sharply with our present circumstances. Dramatic changes in my world took place during a relatively short span of time, primarily the thirties and early forties. This was my childhood up until the time I left home.

One way to point up the radical differences in my early youth experience and the present is by summarizing the amount of energy the households used during the two periods. I am sitting in an air conditioned den that includes electrical reading lamps, television, VCR, and computer. A furnace fired by gas can comfortably heat the entire house in the coldest weather. The kitchen includes a dishwasher, refrigerator and electrical stove. Hot water is automatically available and other rooms also have energy demands. A double garage with two cars is attached to the house. Conserving on gasoline was a question that never came up.

Although I did not tally it up in formal scientific units, the amount of energy used was obviously alot. The amount of energy presently used contrasts sharply with that used during my youthful experiences on the farm. During my youth the house I lived in did not have electricity, central heating, or running water. Kerosene provided the light, coal provided most of the heat, and water was hand carried from the pump. Power to farm the land was provided by horses. Probably less than two gallons of gasoline per week was used in an old car. The amount of energy used at that time was a small fraction of that
used today.

Pa had been a tenant farmer during this period, weathering both drought and the Depression, but near the end of this period he purchased a tractor and a farm and conditions began to change rapidly and signifcantly. About this time most of the children had or were drifting away from home.

Family farms in the midwest United States were arranged as isolated units on the land belonging to the farm. Neighbors, depending on the size of the farms, were about one-fourth to one mile apart. Grade schools were plumped down amidst these farms. Most children walked to school. Little social interaction took place among unrelated neighbors. Most of the social activities was confined to relatives who might live several miles apart.

The contrast of the parents and children is also dramatic. Ma emigrated from Denmark as a baby with her parents. Her father became a successful farmer owning 320 acres of land, twelve horses. cattle, and hogs. In spite of this, Ma was not permitted to go beyond 8th grade and was required to work at an early age.

Pa came from a poor family and emigrated from Denmark, alone, at the age of seventeen. He went to work for his uncle who owned a saloon. Unfortunately, my father violated the bar tender's code and drank on the job but fortunately, he realized that he was headed for the alcoholic's life and took action. He went cold turkey and secured a farm labor job and experienced some withdrawal symptoms. Some years later he had saved enough money to start farming.

There was some romantic altercation between our parents before they were married. Pa had been seeing alot of Ma and it was taken for granted by some that they would be married. But rather suddenly Pa became involved with another woman, an acquaintance of one of his relatives, and married her. They had two children but the mother died during the birth of the second child. Shortly after that Pa took up with Ma again and they got married. Pa's oldest child came to live with them. The younger one was taken in by the deceased mother's sister.

One brother believes that Pa dumping Ma had a profound effect on her and, in turn, a profound effect on the children. I disagree. I believe that kind of "traumatic" experience is unlikely to have a long long term effect. It is true Ma disliked Pa's sister-in-law but then she disliked alot of people.

Although short on formal education, Ma and Pa did little to educate themselves and never encouraged their children to educate themselves formally or otherwise.

I realized that our children and grandchildren knew very little about the rather unusual experiences of their parents and I wondered if the children and grandchildren might be interested in some of these events.

I would like to prepare something in written form that could be made available to the children, grandchildren, and anyone else who might be interested but I did not believe an autobiography was the answer. This would require too much work and there's not enough to my life to warrant a biography.

I approached my brother and we came up with the idea of preparing descriptions of memorable experiences or episodes. A collection of such episodes, if a reasonable or representative sample were developed, would depict our youthful experiences. We thought it would be wise to emphasize description rather than interpretation or evaluation. Readers could make their own judgements.

We asked all of our siblings to contribute to this if they wished to do so. It should, of course, be obvious that each sibling, being of different ages, would have different experiences. However, my guess is that there was considerable communality of experiences. Memory and interpretive stance likely varies among the siblings. This should, however, add to the interest of the collection.

The House

The two storey house with its white peeling paint was set among cultivated fields with a single row of maple trees to the north. The yard was largely mud and gravel without grass or bushes. A fenced area near the house grew vegetables and contained a separate plot devoted to flowers.

The house was without running water, electricity, central heat, or carpets. Kerosene lamps provided the necessary light and two coal fired stoves, one called a parlor stove and the other a cook stove, provided heat. In contrast with the exterior, the interior of the house was painted with bright colors.

A kitchen, dining room, and one bedroom made up the ground floor and three additional bedrooms were on the upper floor. Only three bedrooms were used at one time. One of the upper floor bedrooms facing north was shut off during the winter because it was intensely cold and the lower bedroom, our parents room, was not used in the summertime when they moved upstairs to capture a better breeze. Arrangements were made to accomodate parents and seven children, four boys and three girls, in three bedrooms. During the winter the parents and the youngest child slept in the downstairs bedroom, two girls occupied one of the upstairs bedrooms, and the the four boys slept in the other bedroom. During the summer months two of the boys moved into the unused north bedroom and the parents and youngest child moved into the bedroom with the other two boys.

Without heat at night during winter months, water placed in a glass near your bed turned to ice and a slight amount of snow blew through the cracks around the windows during strong winds. This happened because fire in the stoves was not maintained all night. Each morning the fire was restarted in each stove. On cold mornings everyone would move quickly from their bed to the stoves downstairs.

All water for use in the house was carried from a well near the barn, about one hundred and fifty feet from the house. A pail of water was placed on a stand near a sink and used for washing and drinking. Some water was warmed in a tank attached to the cook stove. The waste water was drained into pail which when full was carried outside and dumped.

Bathing required heating water on the cook stove. A small metal tub served as a bathtub and was used in the kitchen during the winter and out on an enclosed porch during the summer. This did not encourage frequent bathing.

Washing clothes became a major project. Water was heated on the cookstove, clothing washed by hand, and hung outside to dry. During cold weather the washed clothing would freeze stiff and then dry out in the house.

Out-House

A short distance from the house was a small structure sometimes called a little house, out-house, or less poetically, a shit house. This was a four by six foot structure that did, indeed, look like a little house. Inside there was a bench like affair with two holes the size of toilet seats. Ours was a plain one with a simple door but no little windows or ventilating holes. The out-house was placed over a six foot deep hole in the ground and it served as a toilet for the family.

During the summer time going to the out-house was not a hardship. In fact, two people could go at the same time and have a cozy conversation plus the added advantage of listening to the birds. Of course the smell could be unpleasant but the breeze usually kept the odors to a minimum. Some, particularly girls, were squeamish about the spiders that spun their webs down there. But a stick could solve that problem quickly. Winters were a different matter with temperatures dipping well below zero. But one exposed only a small part of the body and with remaining clothing intact, it was quite comfortable.

Necessity prevented the wasting of money on toilet paper. An old mail order catalogue was substituted. Although somewhat less comfortable than toilet paper, it had the advantage of providing illustration of many objects that stimulated one's imagination.

After a few years of use the hole in the ground became filled up with the comings and goings of the family members. This problem was easily solved by digging another six foot deep hole and moving the little house on top of it. Four adults could easily lift the small structure.

This little house was not appreciated until a tornado swept through and destroyed it. Considerable ingenuity was called for until a new house could be built.

We also had a back-up system for extremely cold weather and late night demands. This consisted of a pot which, in fact, was a pot, about the size of a medium size pail, with a cover. During the day, contents of the pot would be emptied in the out-house.

Work

Much of the work on the farm was repetitive, tedious, and just plain boring. In addition, some of the tasks were hot and dirty.

Doing the chores involved more variation than some tasks and were relatively clean. All livestock has to be fed on a regular basis. This included pitching hay to the horses and cattle and carrying grain to the pigs. The cows had to be milked twice a day, morning and evening. With Pa along with my brothers helping with this task, I usually got by with milking four cows. The milking was done by hand and it required some skill. You cannot simply squeeze and pull on a cow's teat to get the milk to squirt out. It is necessary to gently pull and squeeze at the same time. If mistreated a cow will block the flow of her milk. We sat on a stool with a pail clamped between our legs to collect the milk.

The milk was poured into a ten gallon can and hauled up to the house where the cream was separated from the milk by a separator. The separator was cranked by hand so that the milk was spun at a high frequency which caused the milk to rise to a higher level than the cream. Thus the milk and cream could be drained off separately. The skimmed milk was then hauled back to the barn and fed to the calves and pigs. The cream was sold in the local town and provided an important source of cash.

Cultivating corn was a clean but unusually boring kind of work. Essentially it consisted of sitting on a cultivator pulled by a team of horses and driving up and down rows of corn hour after hour. Corn was planted in rows about three feet apart. The cultivator is a machine with little plows that dig up the weeds between the corn rows. After the corn has grown a few inches tall horses will walk up and down the rows without guidance. The only work left to the rider is lifting up the little plows and turning the horses around at the end of the row. I tried to imagine various events and activities but after a few hours my imagination played out. I was impressed with tobacco auctioneer's chant and practiced this for a few hours but I never got the hang of it and gave up. I put a slight variation into it by dividing up the field into strips and cultivating in between the strips. It remained boring.

Stacking hay was relatively clean and a bit more interesting. There was also a social aspect in that it involved a number of people working together. The first step, cutting the grass, was much like cultivating corn. A team of horses pulled a mower that cut a strip of grass about four feet wide. I simply drove the horses around and around the field until the grass was cut down. Then I raked the hay into piles using, again, a team of horses pulling a hay rake.

Stacking the hay included Pa and three of my brothers. My oldest brother hauled in piles of hay with a hay bucker and placed it on the hay stacker. My other brother and myself pitched hay up a bit on the stacker and then one of us would drive a team of horses that pulled the hay up a twenty foot incline and dumped it into a pile that Pa arranged into a stack. When the stack was finished we used twine and rocks to keep the hay from blowing away before it settled. Once settled, it could stand for months and remain good for feeding cattle and horses.

Food

With minor variations our meals consisted of milk, bread, butter, potatoes, and pork. During the summer vegetables from the garden were added. Special meals were prepared when we threshed grain and for holidays such as Christmas, New Years evening, and the Fourth of July. Fruit was practically non-existent and desserts, if any, were usually some kind of pudding. A cake was always baked on birthdays and sometimes on other occasions, especially when we had visitors.

Much of the food was produced on the farm. Although we purchased flour, Ma baked several loaves of bread every week. I recall eating bread when it was so hot it melted the butter I use on it. It was a delicacy. Hogs provided the pork. Beef was held in reserve as a cash crop. Eggs were used sparingly because they were also important in providing cash for other necessities.

Without refrigeration we could not butcher hogs during the hot weather but when it turned colder we butchered a hog whenever we needed meat. After killing the hog, we doused it in hot water and scraped off all the hair. Then Pa would hang the carcass in a tree to cool over night. Next day he would bring it into the house and Ma would cut it up.

We would then feast for a few days on roast pork and the better parts of a hog. When the feast was over we relied on fat bacon. The bacon was cut thick and fried. Much of the fat was drained off and the remainder contained small amounts of red meat. To this we added cooked potatoes at noon, fried ones for supper. Milk, bread and usually butter were also available. This was our daily fare for long periods of time.

Since hogs couldn't be butchered in the summer time, preparations for summer had to take place during the winter. This involved two processes. The fat bacon was salted and stored in a big crock. The red meat was cut up, boiled, and sealed in mason jars. When the salt pork was used in the summer time it was necessary to boil away some of the salt before frying it. The canned meat was warmed up with some kind of gravy.

One time Pa brought home wieners and bread from the grocery store. To me the fried wieners with soft bread were a rare delicacy compared with our regular food. I longed for more.

When my parents purchased their weekly groceries they always included ten cents worth of candy to be distributed among seven children. Frequently this consisted of chocolate squares costing two cents per square. The candy was distributed by cutting each one in half providing a half square for each of us plus a few left over for further division and distribution. Fairness of dividing a square was ensured by requiring the divider to give some other person first choice regarding which half he preferred.

Harvesting

During the hottest time of summer the grain ripened and harvesting it would begin. Most small grain: oats, wheat, and barley, grew about two and one-half feet tall in large fields.

The first step in harvesting involved cutting the grain and tying it up in bundles. This was done by machine, a grain binder pulled by horses. As the horses pulled the machine, various gears turned what looked like a large fan that gently swept the grain plants back over a cutting sickle onto a canvas belt that conveyed the grain up to another gadget. The grain plants were separated into small bundles and this gadget wrapped twine around each bundle and automatically tied a knot. Several bundles were collected in a carrier and dumped in rows, windrows. All of this was accomplished by power produced by a large wheel turned by pulling horses.

My brother and I took these bundles, each about two feet in length, and place them in small stacks of about ten or twelve bundles. We set two together, butt or straw end down, and held them with one hand while we placed two additional bundles to form a free standing structure and then we added an additional four or six bundles. We called these little stacks, for unknown reasons, "shocks" and the action "shocking." These shocks could be rained on repeatedly without deteriorating. They shed the water and quickly dried off.

We put together hundreds of shocks in a single field, actually handling thousands of bundles over a period of two or three weeks. We sweated constantly and drank a great deal of water. When our clothing dried out at the end of a day, it was covered with a fine film of salt.

We preferred shocking oats rather than barley or wheat because barley and wheat kernels had little sharp barbs that broke off when handled. The barbs were irritating if they got inside our gloves or clothing.

The main job or goal in harvesting is separating the seeds from the straw. This was achieved by pitching bundles into an operating threshing machine powered by a gasoline tractor. The machine chopped up the bundles and then through a series of separating teeth and sieves, grain was directed through a spout and the straw blown out to form a straw stack.

Considerable organization was necessary. Five or six farmers got together and made it a joint operation. Each farmer would supply a large wagon with a rack, a team of horses, and a worker to load the wagon with bundles of grain. Five or six wagons each hooked to a team of horses were available to haul the bundles of grain to the threshing machine. Another team of horses was hooked to a grain wagon used to haul the grain to the grainery for storage. Some of the grain was hauled to a nearby town and sold. When all the bundles on one farm were threshed, the threshing machine was moved to the next farm and the operation was repeated.

This was hot a sticky affair but it was also a special occasion marked by elaborate meals. Breakfast included eggs, bacon, bread, potatoes, coffee and cake. Dinner, the noon meal, included large helpings of meat and potatoes, vegetables, and pies. Supper was pretty much the same as dinner. All of this supplemented by both midmorning and midafternoon lunches of coffee, cake, and sandwiches.

Drought and Depression

Three years of drought might not seem like a long time to an adult but to a child it can be what seems like a never ending lifetime.

One year it simply stopped raining and all cultivated crops burned up and only weeds and wild grass continued to grow. Much depended on grains that could be harvested and sold. In addition to obtaining sufficient money to purchase everything such as grocery, coal, gasoline, machine parts; grains were necessary to feed livestock and horses. It was particularly important to maintain the horses in a healthy condition because they were the main source of power used to cultivate and harvest the grain fields.

Total disaster would occur if seed grain and breeding stock were not maintained from one year to the next. This posed an almost impossible dilemma: if the seed grain was sold in order to purchase necessities or fed to the livestock to keep them alive, future production of grains was finished. Then we would be without money and have no means of maintaining the livestock.

Although most plants worth feeding animals had died out, a weed call a thistle continued to grow. If allowed to mature it became a dry prickly plant but if harvested early and prevented from drying out, cattle and horses would eat it. The harvesting was tricky because it would start drying out as soon as it was cut down, especially if it was spread out under the hot sun. An attachment to the mower, a machine that cut plants, bunched the thistles together as they were cut down. The thistles were then quickly raked together and hauled to a spot where they were stacked into a fairly large stack.

Pa pitched the thistles together and my brother and I would pack them down by walking on them. Pa pitched the thistles as high as he could and then we tapered in the top and when finished the stack was left in the field until needed. We stacked all summer and we must have put up dozens of stacks. It was a lucrative summer for my brother and I because we were paid five cents for each stack.

During the summer the cattle managed to survive by grazing on grass growing on a meadow but in the winter time it was necessary to feed them. That's when we fed them the thistle we had stacked during the summer. The cattle willingly ate the thistles but, unfortunately, thistles have little food value and the cattle became weaker and weaker. Some days the cattle could not get up without the assistance of Pa but, surprisingly, they survived.

Government approved loans were obtained to purchase small quantities of feed and seed grain. This was sufficient to keep the horses healthy and provide enough seed for spring planting.

The weather was very hot most of the time and the soil became dry and dusty. Dust storms would result with dust blowing much like a sand storm or a blizzard in the winter time. It was difficult to see more than a few yards in front of oneself and breathing was hampered. Once on the way home from school walking became too difficult and it was necessary to stop by a neighbor until the storm blew over.

After three years of severe drought, normal rains began and the soil produced bumper crops of wheat, corn, oats and barley. But now another disaster followed; the depressed price of grain made it practically useless other than for feed and future seeding. Feeding cattle and hogs was not profitable either because of similarly depressed prices. We were essentially without money.

The price of corn was so low that more heat for the house could be produced by burning it rather than selling it and buying coal. Somehow it seemed immoral to burn grain but maintaining a minimum temperature in the house was essential.

Much of our clothing was sewn by Ma on a foot peddled sewing machine. The cloth came from hand-me-down clothing. The garden provided vegetables in the summer time and stored carrots and potatoes during the winter. Meat came from animals we raised. Refrigeration was obviously not available so meat was canned during the winter for use during the summer. Fruit was an unavailable luxury.

Elementary School

My elementary school, grades one through eight, a one room building with two alcoves and a basement was located one and one-half miles from our house. It was placed next to a large meadow which encouraged outdoor activities during the warm months.

I walked to and from the school almost every day, including very cold days. The walk during the warm weather was good exercise and some fun talking and horsing around with the other kids on the way to and from school. Cold days were a different matter. Although the walk took less than an hour, it seemed much longer on cold days. Walking north in the morning against a brisk, cold wind was especially unpleasant. Sometimes I would try to walk backwards in order to protect my face from the freezing wind but that turned out to be an inefficient way of walking. I was careful to cover my face as much as possible because exposed areas of flesh would freeze in a matter of minutes. Sometimes it actually hurt to walk into the cold wind.

The school building was no more than forty by forty feet. One alcove served as an entrance and the other as a library. The library provided space for a sand table, phonograph table, and shelves for no more than three hundred books. It was heated with a coal furnace in the basement.

Most of the teachers had attended one year at a Teachers College but one got by with a six week course. All of the teachers were highly motivated and worked hard to teach eight grades and provide all of the janitorial services. My first grade teacher frightened me at times. Lucy Van Tassel was a large woman five feet ten inches tall and weighing in at about two hundred and fifty pounds. She had a reputation for maintaining order and most of the time she was kind but she had a peculiar game of catching children and making believe she was cutting them up. I protected myself by turning to tears.

All of the teachers managed to teach all eight grades in one room by holding class in front of the room while the rest of the students worked quietly in the back of the room. This provided some advantage. When an advanced grade was being instructed at the front, a lower grade student could listen to what was going on and occasionally participate. Thus a student could skip a grade without leaving his desk. I recall completing all the advanced grade arithmetic problems on the black board from back of the room.

The teaching was subject matter oriented and straightforward, including some drill. Flash cards were used extensively in teaching children how to read. A flash card is simply a card with a word printed on it in bold letters. The cards were used in various ways. Children might be asked to pick out a particular word from a string of cards placed along the black board or the cards representing a sentence would be jumbled up and students were asked to rearrange the words into a meaningful sentence. I do not recall a single non-reader leaving the school at the end of eight years. Arithmetic instruction included memorizing the multiplication tables. Exercises sometimes involved a game where the teacher would call out two numbers to be multiplied and toss a small bag to a student who could throw the bag back as soon as he could give the answer. Everyone was eager to throw the bag back as soon as possible.

Other instruction depended heavily on teaching material provided by the county superintendent of schools. This was necessary and fortunate because of the teachers' limited preparation. Students were exposed to the usual arithmetical stuff, grammar, and literature. But little deep analysis took place. I do not recall any of the teacher pretending they understood something they didn't. I recall one teacher providing me with an exercise manual covering basic phonetics. Being a fluent reader at the time, I found all the phonetics sensible and useful but I was lucky to have learned to read first. Another teacher approached me with an introduction to elementary algebra and said, "I don't know anything about algebra but see what you can do with it." I found it interesting and managed to learn all the algebra in that monograph.

Instructional material served me well on another occasion. All the schools in the county participated in various contests at the county seat once a year. My teacher persuaded me to partipate in the history contest and supplied me with a history monograph. I studied the monograph carefully, wrote the test, assumed I failed, and went home. Later my teacher surprised me by calling and telling me that I had won second prize, a box of twenty-four bars of candy.

Upper grade students were encouraged to help lower grade students having difficulty with some subject matter. I enjoyed doing this but on occasion found it frustrating. I recall trying to teach a reluctant second grader arithmetic. I wrote the problems on the black board but the little fellow refused to look at the board and ran away. I knew that one has to attend to the problem in order to learn. So I took him by is overall suspenders, lifted him up and pointed his face at the black board while I explained the problem. However, his struggle to get away from me prevented any learning.

During the warm days we played baseball on the adjoining meadow. I could strike out all the batters with fast pitches. The rest of the students became annoyed and refused to play with me unless I promised to give up the fast pitches.

I carried my lunch to school in a lunch pail but lunch was not something I looked forward to. Lunch almost always consisted of a bread and butter sandwich and a jar of milk. Fruit and peanut butter were too expensive.

Getting to High School

Marion, my oldest sister, was the first member of the family to complete grade eight and then the questions of continuing with high school came up. It came up because Marion's aunt asked if she would like to stay with her and attend high school. The high school was located in a small town where the aunt lived. Marion having never been away from home and having had little contact with her, was hesitant to accept the situation. [Our] father remained neutral about the matter and although [our] mother also pretended to be neutral, she clearly indicated that she would prefer Marion remaining at home, foregoing high school. She, however, claimed that she had allowed Marion to decide on her own.

My oldest brother was the next member to complete grade eight and he did not appear to seriously consider attending high school. He wanted to work closely with his father on the farm. Neither parent encouraged him to think about the possibility.

The completion of grade eight by my second oldest brother posed a problem. He had skipped a grade and therefore was younger than most grade school graduates and, perhaps more important, he was small for his age. It was difficult to find a role for a young, small boy on a farm that still required simple labor.

Ma came up with a possible solution. She asked the grade school teacher if he could continue for another year at her school, apparently to do what he had already done in grade eight. Luckily, the county superintendent of schools rejected the request and firmly insisted that the next step was high school which she accepted on the condition that he would try it for one year and then reconsider it again. Fortunately, he turned out to be an excellent high school student resulting in compliments that persuaded Ma to allow him to continue.

Now another problem arose. How to transport him from the farm to the high school five miles away. He was unable to drive a car which really didn't matter because there wasn't any car available for him to drive. Others could not take time from their work to drive him and it was too expensive to stay in town.

A solution was found by arranging for him to ride with neighbor boys who attended the high school. However, they charged fifty cents per week for their service. This did not pose a serious problem because he had managed to save eighteen dollars which was sufficient to cover the cost for one year. He managed to graduate valedictorian from high school. From then on it was accepted that the remaining members of the family would attend high school.

When my other sister was ready to attend high school, the nearest neighbor that could provide a ride for her lived two miles from our house. Therefore, regardless of weather, she walked two miles to the neighbor's house to catch a ride. Although it would only have added two miles to the trip the neighbors never offered to swing by and pick her up.

One year later I completed grade eight and new transportation arrangements were made. My oldest sister purchased a car, a 1929 Wippet, for thirty-two dollars. She generously let us use the car to drive to high school. This turned out to be a peculiar car. When it became cold, the oil pump would freeze and one couldn't drive the car without wrecking the engine. Speeds over forty miles an hour would also wreck the engine.

The car stood outside and during cold weather the oil pump would freeze up every night. My routine was to rise early, start up a gasoline blow torch, and heat up the oil pump and engine head. After about forty-five minutes I could crank the engine to life. With money saved to purchase gasoline for the car we had good transportation.

Culture

Reading material in the home was sparse, practically non-existent. No books were available and no magazines other than True Story and its equivalent. Pa got a small eight page weekly newspaper written in the Norwegian language which none of us could read. He spent hours looking at that publication. Occasionally my older brother would check out a book from the school library. I recall he brought home "Gone With The Wind" which he and Pa read. Pa was a slow reader and spent months on the task. Relatives who subscribed to a daily newspaper saved them and give us the old copies. Comics were my favorite section of the paper.

An occasional movie provided some entertainment. The movie house was located over a car repair garage. The movies were old but admission was only a dime. I recall being impressed by a movie where young women smoked marijuana and then frolicked on the beach in the nude. The ending had an interesting twist. Viewers were invited to submit an essay pointing out the appropriate punishment for such an evil deed. The best submission was eligible for some prize. I submitted a hand written paper but heard nothing about the results. The fact that the movie was ten years old may have been a factor.

During the depression a touring theater company put on classy plays in the local auditorium. I thought the actors were good and I was impressed by their versatility. Not only did they act and handle all stage sets, they also sold and collect tickets at the door. The entire family attended these plays.

About the same time the local women got together and produced plays which they showed at the local school. Production of the plays became social events. The women and their husbands met at someone's house where the women practiced their lines in one room and men carried on discussions in another room. When the women completed their practice they provided lunch which always included coffee and sometimes angel food cake and other items.

We did not have a radio until I was about fourteen years old. Every one seemed to enjoy listening to the radio when they had the opportunity to do so. My uncle had a radio and I recall Pa saying after listening to it: "I'd better go home before I buy one of those." But he didn't buy one.

I was eager to get a radio and got one by trading in my bicycle for one that cost a few dollars. Once we brought the radio home my older brother and Pa were helpful in setting it up. They arranged an antenna by stringing a copper wire from the top of house to our windmill. Lacking an adequate step ladder, they drove a load of hay alongside of the house so they could fasten the wire to the roof.

Once installed, everyone listened to the radio on a regular basis. It was our first extensive contact with the outside world and it was the first step in filling the intellectual and artistic void that existed. It was also the beginning of World War II and this added significance to the information provided by the radio.

Pa preferred listening to the news. Ma made an attempt to comprehend the news but didn't quite make it when something abstract was involved. She became hooked on soap operas. She could not tolerate soprano singers and when one came on she ordered us to turn it off because, in her view, it was screeching and not singing. Our exposure to soprano singing became highly restricted.

My brothers and I were more cosmopolitan in our tastes and we listened to a variety of programs. From our point of view the radio provided excellent comedians, plays, news reports, and panel discussions. We had mixed feelings about music. We listened to some popular music but little or no classical music.

Some frustration resulted from wanting to listen to a program at the same time we had to do chores such as milking the cows and feeding the pigs. I recall having a strong interest in H. V. Kaltenborn's commentary on current events but it came on at six o'clock, just when I was finishing my chores. By rushing I could also get to the house in time but I usually missed the first part. It has been said that missing part of the commentary has contributed to my intellectual development.

Bicycle and Roller Skates

We obtained two recreational items, bicycle and roller skates, in a round about manner. A local notary public managed several farms rented by farmers from non-resident owners. Rental arrangements included the division of grain produced on the farms. The owner received one half of the harvested crop if he furnished the seed and one third if he did not. In order to ensure a fair division for the owner, it was necessary to check the threshing machines regularly to determine the number of bushels threshed. The services of a full time individual was required to adequately supervise threshing activities on several farms.

My brother, a recent high school graduate with a reputation for being smart and conscientious, was hired to supervise this activity. The manager in an attempt to save money, proposed that my brother travel around to the farms on a six hundred pound Harley-Davidson motorcycle.

Two young guys from town brought out the motorcycle to give my brother a test drive. He climbed on the cycle, gunned it and drove directly into the ditch alongside the rural road. The two young guys quickly determined the difficulty; my brother had never ridden a bicycle. The solution was obvious: practice on a bicycle before attempting to ride a motorcycle. But we did not have a bicycle. One of the young guys loaned us one for a week.

Not only did my brother learn how to ride a bicycle but so did most of the rest of us. After one week of bicycle practice, my brother took another try on the motorcycle. He got on, gunned it and again drove directly into the ditch. The manager provided him with a car.

I was eager to get a bicycle and pestered Ma to find out if the one they loaned us was for sale. She rejected this on the grounds that it probably wasn't for sale and if it were, it would be too expensive. It looked expensive. Later when I discovered it had been sold for six dollars, I complained bitterly. Ma pointed out that I had nothing to complain about because I didn't have any money.

My desire for a bicycle remained and a few years later my brother and I pooled our money and bought a used one for a few dollars. It provided considerable pleasure and at a later date proved useful in obtaining a radio.

I was determined to learn how to roller skate but I could not afford to buy skates or pay the fee at the local roller skate rinks. Popsicles provided a solution. With a huge number of popsicle wrappers one could get a pair of roller skates without any additional charges. I went on wrapper hunt. Not only did I save all the wrappers from the popsicles we ate but I picked up all the ones I found on the street and sidewalk.

Eventually I had enough and I sent the big bundle off to the company providing the skates. Our mail box was about a quarter of a mile from the house and I carefully checked the mail many frustrating days. Finally the skates arrived and I foolishly strapped them on at the mail box and proceeded down a gravel road to the house. This messed up the bearings but some work and oil corrected the problem.

Almost all members of the family learned to roller skate by practicing on our eight by sixteen foot porch. Later on my brothers and I went roller skating on a regular basis. Pa tried to learn but he never quite made it.

I traded the roller skates for a goat.

Pa and Ma

Ma said that at one time Pa participated in the discipline of the children but this, according to her, consisted entirely of clenched fist blows to the body. With her protests Pa agreed to withdraw from all active child rearing, physical and psychological. As far as I could tell he pretty much lived up to this agreement. I cannot recall him ever inquiring about our well being, school work, aspirations or general well-being. Nor can I recall him ever offering advice on relating to others, developing a career, or overcoming disappointments and fears. I do not recall him ever expressing pride in his children's achievements to anyone. I do not recall him ever disagreeing with how Ma was rearing the children.

In spite of his aloofness he remained a central figure in the family. He was never nasty or hostile. He was witty and an excellent story teller with the ability to accurately imitate the speech of others. On some occasions after supper he told stories about some event that had occurred during the day but the most exciting stories were the ones he told about immigration to the United States from Denmark and return visits, all involving travel by ships. He had a reputation in the neighborhood of being a sharp guy.

Ma forbade any criticism of him and it never occurred to me that some criticism was justified. We thought he was clever and very intelligent but other than his story telling and quick come-backs, there wasn't much evidence for this. His main reading consisted of Zane Grey westerns. Discussions involving abstract ideas did not occur. One may have almost occurred. I once remarked that one of my aunts was dumb and my father picked up on this and he said "if you think your aunt is dumb then you must think Ma is dumb because they are sisters." I smelled a rat and retreated as rapidly as I could. (Today it is tempting to offer a few inferences but I will refrain.)

He was an extremely hard working farmer, especially in the fields, working from early in the morning until dark. This was tedious work such as plowing and dragging the fields with horses. He was also actively involved in harvesting and stacking hay. My brothers and I worked alongside him many times and he never criticized us or made unreasonable demands.

He shook hands with me when I left for the army.

With Pa out of the child rearing picture the control and influence was left to Ma who exerted much more than most of us suspected. I could sum it up by saying that she worked like hell, was easily offended, claimed she was worthless, and emphasized her sacrifices for her children.

Everyday activities such as preparing meals for nine individuals, washing dishes, and keeping up the house represented a lot of work. All hot water was heated on the cook stove and dishes were washed and dried by hand. Clothing was washed in a hand operated washing machine and wringer and hung outside to dry. Ma did most of this work with the assistance of my older sister.

In the summer time she maintained a large garden of vegetables and flowers. Summer was also the time for canning meat and storing potatoes for the winter.

In addition to the housework Ma would also help with milking the cows and separating the cream from the milk. During harvest one summer she helped out in the field.

In between all these activities she patched and sewed clothing. Relatives provided her with used clothing. She was skilled in taking apart a dress or coat and sewing entirely new garments from the salvaged fabric. We purchased flour in fifty pound sacks made out of cotton cloth. During the depression the cloth was dyed different colors frequently with floral designs. Ma used this cloth to sew dresses.

She, too, did not talk to us about our aspirations and disappointments but she did not hesitate to brag about our achievements. The local newspaper included alot of personal items concerning who visited whom and who traveled where and that sort of stuff. Ma received calls from the paper requesting information about her children's activities. She was eager to include this in the paper but couldn't always understand what we were doing. I recall her asking me to write out what I was studying or working at so she could submit it to the paper.

One could certainly build the case that she had worked hard and sacrificed for our benefit. By pointing this out I gathered she wanted this acknowledged. On Saturday nights we drove to the local town and we were given a small allowance of five or ten cents. Sometimes we used this to purchase a bottle of pop for five cents. I recall one Saturday night Ma pointed out that she had not even spent five cents on a bottle of pop. The message was frequently conveyed that she had striven to do her best and if she had more resources she would do even better. In return she expected us to appreciate her.

She became visibly upset by the slightest hint of dissatisfaction with her, either lack of appreciation or criticism. Her response took two forms. On the one hand she would burst into tears with a wounded look and detail how hard she tried. On the other hand she would exclaim that she knew that she was no good. Not infrequently she said: "I know I am a piece of shit."

Very rarely anger would flash. I recall my brother bringing home a used Underwood typewriter. All of us, including Ma, played around with it. After striking a few keys Ma remarked that even she was able to type. My brother foolishly said: "that's not typing." Ma retorted with anger: "It's not shitting." Most of the time she kept overt anger under control and vehemently denied being angry or disliking any member of the family.

Without fully realizing it we became careful to not sadden or offend her.

Inadvertently she set the trap. We could defer to her or reject her and accept the belief that we were cruel, ungrateful individuals.

Mother- Fear

Ma expressed a consistent concern that her children would be hurt by dangers lurking out in the world and urged all her children to stay at home on the farm. This was expressed without any consideration of what the children might do in the long run if they did stay at home. A great many things made her anxious.

Any lightening and thunder, day or night, forced us to huddle in the kitchen until the storm blew over. Somehow it was supposedly safer in the kitchen if lightening struck than sleeping in a bed. Lightening never struck the house or any other building on the farm.

I recall her response when, at the age of 14, I expressed a desire to hunt pheasants. Our farm was populated with many pheasants and we had a long tom, twelve gauge shotgun. All I needed was a box of shells. Ma pleaded with me not to purchase shells and pointed out the likelihood of getting shot. Nevertheless I purchased shells and went hunting. No one got shot.

We lived near a lake with beautiful sandy beaches ideal for swimming. But Ma refused to let us go swimming because we might drown. So we did not go swimming but my brother and I played around in a slough of water one day. When we returned to the house Ma told us about an acquaintance who had played in a similar body of water, contracted a disease and died. We survived.

On the fourth of July we joined our relatives at picnic near a lake. We dressed up for the occasion which involved changing our overalls for waist high trousers. Ma became alarmed because the overalls included a bib covering the front of the chest and the waist high trousers did not. This she thought might lead to a chill and sickness. So she sewed a special undergarment worn under the shirt to compensate for the missing bib. Temperatures hovered around 85 degrees on the fourth of July.

My brother talked about becoming an airline pilot. This frightened Ma because he might crash and be killed if he became a pilot. She was much relieved when he obtained training literature that indicated that tuition was expensive and thus he was unable to pay for it. A second batch of literature indicated a much less costly tuition, one he could afford. Again she became alarmed. My brother became a farmer.

This constant low grade dread and fear generated an image of some vast, undifferentiated universe that could do something unpleasant to you but no clear image of what that might be emerged. It was like the background electrical activity resulting from the big bang generating the universe. Any suggestion by me that I was anxious or frightened was flatly rejected because, according to Ma I didn't have any thing to be frightened of.

With her emphasis on stay home because I love you and you might get hurt if you leave, she could not reassure or support anyone who expressed a desire to leave. Upon graduation from high school I packed up and headed for the train, on which I had never ridden, to take me to the state university. On the way to the train Ma slipped me $40.

Later, my sister, with little money and less support, wanted to attend college but was at a loss as to how to go about it. My advice was simple: pack your bags, get on the train and go. She did and she obtained a college degree.

Her fears carried over to illnesses. Anytime one of the children became ill she displayed consternation but she had a standard solution to all illnesses: castor oil or epsom salts. Both powerful cathartics.

In addition to expressing concerns about the dangers out there, she stressed how much she liked her children but was not satisfied that the children returned it in kind. She frequently remarked that she would be happy if the children liked her half as she liked them. She claimed without qualification that she never disliked anything about her children or in-laws. Once when I suggested she hated one of her son-in-laws which everyone agreed she did, she became agitated, throwing her purse across the room and accusing me of foul thoughts.

Her love for her children was evenly dispersed among all her children. She liked them all the same. This was quite a feat in light of the differences among them. Some appeared more likeable than others. On occasion we teased (agitated?) her by posing the following dilemma: our oldest brother and one other sibling were one edge of a cliff poised to plunge to their deaths but she could save one but only one of them. Which one would she save? She refused to respond. She also forbade any animosity among the children, no matter how prevalent it might be. Sibling rivalry went underground.

She expressed a suspiciousness of almost all outsiders, other than close relatives, but not real dislike. The suspiciousness was due, in her thinking, to the fact that the outsiders looked down on her. At some point she thought this might also be true of some of her children. Perhaps it was. None of the children felt comfortable with bringing friends into the home. In most instances they got married first.
 

All of this was coupled with her displays of self-sacrifice which had some basis in fact.

Sibling Images

As we siblings interacted among ourselves and with our parents I built up an image of each one, much like an author developing characters in a novel; a combination of factual experiences and creative imagination. I assumed that all of my siblings experienced something similar to what I experienced, developing images or characters that might or might not correspond with mine. Obviously each of us was exposed to somewhat different environments but I assumed that there was some communality.

The images of my siblings formed at a young age remained stable for a long time, if not forever. It is much like the formation of a concept of oneself. Although this may have crystalized at young age it usually remains stable through old age. If you ask an old person if his self concept differs from that when he was young, he very likely will say no. Most individuals also believe their self concept crystalized at a particular age. I am convinced that my self concept was formed by the age of fourteen. Similarly, the images of my siblings have remained fairly constant since that time.

Although images may remain fairly constant, it does not mean that the images were orginally based on an adequate sample of relevant behaviors. A few poignant expressive behaviors by an individual can be sufficient to create a lasting image and yet the image could be a limited representation of the individual. Furthermore, individuals change with experience and as an individual grows older, the image may not fit as well. Nevertheless, these images are important in how they influence interactions; both positively and negatively.

The focus here is almost entirely on my brothers. I didn't interact much with my sisters and they didn't seem to count. They did not do particularly well in school and I'm sure we were influenced by the current stereotyped view of girls and women. It was my impression that Ma got along better with the boys than the girls. I recall heated arguments between Ma and my sisters. On occasion Ma would refer to the bible, usually exhorting one of my sisters to read it. I once heard my sister exclaim emphatically: "I wish I were dead." None of the arguments made sense to me. Clearly, none of my sisters identified with Ma or looked to her for support and direction. Pa as usual was out of the picture.

My oldest brother emerged as the dominant, strong one. He was, in fact, the largest and strongest one of the lot. From an early age he worked closely with Pa and at the age of fourteen after finishing grade eight he assumed an adult role in the farm operation. He decided what tasks the rest of us would carry out in the field or he chose first and we picked up the remaining tasks. If we were working in the fields when a storm was brewing, we waited patiently until he decided that we should return to the farm buildings. It seemed right that he decide such matters and I cannot recall disagreeing with him. Pa either agreed with or yielded to him. Discipline was left to Ma and aggressive physical acts toward us were forbidden.

My second oldest brother skipped two elementary school grades and managed to be the first one to enter high school. He was young when he finished high school and small for his age. Thus he was not ready for full time employment on the farm. Consequently, after some concerns with what to do with him, he finally wound up in high school. He had considerable verbal facility, writing poetry and essays that impressed our parents and perhaps some of the rest of us. Being the first to enter high school added to the impression of being smart and I think that's the way he was viewed. Being valedictorian of his high school graduating class also helped. Later he was sought out by the local farm manager to assist him during one summer. I tended to think of him as almost delicate and somewhat more refined than the others. He was the bright one in the family.

My younger brother did not emerge as a clear character until somewhat later when he had aspirations to become a medical doctor. This created quite an impression in the community and he relished the role. An active imagination was coupled with an interest in literature. He was somewhat dependent and had a little difficulty separating his needs from others. Perhaps it was difficult for him to sense the impact he had on others. At times he interacted more with Pa than some of the others.

I am unsure of how my parents or brothers viewed me. I don't think they viewed me as a smart one. This despite the fact that I placed second on the county wide eighth grade graduating examinations, graduated valedictorian of my high school class, was the first to attend a university, graduated from a university with honors, and was the first to obtain an advanced university degree. But this is consistent with the notion that images were formed early and remained stable. I certainly was no match for my brother regarding strength and endurance.

Another complicating factor was a serious illness. When I was ten years old I contracted pneumonia that resulted in near death. I was delirious with a high fever for one week and according to the local doctor I could have flipped either way at any time. One of the side effects was a damaged heart and it took about a year for me to recover. During the recovery period my activity was restricted and I depended on others for transportation to and from school. After recovering I became more determined and gained the reputation of being stubborn.

I developed a lasting interest in politics and this was one thing Pa shared with me in a limited fashion. I decided I wanted to attempt a run at a state senatorship and Pa checked on the requirements to be a candidate. At the time I did not meet the age requirement. I thought we shared liberal views.

It is not at all clear what impact the parents' attitudes and behavior had on us. I am fairly sure that all of us were to some extent socially inhibited with reference to non-relatives. I certainly picked up the notion that one ought to be humble and inhibit any thoughts of being special or better than others. I also think that Ma's talk about how she loved and sacrificed for her children convinced me that one should bend over backwards to provide the best opportunities for one's children. I suspect that Ma's chronic anxiety reactions contributed to my feeling of impending disaster. I clearly developed the notion that I had not made a fair contribution to the household compared with my parents, oldest brother, and oldest sister. For example, I felt guilty about the $27 medical cost resulting from my illness. I frequently thought about how I might compensate for my lack of contribution. Without doubt Ma fostered a pathological response to sad female expressions. I leave it to others to finish this.

Ma and Pa held different views on religion. Ma was a true believer who was sure that failure to baptize an individual would prevent that individual from going to heaven. Pa was actively opposed to religion, arguing that people with religious beliefs had oppressed him. I recall an argument between the two of them when Ma invoked the Lord as an authority. Pa dismissed this with the statement: "Piss on the Lord."

At an early age I sided with Ma. This was reinforced by evangelistic preachers who held forth on the street and in a tent in our small town. I gained the impression that some sort of confession and yielding was essential for admission to heaven. However, it need take place only a few seconds before death. I postponed carrying out the ritual but hoped that I could work it in before dying. Although later intellectual experiences eliminated such beliefs, something still lingers in the background similar to the vague fearful universe out there.

Interactions among members of a family are complicated if basically different ways of thinking emerge and I believe this happened in our family. Two basic modes of thinking emerged and for convenience I have labeled one "narrative" and the other one "abstract". A particular individual might be good with both modes but usually an individual prefers one or the other. The narrative mode thinker makes more use of context and images and usually has a verbal flair. They obviously have a facility with story telling. Events can appear clearly right or wrong to them and they have strong convictions with few doubts. In contrast, individuals using an abstract mode of thinking are more hypothetical with frequent doubts. Such individuals tend to search for underlying abstract principles and are not good at building detailed images. Problems do not occur during everyday conversation but frequently erupt when discussing complicated issues.

Among the siblings I think we split two and two. Two brothers preferring the narrative mode and other two preferring the abstract mode. It is not quite as clear as how the parents split. Ma was clearly a somewhat limited narrative mode thinker. Pa may have been a bit of both. He demonstrated considerable facility with the narrative mode but I have doubts regarding his facility with the abstract mode.

Sub-epilogue

The dirty thirties were over and the prosperous forties were well on the way. Pa owned a four hundred acre farm and my oldest brother remained joined with him in the farming enterprise. Huge changes had taken place in a relatively short time. Rural electrification provided electricity and now households had electric washing machines, refrigerators, and radios among other conveniences. Farming had become mechanized with tractors, combines, and corn pickers.

I, along with my other siblings had left the farm, some remaining nearby and one a long distance away. For several years I returned, as did a number of my siblings, to the farm regularly for visits. As we married, spouses and grandchildren also gathered at the farm. Almost everyone made it home for Christmas and some returned on other holidays. I looked forward to these get-togethers and thought it fortunate that we had a common meeting place. But it seemed to me that it was Ma and Pa that was the main force drawing us home. Ma always begged us to stay longer and focused on each of her children but did not promote relationship among her children. Pa, as usual, was in the back ground but, for some reason, we were strongly attracted to him and probably attributed characteristics to him that he did not possess.

Visits always included drinking beer with Pa and my brothers. Women were discouraged from drinking in the saloon and beer parlors. I remember one occasion, shortly after I was married, when my father met us in the nearby small town and with an amused look asked if my wife would join him for a drink at the local saloon. She agreed and Pa ordered a blackberry brandy and beer chaser for himself and asked her what she would like. She said: "I'll have the same as you." Very quietly Pa knocked back his brandy and followed it with the beer. Without comment my wife knocked back her brandy and followed it with the beer. Without comment from anyone we left the saloon and Pa never again invited her to join him for a drink.

The farm was about a two hundred mile bus ride from Minneapolis to the farm but stopped short thirty miles from it. I did not have a car, so I relied on my brother, who remained on the farm, for transportation. He always good naturedly picked up us up at the bus stop and returned us to the stop when it was time go go back. I think he enjoyed our visits because it added a bit of variety to his routine. He would on occasion visit us in Minneapolis where my wife always had a prospective bride waiting for him. He finally captured one of them - or was it the other way around?

During breaks in my studies I would sometimes work on the farm with my brother. The work was good exercise but I suspect the conversations were more important, at least to me. I recall explaining some theoretical concepts that my student comrades had trouble understanding. He grasped them quickly and with ease.

About this time Pa retired and purchased a house in a nearby town. Also at this time he became ill and died. During his illness, all the children returned home to be at his bedside but he did not reveal his feeling about this.

The house he purchased was large with four bedrooms and although somewhat renovated, no plumbing had been started. During one of my vacations I spent three or four weeks plumbing the entire house, bathroom and all. I was able to do all the work with the exception of pouring lead joints in the stack.

Ma continued to live alone in the house but she had regular visits by her relatives and others. It was a meeting place for a number of people and her children, in-laws, and grandchildren continued to return home. I remember one time when I was visiting it was someone's birthday and cake and coffee was available all day. All sorts of people casually dropped by for cake and coffee.

She became even more possessive and became visibly disturbed if we strayed from the house to visit someone else. I recall going to the local saloon for a couple of beers with my uncle. When I returned she demanded to know where I had been and she was not placated by the fact that I had visited with her brother. Not wishing to disturb her, we remained close to home. It was a strong controlling influence.

When reflecting on my family, I have often wondered why we were a somewhat subdued bunch. Although obviously intelligent and competent, we lacked fire. No one emerged with fire in the belly.

 

 

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF EUNICE MATILDA ON THE FARM

It seems to me that my life on the farm could be summed up on two words, blah and lonely, but here are a few things I remember.

My first memories were of two separate occasions, possibly when I was three or four. I don't know which came first. Sadly one was of Uncle Alfred getting killed during an electrical storm.  My grandmother was sitting in a chair and people were coming by and patting her shoulder. There seemed to be no other show of emotion. The other occasion was quite happy, in fact it was several occasions that Pete, this short, funny-looking man came driving out to the farm bringing candy every time. I decided and let everyone know, that I was going to marry him.  He must have run out of candy as the marriage never took place.

Another early memory is of Pa with his legs crossed and me sitting on his foot while he sang in Danish about riding a horse.

I remember Pa as a distant, unhappy, kind man. He evidently viewed life as full of hardships as he said rather sadly to his granddaughter, Sandy, less than a year old, sitting in her stroller, "you just don't know how many problems you have yet to face." I didn't hear many stories from him about Denmark, but he told one story of being upset because in church for Christmas the poor kids got socks and toys were given to the rich.  The advice Pa gave me when I as upset was to hold my head up high.

Mom was a stern little lady with few smiles. One time she was told to smile more but she answered that it would give her wrinkles. She didn't joke much. She was the disciplinarian. She said Pa had told her to take over completely, as early in the marriage he disciplined physically and she wouldn't stand for it. One look from her would make me obey perhaps even more quickly than a spanking, although she told me I was a difficult child to raise.

Mom and Pa worked very hard as did everyone. I was the baby and babied, so I don't remember much being required of me. But I do remember the everyday drudgery like washing clothes with water heating on the wood burning stove. We had to use whatever was available to burn, and we heated water on the stove even in the heat of the summer.

I also remember butchering, canning, cleaning, gardening, working in the fields, and all the outside work. Harvest season was the worst. As a young child I enjoyed having all these extra people around during threshing time but was still aware of the heat and long hours.

My escape from boredom was traveling to wonderful places and doing great things in a car with flat tires no longer in running condition, abandoned behind the grainery.

As I grew older and became a teenager, the embarrassment age, chores were assigned. The most embarrassing was gathering cobs in a tub from a pig pen near a road. These cobs were used for burning in the cookstove. I was so concerned someone driving by might see me with the pigs. Putting a sack over my head would have made the gathering rather difficult although I'm quite sure I would have been recognized anyway.

I loved the baby farm animals and Tippy the dog who waited at the end of the driveway for me to come home from school. The baby animals who were orphans and fed by the bottle became great pets.  Two lambs that grew up and were still around the yard liked to butt people. Aunt Mary was one of the unlucky ones. She didn't get hurt, but neither did she think it was funny, as I did. The baby piglets grew up to be vicious animals which frightened me as I witnessed them tearing into a lamb getting into the pen by mistake.

Dr. Harris was a "god." He made house calls and I thought he could cure anything. Many of my illnesses seemed first to be medicated with the laxative castoria, but later graduated to castor oil or epsom salt, a very harsh laxative. I looked forward to the half a piece of chewing gum to take away the taste.

One of my first visits to a doctor was in Graceville. Always being chubby, I decided at the age of twelve to lose weight. After going on a strict diet of eating little to nothing, I not only lost weight but became anemic and looked awful. The doctor that my parents took me to gave me medicine for the anemia but to my horror it would also increase my appetite. I definitely had no problem with appetite. Great medicine though, as it continues to do the job.

Another encounter with a doctor was for ear noises (at the time the doctor perhaps didn't know about tinnitus). He told me to turn on the radio. Later when I as seventeen this same doctor told me getting married would cure my headaches.

My grandmother had the best solution for earaches. She filled a flat whiskey bottle with warm water, put a towel over it, had me lie down on  a bed made of two chairs and put my ear on the bottle. I soon learned what a good way it was to get attention. I invented many earaches. Stomach aches worked somewhat as well.

At eleven I became a woman and I learned that women bleed.  No reason was given, just our lot in life, I guessed. That was the beginning of the end of my childhood leading into my teens. Crying to get my way was no longer suitable.

One of my embarrassments as a teenager was the old house, in which we lived, was in need of paint. I as delighted when the landlord decided to paint it white. The painting stopped when a portion of it was done which made it look much worse.

In my senior year of high school Pa bought a farm close by. Even though I was about to leave home, it made me quite happy to move to a place which I thought looked better.

It was while living here we first had electricity. This was a big deal because not only did we have electricity but I acquired one of the electricians as a boyfriend. He went away to college and ended the relationship. The world also ended for a short time but fortunately the electricity continued to flow.

I finished my senior year, taught school near Milbank for a year, coming home on weekends, and the following year taught in a school across from Uncle John's. I drove a 1929 Model A Ford the few miles to the school. That was my last year on the farm as I finally took the advice of my doctor from a few years before, and left home to get married. TALK ABOUT HEADACHES!

 

 

Gordon's First Installment

Here goes:
I thought it appropriate to introduce myself. I am brother Gordon. I am sure that brother Clifford has already told you all about the book he is working on covering his life and the lives of his six siblings from birth to the end of the period covering their farm life experiences. He has invited his siblings to participate by submitting their coverage of their lives - their experiences, how it affected them - our parents - incidents of interest, etc. We siblings realized that we could easily be psychoanalyzed in this publication for you see Clifford is educated and a pro in the psychology field with his Ph.D. from the University of Minnesota. I, of course, won't be covered in that phase as I have a written agreement with him that this won't happen to me. Now that I have mentioned his abilities, he can accuse me of being jealous and in that way analyze me a bit. If he does, I will agree with him and ask him why I shouldn't be for he is better looking than me, he has more money, a million dollar penthouse home, and is an educated person, which I am not. Oh yes, I almost forgot - our mother also liked him better than me. My education has been gathered from scraps along the way. I have, however, been told that I have a "BS" degree - unfortunately this doesn't stand for Bachelor of Science.

Now that all this has been said, I had best get on with my first submission as a participating sibling if Clifford is still going with this plan.

It was midafternoon. I was lying on a bed with my hand dangling in an antiseptic solution in a wash basin at the side. My mother was hovering nervously over me. She did a lot of hovering when we were sick - a real pro. I had just lost a fingemail - pulled out by the very roots. It was 1923 on a farm in South Dakota. I was 2 1/2 years old and this is absolutely my first recollection of my life. My mother had an old washing machine that was a hand type with a large tub, open gears underneath and a handle that pushed back and forth to create an activated washing action inside the tub. The fascinating part to a child was that the handle could be pushed rapidly and would continue running long enough to permit one to run to the rear of the machine and grasp the open gears and bring the machine to a halt as it was rapidly slowing under its own momentum. In this particular instance one of my fingernails caught in the gears and was simply lifted off. It must have been a traumatic experience for a 2 1/2 year old to remember such a particular recollection so early and to have lasted a lifetime.

Apparently nothing as important happened in the next 2 years as my next memory is at about the age of 3 or 4. We had moved to another tenant farm in South Dakota. We lived on that farm one year and only three memories surface from age. I remember sitting in a meadow listening to my brother, 2 years older, discussing 6 year old events with a friend. I remember riding the neighbors car driven by a one armed owner. It is recalled as quite an event and quite a reckless ride. All this in comparison in the mind of a 4 year old whose only transportation up to that point was a horse and buggy.

I remember a big gray cat that I held and played with and called mine. Ownership that no one questioned as cats came by the dozen back then.

At the age of 5 we moved to another tenant farm in the same general location in northeastern South Dakota, five miles from Wilmot our nearest town of 500. From this age on, memories flood upon memories. This farm was my home for the next 13 years until I left home.

Until next time - I trust you will like that better. I really get much more interesting as I get older - l'm only 77 now. By the time I get to 100 I will be downright fascinating.

Segment 2: Moving

At the time of our move to our new tenant farm it was 1926 and our family consisted of myself and four of my siblings - an older brother and sister, and a younger brother and sister. What a glorious adventure for a 5 year old to move from one farm to another. Everything from the house had to be loaded on wagons and hauled to the new farm house. It was quite an operation to move completely everything from a farm home - plus the farm equipment and livestock. What was grueling hard work to the adults was sheer pleasure for young kids. All the adventure of exploring a new home, new outbuildings and a new yard. I remember combing the yard for bits of junk treasure.

The new farm that was to be my home for the next 15 years was something else. The house was a large 2 story with paint peeling, in shabby repair. There was no running water, no electricity, no central heat. It was more like a camp in the wilderness. Unfortunately the prior tenants had neither the desire nor the ambition to even keep the place clean. What looked like a great new house to a 5 year old must have looked like a pig pen to my mother. I remember the wallpaper hanging in shreds in places on the wall, paint peeling where there had been paint, plaster cracked. I can still remember it, and even at my young age I can recall the filth. I can remember my mother crying and my father saying nothing.  We were moved in and the rest had to follow. Mom was a hard worker, young and sturdy and worked like a slave.

Eventually after many buckets of soapy water and scrubbing, Mom seemed reconciled though less than happy. Although, my mother was not a happy person anyway. It was fall of the year and the bitter cold was soon to set in, it was time to get ready for winter. The potbellied stove was set up in the living room. Heavy paper was nailed over as many windows as we could spare the light from as there were no storm windows and the regular windows fitted poorly with ample space for the wind to blow through. Manure from the barn was piled two feet high around the bottom of the house which lent a strong aroma in the fall, but as soon as the subzero weather set in, all that disappeared and we were mighty glad the wind couldn't blow under the house. There was no windbreak for the house, no grove of trees or other shelter. There was an outhouse, a barn, a chicken coop, a hoghouse and a granary. A forlorn setting of a farm dwelling in the midst of 640 acres of prairie and rocky farm land five miles from the nearest town of 500 and nearly two miles from the country school that I was to attend. We had a buggy for transportation to town or 10 miles over to Grandma's and Grandpa's house. To school was by foot.

Segment 3: School

Our country school was nearly 2 miles from our home and accommodated all of the farm children in the community of about a 2 mile radius. There were 8 grades, one through eight, twenty to twenty-five students, and one teacher. If I recall correctly there were six classes per grade coming out to 48 classes per day for the teacher. School started at 8:30 AM and continued to 4:00 PM.

Time came for me to start school in the fall of 1927, but the distance was so far, winters so cold, and being smaller than average for my age, my parents decided I would wait another year. So in the fall of 1928 at the age of seven I started school. It was a happy and frightening occasion. I liked school and was scared to death of the teacher. She was a huge impressive woman to me, probably about fifty, walked with a cane and used the cane to keep order. There were some rather large farm boys in the school. In those days the boys spent a good deal of their time working on the farms and attended school when they could, so consequently they were still going to school when they were practically adult and full grown.

I remember one day one of the older boys created some kind of minor disturbance at his desk when the teacher walked up behind him, landed the cane across his back with such force that he folded up for a few minutes on his desk. This created a healthy respect for order. She had a phobia about wrestling, and every noon hour all of the boys were matched with a partner to wrestle. I was the smallest in the school practically until I finished and always was wrestling with a larger boy. I never won, the best I could hope for was an occasional draw. I hated it.

She had another phobia - she would point to one of the students and have the other students drag this one up to her desk screaming. Then she would tickle this student mercilessly or would lay the individual on her desk and pretend to cut off his or her arms, legs, and head. I was scared to death and would run to the furnace room and hide between the coal pile and furnace until noon hour was over.

Despite her idiosyncrasies, this teacher was considered exceptionally good scholastically, was a progressive type teacher, and sincerely interested in the education of her charges. She took a particular interest in anyone that would apply themselves and showed some promise. She would follow the county prescribed curriculum and in my case as I showed great interest, she would permit me to progress as rapidly as I could from course to course and grade to grade. At the end of my second year I had covered the curriculum for the first three years and went into 4th grade and at the end of that year had covered through the 5th grade and went into sixth grade.

She left at the end of my 4th year at which time I had completed the 6th grade. Years later I learned that this kind soul had become worried about what she might have done to me by progressing me so rapidly through the grades that she continued to check with my high school superintendent, without my parents knowledge, through high school. On her last check at the high school I was told that the superintendent told her that he thought no harm had been done as I would be graduated at 16 as Valedictorian of my class. She told him that she was happy and that she was discontinuing any further follow-up.

As you get older, do you ever remember things you said or didn't say or do or didn't do that you wished you had? I remember one from this period of time.

This teacher would take us to a nearby lake at the end of the school year for a picnic. Then she would buy each one of us a five cent ice cream cone from a nearby stand. We all knew she would do this each year. It was a sugar cone with a big ball of ice cream at the top. What a treat! I was 9 years old that year and feeling great. We all got our cones - there were about a dozen of us when I happened to notice a young girl student, probably 7 years old standing there looking lovingly at her cone when suddenly with a slight arm movement, the ball of ice cream rolled off the end of the cone and onto the ground, then rolled a short distance. The girl ran a few steps after it, stopped and sadly looked down at the now dirty ice cream ball. She looked like she would cry. No one said anything-no one did anything - and the teacher didn't buy her another 5 cent cone. The little girl stood there and slowly ate the empty cone. To this day when I think about this incident, a few tears come to my eyes and I can see that little girl's sad, forlorn face and I still think of it as one of the times I wish I had done something. I wish I had given her my cone.

The last two years at the country school, my 7th and 8th grades, were a pure delight. We had a new young teacher that I immediately got a crush on. Some of the older kids had left, there were fewer students, and I loved school. It was a pleasant time.

Segment 4: Family

I was seven years old when my youngest sister, Eunice, and the youngest member of our family, arrived. I remember the day well, it was warmer than usual for March and in the afternoon my Mother had suddenly taken ill and the doctor had been called. The doctor from our small town 5 miles away only made farm house calls in the most dire emergencies or to bring a new baby. The younger ones of us still didn't know what it was all about and assumed that when a baby came the doctor brought it in his little black bag.

Dr. Harris, a stocky, busy, brusque man arrived in late afternoon that day with his little black bag and went with my father into the house and into the bedroom to see Mom. My brothers and sisters mostly stayed outside until the doctor was ready to leave. Then we went into the house and sat at the kitchen table with my father. After the doctor had left, my father told us that we had a new baby sister. My brother, 2 years older than me, spoke up wisely and said that makes seven and that ought to be enough. And it was.

Now there was the baby, Eunice, brother George 2 years, brother Clifford 4 years, sister Merlys 5 years, myself 7 years, brother Melvin 9 years and sister Marion 14 years. Marion was our half-sister by a previous marriage of my father but none of us knew about that for many years to come. There was also another child, a son, from this marriage, younger than Marion, who was being raised by an Aunt on their Mother's side, but this we didn't know about either for many years to come.

As both of my parents were born in Denmark, they spoke Danish fluently. Most of their social contact was with relatives most of whom had also emigrated from Denmark and consequently Danish remained their principal language even long after becoming proficient in English. When my oldest sister started school, she could only speak Danish, although she was born in this country. The country school teacher called on my folks and brought the problem to their attention and suggested that they start talking more English in the home. Which they did. The rest of us children had no problem when we started school. Actually the rest of us learned both languages simultaneously. We had a curious arrangement in speaking at home. All of us children spoke Danish to my Father, but English to my Mother, this even though we were all in the conversation at the same time. Even more strange, the three oldest of us children spoke English to one another, but we always spoke Danish to our four younger brothers and sisters. When there was a family conversation there was a constant mixture of Danish and English which didn't present any problems. There might be a question in English and an answer in Danish or vice versa. Half might be speaking in English and the other half Danish all in the same general conversation. We thought nothing of it at the time, but in looking back it seemed an unusual arrangement, and I have no idea as to how it got started that way.

Segment 5: Grandparents

I had two sets of grandparents - my paternal grandparents in Denmark and my maternal grandparents living in this country. My maternal grandparents who had emigrated to the U.S. bringing their children with them had homesteaded a farm some 10 miles by dirt road from where we now lived. My earliest recollection of them is a Christmas Eve that we spent at their home when I was about 4, an overnight stay. I remember barely being able to keep awake and looking wonderingly at the electric lights - a rarity in that farm community. They did not have running water or other modern comforts but they did have a farm electric generating plant that produced current solely for lights.

A trip to Grandma's and Grandpa's was no small feat. This was not the day of the auto but of the horse and buggy. Pa would hitch up the horses to the buggy and Ma would, in the winter, bundle all the children in several layers of clothing for the venture over rough dirt roads. Generally we came back the same day for there was always chores that had to be done and unless someone was there to milk the cows and feed the animals there was no alternative to coming back. The ride itself was fun although in the winter the feet would get pretty cold. If it got dark before we got back, there were kerosene lanterns on each side of the buggy to light. I don't know what good they would do, but were quite ornamental. It didn't matter much for the horses didn't travel fast and pretty well knew their way with a minimum of guidance. All in all it was an adventure for the children, a seldom social engagement for my mother and a burden for my father. This Christmas Eve Pa had made preparations for us to stay over.

Grandpa was a short, dark Dane and as stern an individual as you would care to meet, but with a soft spot for his grandchildren. I remember sitting on his knee and he would give us small coins. Grandma was tall and slender and always had cookies for us and was most pleasant, but seemed reserved and we never got real close to her. They had an automobile, quite a fascination for us, and would come to see us once or twice a year and our visits to them would also be about twice a year.

When I was 10 my grandfather died of cancer after a lengthy illness and was bedridden at home for some time. It was a sad time for my mother and she cried much. She always seemed to have something to cry about. The grandchildren did not get to go to the funeral, but Grandpa was laid out in the parlor of their home for two days and we went to see Grandpa. I had never seen a dead person and this really didn't appeal too much to me, but there was no alternative. I remember looking at the body, hearing my father say that he looked good, and seeing my sister cry, and then we went out of the room. I remember my brother, 12 at the time, did not get to go see Grandpa as he had been sick. My mother, who was always trying to make everything equal recompensed him with $.25. I can remember thinking how lucky he was and that if I had a choice I would have preferred the $.25. I could not reconcile in my 10 year old mind why my brother should get $.25 for not getting to do something that I really didn't care to do and knew he didn't either. Then, of course, I felt guilty about such thoughts as it was considered a real privilege to see Grandpa laid out.

Segment 6: Weather

There never was a bluer sky than that sky in South Dakota in the middle of summer with a young boy laying on his back looking straight up and watching the pure, white, billowy clouds sailing overhead. I didn't realize then the beauty of it and only wish that the sight could be recaptured now. I have never seen a prettier sunset than the clear red sunset on the Dakota prairie. That I didn't realize at the time either. I don't ever once remember my parents or anyone else pointing out the natural beauties such as the sky, the sunsets, the clouds, the openness. I suppose the elements were too harsh most of the time and the battle for food and survival too great to even think there might be something beautiful.

With the bright sunsets, clear sky, and warm weather of the summer also came the treachery of wind, storms, tornadoes. When we were working in the fields we always tried to judge a storm coming up in the west so that we could make it home to the barn with the horses before it would break in full fury. Severe storms were likely any afternoon at about four o'clock, sometimes they would pass around us, and other times they would come right through our farm. Horses became skittish when the storms came. I remember putting up hay with my older brother about a mile from home one summer afternoon when the clouds began to build up in the west and move in our direction. My brother and I each had a team of horses. I was running the hay rake. We misjudged the rapidity of the storm but fortunately it was only moderately high winds but with thunder, lightning and cloudbursts of rain. We headed for home, but knew we couldn't make it. My brother cautioned me to hang onto the horses and not let them get out of control. I managed to hold them down some, but as the rain came harder, the horses went faster and I had a real ride. I remember being absolutely drenched and running to the house. As we got into the house Mom and our other brothers and sisters were there. My younger sister said, "Did you get wet?" And I replied, "No, I was lucky I had my jacket along" - which I removed and draped over her head. Everyone thought that was hilarious.

Not so fortunate was that day in June that started out like all other farm days in June with chores, then work in the fields, home for lunch (only we called it dinner) then back out in the fields. Along in the afternoon the ominous clouds began to build. I remember it getting darker and darker - I was home, but my brother and father were in the fields. Then I saw my brother coming home followed by my father. I could see my father pushing the horses harder than usual and the darkness was coming in, and it was more like dusk than mid-afternoon. Pa was at the barn hurrying with the horses. The air suddenly became calm, not a sound, it was an eerie feeling that I still recall. My father came running for the house, we all headed indoors, the rain started gently for a few moments, then harder, then the wind came. The calm disappeared almost instantaneously in winds like I had never experienced. The house shook and groaned and swayed. My mother said maybe we should go to the cellar. My father never wanted to go to the cellar. I don't ever remember going there although it was often mentioned. This time Pa said if it gets any worse, we'll have to go. He was more concerned than I had ever seen him about a storm - ordinarily storms didn't bother him and he could sleep through thunderstorms that we were sure would tear the house from its foundation. We were in the middle of a tornado this time and I didn't realize it. The extreme part was relatively short lived and in less than an hour it was all over, and the rain had stopped, the wind had gone down, the sun was coming out, and we went out to survey the damage. Everything growing looked ripped, leaves, stalks, corn shredded. All of our buildings were intact with the exception of the outhouse, it was gone, completely wrecked. Pa said he might just as well go to town and pick up supplies, that it was too late and too wet to go back to the fields. The telephone lines were down so we were completely without communication. When Pa came back from town he unloaded the car, seemed very quiet and said nothing to us kids. He went into the house and we heard him talking to Mom, and I remember him saying "Alfred was killed in the storm." It seemed harsh, but I guess there is no easy way to say something like that. Alfred was Mom's youngest brother, almost 20, and our favorite uncle. Our favorite, I suppose, because he was closer to our ages and always a lot of fun. He had a real light touch, not too serious, and a good sense of humor. Mom started crying. Pa explained that he and his brother and sister were in their barnyard doing chores when the storm hit. The wind had picked up his sister and was carrying her toward the hog house some 100 feet away, and Alfred ran to catch her and just at that point the wind sheared off a heavy gate post and smashed it into his head. We were all sad. It was a sad time for Mom, her father had just died six months before, and now her baby brother.

Segment 7: Cold

Cold is something you have to feel, it can't really be described. You never get used to it, you learn to live with it and endure it. This we did every winter. Until I grew up and left home, I never realized that your feet weren't supposed to be cold. I remember the cold vividly and in many ways. I remember my sister crying from chillblains on her feet. Chillblains are caused by the flesh actually freezing, then turning. black, and then regeneration sets in, and the pain is severe. I remember my father's nose and cheeks turning black from having been frozen. I remember the walks to school, nearly two miles, with temperatures at times down to 20 below and strong winds - I have no idea what the wind-chill temperature would have been as such determination was not made at that time. We always had scarves around our heads covering all but the eyes. The scarves, of course, steamed up and immediately turned to ice. We must have looked like something from outer space before we arrived at the school. The feet were cold to the point of no feeling, the hands were cold, wrists seemed to be frozen where the jackets and gloves met, but most of all it seemed as if my testicles were the coldest of all. I don't know exactly why but the testicles always suffered. It wasn't that we didn't have all the clothes that we could carry. The boys always had long underwear and two pair of pants, plus a sweater, and generally two jackets or outer coats. I was very small and the teacher was sympathetic and on severe days would help me (and I suppose others) to the furnace grate where hot air was flowing out, and would take off my coats, boots, etc. and help me to get moving.

I remember the cold in the house. We had a pot-bellied heater in the living room and the coal burning cook stove in the kitchen. Some winters we even had a smaller pot-bellied heater upstairs that we started up before going to bed. The house, however, was not insulated, construction was poor, and there were no storm windows or storm doors, but we did cover as many windows as possible with heavy construction paper for the winter. With the type of dwelling the meager heat the stoves gave out was enough to keep us alive, but not comfortable. I remember one severely cold day when we kept our jackets on in the house and fed the heater all the coal it would take and I kept checking the thermometer to see how it was doing and the very best it did that day was 45 degrees. We did not have an outside thermometer so never knew just what the temperature was outside. At night the fire in the stoves went out and the temperature plunged/ We were fortunate in not having running water as no pipes could have stood it through the first days of winter. The water was always frozen in the house; it would be necessary to break the ice in the water bucket before making coffee. If we left a little water in the wash basin it was often frozen solid and you could tap it on the bottom and the ice would be dumped out in one piece.

I remember one winter in the depression days when there was no money to buy necessary coal and we started burning corn on the cob. Prices had sunk so low for the grains and corn that Pa said it was more feasible just to burn the corn, which we did. It snapped and crackled as it burned, but it burned fast and the amount of heat it gave off was not long lasting. We would also in the fall of the year go out in the pasture and pick up dried pads of cow dung for burning. This was sort of a last resort as it burned badly and gave little heat and was most unsatisfactory. Almost as unsatisfactory was lignite coal which we had to contend with a couple of winters. Lignite coal is the poorest type of coal, and also the cheapest. It was difficult just to keep it burning and it had to be frequently laced with kerosene just to keep it going, and to this day I am not convinced that it gave any heat - I think it merely fueled the imagination.

I remember at night heating rocks and Mom's hand irons in the stove, then wrapping them in heavy pieces of cloth and taking them along to bed to place the feet on in bed. That is a most luxurious feeling, to crawl into an ice-cold bed and then put your feet on these hot rocks. The heat in them would last way into the night. I remember the weight of the covers on the bed. We had so many covers that they were actually heavy. You would have to keep your head under the covers or your ears and nose would freeze. Water in a cup next to your bed would be frozen in the morning. Snow would blow in around the window and pile up on the window sill. I can remember when the snow on the window sill inside out bedroom would start to disappear, we would know another sign of spring.

Segment 8: Fall Weather

Winters were bitter cold, but fall days and evenings were really the worst for me. Aside from being able to go back to school, for I loved school, fall had no redeeming features for me. Especially at a young age I found it very gloomy. The clouds would roll in covering the sun most of the time, the temperature would drop to near the freezing mark, and there seemed to be a constant drizzle. A cold clammy atmosphere. The house would be cold and damp, the wood burning coal stove being all that we would use then, not time for the pot-bellied heater just yet.

I can remember as yesterday, a fall evening, darkness came early, and we small children would be in the kitchen trying to amuse ourselves. Pa would be out doing chores and Mom would seem to always have something to do at this time of year with her chickens, ducks, and geese. Mom would put the kerosene lamp in the hanger on the wall, high enough that we could not reach it, light it, and warn all of us not to pull a chair up to the spot and crawl up and touch the lamp. Then she would take off for outside to round up her fowl, she would have to get them into the chicken coop so a quick snow or drop in temperature wouldn't kill them. The kitchen was dimly lit from the kerosene lamp hanging on the wall, it was cold and clammy and it seemed to me as if these evenings would go on forever. We got so we hated it when Mom would say I got to go out and see about the chickens. In a couple of hours she would be back in, short, fat and puffing, her nose red, and would say - I couldn't get all of them, but I got most of them. I don't know how long it took to train those chickens but it seemed to go on every evening until those that were to be sold had been taken to market and winter had set in. It never seemed as dreary and dismal in that half lit kitchen after Mom and Pa came in and Mom started stirring up something for supper.

Segment 9: Skates

Work was, of course, the main activity on the farm but there was time for fun as we could make it. In the winter running and playing on the snow drifts driven hard enough to walk upon by the fierce wind was fun. Sometimes in the fall there would be water in the sloughs or ditches that would freeze and it was much sport to slide on the ice. Skates we would all like to have, but couldn't afford as young children. When I was 14, for some business reason that I don't recall, we had to go to a little larger city twenty miles from home. This was the county seat of our adjoining county and had a population of about 2,000 which to us was a metropolitan area. In traveling the streets my brother and I spotted a second-hand store, so we investigated. They had a whole row of used ice skates. Several pairs for $.39 each. I was delighted. We started checking - they were all pretty small. There was only one pair big enough for me, and the skates weren't matched, one was from a racing type with much longer blade than the other which was from a regular pair of skates. They didn't look too good, but they did fit my shoes and they were only $.39. I say only because that was the cheapest pair of skates I had ever seen but it was a lot of money to me and took a good deal of consideration. I made the plunge. I owned my first pair of skates - the old fashioned kind that clamped onto your shoes. When you got them clamped solidly onto a pair of big clumsy farm shoes they weren't too bad for skating and I soon got used to one being longer than the other. I was very happy to have a pair of skates, the only pair in our family, and made good use of them.

Segment 10: Confining

Aside from the work and chores on the farm there wasn't too much that as children we could do for amusement or self gratification. We unfortunately didn't have anything to read of consequence which was a hardship on me as I was an avid reader and would read anything that I could lay my hands on. In school we, of course, had our study books but no other library. There was a small bookcase of four shelves about three feet wide that held all of the books of our country school library. It didn't take long to go through those. For current reading material at home, Pa subscribed to a Norwegian newspaper which we children could read very little of. Generally we could make out a one column cartoon. Sometimes Pa would read us an interesting bit of news. We didn't have magazines or other newspapers so we didn't keep up on current events too well. We were on a party telephone line with 12 other subscribers and when there was a great national news event the central operator would ring six short rings which brought everyone to the phone and then she would read the bulletin. I remember when the kidnapped Lindbergh child was found, this announcement came over the telephone, but not the fact that the child was dead. It was some time before we found out all the details. We did for periods of time have the local weekly newspaper which was then two sheets or four pages. Every word in that sheet was read several times before the next issue came out.

Mom did have a bit of good fortune. She had some friends in town that she occasionally took some eggs or cream and butter and they in return would give her some used clothing and used editions of True Story, True Romances and such magazines. She wasn't sure that this was good reading for us children but nevertheless she didn't entirely keep them under control so we did "sneak" some access. I don't believe that it either did us any good or harm.

You might say that we lived a life of confinement. Everything centered around our home and family. As small children before high school age we never went anywhere except to school, relatives, and on occasion to town to buy supplies. After high school age it was not much different for me as I was the first to go on to high school and beyond going to school there was no participation in other activities. We went nowhere by ourselves. We had a nearby lake but we couldn't go there by ourselves; we couldn't go swimming; we couldn't go fishing; we couldn't go to town by ourselves; we could go to grade school picnics when our parents could go; couldn't go to high school picnics as the parents didn't go; we couldn't go to social events; and our parents didn't associate with neighbors, so we couldn't go there. It left us quite confined to our family circle. My father didn't believe in church, so we didn't go. Much of our confinement, I am sure, was due to the physical circumstances of farm isolation, part was the busy schedule of farmers and that children's activities were non-essentials in a harsh world of making a living, and the remainder was the fear and anxiety of my mother that something adverse would happen to us in any activity other than strictly work or school.

My mother actually lived a life of fear and anxiety of doom or impending misfortune which I am sure was transmitted to most of her children. She was always afraid that we would be hurt, that we would get sick, or that we would die. I remember once when one of us was sick and she was bemoaning the situation and castigating my father because he didn't seem to be worried. He explained to her the difference in their thinking - he said "When the kids are sick I always think that they are going to get well, and you always think that they are going to die." And that pretty well summed up the situation.

Segment 11: Social

As children we used to comment that we lived from Christmas to the 4th of July. These were the two big social events in our lives when we were young. Christmas was a time of celebration and gifts and a tree with genuine candle lights on it. I don't know how we managed to escape burning the house down with evergreen trees as flammable as they are and with at least 2 dozen lighted candles burning on it at one time. I know that our parents watched it like hawks while it was burning, but I would hate to try it today. We were used to getting a non-essential gift for Christmas, one that would probably cost a dollar which was a lot of money then. All Christmases seem to blend into one with one exception. I remember the Christmas when Mom told us that this year we would all be getting gifts of clothing and necessities because of the hard times. What a crush to our spirits but the only comment came from my older brother, who must have been all of 13 at the time, and he informed Mom that she could just keep his present as he wasn't interested if that's the way it was going to be. What a surprise on Christmas when the usual luxury gifts were there. My brother said to me, "This turned out to be the best Christmas of all."  Both he and I had received a genuine Ingraham picket watch, a possession such as we had never had before. After Christmas, the next big event to wait for was the 4th of July. There was always a picnic on that day at the lake. We lived only a few miles from a large lake and all the cousins and aunts and uncles would gather at the lake for a big day. There would be about 60 of us all together. Each family would bring food and it was all shared. What a feast. Then there was the refreshment stand where soda and candy was sold as well as firecrackers. The whole day would ring to the thunderous explosions of firecrackers on which there were no limitations in those days. The only other social activities would be the occasional getting together with some of the family, sometimes for Thanksgiving dinner or some such event.

Segment 12: Religion

As children we did not go to church. Both of my parents had been raised in a strict Danish Lutheran religious atmosphere. Pa had become completely disenchanted with church or any organized religions. He refused to go to church and til the time I left home I never saw him in church and he exacted a promise from Mom that when he died he would not be taken into a church. Mom maintained her religious beliefs in a good combination of guilt and fear, sure that the Lord would exact his vengeance if something was said or done that didn't please him. Mom didn't go to church either as there really was no way from the farm if Pa refused to go. She always deplored that we weren't getting to church. I remember once going with my grandparents at an early age before starting school. I remember sitting in the pew with Grandpa and he gave me a dime for the collection. Collection was taken up by all marching up around the pulpit and depositing your money on a table by the pulpit as you passed by - what an experience. I marveled for many days at all that silver lying on that table and thought surely all the riches in the world must have been gathered in one spot. There probably wasn't a total of $10.00.

I remember one other time going to church. Mom had been belaboring the situation for some time about our lack of church and worked up to Pa agreeing to take us into town to attend church the next Sunday. That day my older sister, older brother, and myself all got ready and as this was shortly after getting our first car, Pa drove us to church and left us and went home. After church I had sort of expected Pa to pick us up although we had been told that we would have to walk home - a distance of over 5 miles on gravel and dirt roads. So we started out walking which seemed great fun when we started out, but as the miles dragged on it got to be less and less fun. I was about nine years old at that time and I remember being quite tired when I got home and sat down on the floor to rest. It certainly dampened my spirits for church and my older brother said flatly that he wasn't going any more and sister made no comment. But nothing further was said about going to church and rather ended it. A few summers later someone decided it would be a good idea to start Sunday school at our community school and they did get it started. It ran for I believe six weeks before it disbanded and we did attend but I can remember nothing more than that about it.

I remember once we all went to Graceville, a town about 25 miles from home where they had a fairly good hospital. One of us had to have medical attention and I don't remember which one, but know it wasn't me. I do remember seeing my first Priest. We were sitting in the car when this Priest went by and we were all amazed at the garb, we had never seen anyone dressed like that before. Pa was in the car and of course we all immediately inquired as to this strange individual. Pa answered in Danish and there is no exact translation, but the closest is "They are people who make fun (or fools) of the rest of us."

We didn't have a Bible at home which I have often regretted. We had nothing to read and being an avid reader and thirsting for knowledge and with loads of time on my hands, I know that I would have read it several times. Never since has there been such a situation in my life. Developing in this atmosphere, I never felt a kinship to organized religion. Neither did I ever develop a feeling that the Lord was a sadistic, vengeful figure ready to wreak havoc on anyone doing anything that might be displeasing.

Segment 13: Health

From the day I was born six weeks premature and all through my childhood I was unfortunately small, weak and rather sickly. This was a definite handicap for a farm boy at a time when muscle and health was highly prized. It was even more of a handicap for me as my two-year older brother was just the opposite, large and strong for his age and extremely healthy. Melvin could always do everything and I could never do anything. At the of 12 Melvin could do a man's work in the fields. He was highly prized. At the same time it was generally conceded that I wasn't any good. It was spoken of openly within the family and our relatives that I was "no good" and it hurt every time I heard it said. To the family, I guess it was just a fact and not to be hidden.

There were two things that really bothered me and that was one of them. The other was that my fractured wrist when I was 8 years old cost $25.00. I knew even then that this was a tremendous amount of money - but just could hardly stand to hear time and again for a long, long time that I had cost them $25.00 - that stupid, useless kid I thought. It helped that I dwelled on the thought that when I got old enough to get a job I would save my money until I had $25.00 and then I would throw it on the table and say here's your God damned $25.00 I cost you for my broken wrist. I thought about it as I got older and had $25.00, but then I decided "hell, I've earned it and it's mine to keep."

My only redeeming feature was that I was exceptionally good in school, tho this didn't count too much but the teachers liked me and told my folks what a good student I was. Education beyond reading and writing was generally considered a bit of foolishness. At that time very few of the farm children went on to high school. Neither my older brother or sister went to high school, when they finished the eight years of country school that was the end. I think only four of my many cousins had gone on to high school.

When I finished country grade school, some of my handicaps actually turned out to be assets for me. I had only taken six years to complete the eight years and so was only 12 years old and still very small. Mom and Pop decided that I was too small to stop going to school and that I should go for one more year. The fact that I was an exceptional student didn't seem to enter into the picture, but the fact that physically I was small and weak and of little use on the farm was the deciding factor. So arrangements were made that I go back to the country school for one more year for a year of post-graduate work to be designed by the teacher. Our County Superintendent of Schools heard about this and advised our teacher that this was not permitted and that if I was to have more schooling, it would have to be at the high school. It only left one alternative - I would have to go in to the high school in town some five miles from home. It was clearly understood that this wasn't exactly approved of by my parents but that there was no alternative and that it would only be for one year. When the second year came around, I fortunately hadn't grown much, was still considered pretty useless for farm work except for milking cows for which I had a pretty good knack. So the opposition to continue at high school was not too strong, the biggest problem being that it cost $.50 a week to get a ride back and forth from school with the neighbor boys who drove. But fortunately I had $12.00 in savings which carried me well into the year and kept the program moving.

Being small and of poor health undoubtedly worked out to my advantage in the long run and undoubtedly also greatly aided my two brothers and two sisters who followed me for they too got to go on to high school. But at the time it looked much like it was all disadvantage. Survival itself was probably rather miraculous when you consider a premature birth of six weeks out on a farm with no modern conveniences, a cold house and winter setting in with all the severity of a South Dakota prairie winter. My brothers and sisters had weighed up to 12 pounds at the time of birth and when I weighed in at a little over 5 pounds, it must have been quite a disappointment to my folks.
 

Medical facilities were limited, not so much because of the lack of a doctor, as we had one in our small town then, but rather by a lack of money, the distance from town and that travel for us was by horse and buggy. Medical and dental treatment was considered to be of an emergency nature only. The doctor did make medical calls on rare occasions. Aside from the time of births of my brothers and sisters, I only remember one visit of the doctor to our house and that was when my younger brother was in a crisis situation with pneumonia from which he recovered. When one of us became very ill it was often considered and discussed as to whether or not the doctor should be called, but we always weathered the storm before it was decided to make the call.

I do remember one time, however, when I had quinsy, an inflammation and swelling of the tonsils to the point that the throat can close completely and death may result unless the swelling bursts - or is lanced. It is not contagious and only my father and I ever had it in our family - at different times. My father had to go to the doctor twice and have it lanced. I was roaring sick with the quinsy and must have had a fierce temperature, but as we never owned a thermometer, we of course never knew exactly how bad off we were. Anyway, at the time of this episode, it was finally decided that the doctor must be called. A very big decision. I remember that he was called and he explained that in the roaring blizzard that had been going on and was still going, the roads were pretty well closed, but that he would come as soon as he could make it. He didn't come that day. He didn't make it the next day. On the third day my temperature had broken, the swelling had burst, I survived. I was improving when the doctor called us and said that now he thought he could make it and would be out. My mother informed him that there was no longer any need and so we didn't see him that time either.

I first remember being taken to the doctor's office when I was about eight. I had taken a 10 gallon milk can, turned it upside down as the bottom was wider than the top, stood in on the top and crawled up to see if I could see my father coming home from the field. I barely stood up when I tipped over and landed on my hand bent at the wrist. What pain, I cried off and on all that night, didn't sleep much and the wrist was quite swollen. The next day it was decided that the doctor would have to have a look at it. In we went to his office and a small hospital building where the doctor really had advanced equipment for so small a town. He had a fluoroscope, he arranged things, had me put my arm behind the screen, had my father hold the arm, and he took hold of my hand and turned it back and forth until I could have screamed, but in that day and age you just didn't do things like that. It's broken he said. I sat down in a chair. He then said to Pa, you saw that it was broken, didn't you and Pa said he hadn't seen anything. So the doctor said to me, come back here and again my arm went behind the screen, my father holding the arm and the doctor twisting the hand - it seems like yesterday - I still don't know why I didn't pass out. The doctor said to my father, "Did you see that?" Pa said I didn't see anything. Now the doctor was determined that my father just had to see the break, I'm sure he didn't want it said that he had put a cast on an arm that wasn't even broken. He said now watch here and showed my father where to watch and this time he really gave the hand a turn and I thought it surely must have turned it completely around. Did you see that and I was never so happy as I was to hear Pa say, "Ya, I saw that". Now came the setting. The doctor had me sit in my father's lap and he showed Pa how and where to hold and the doctor grabbed the hand and started pulling. Both men were quite strong and through the pain I can remember wondering how an arm could stand to be pulled so hard. After what seemed ages of pulling, he started the process of winding the wet cast material around the hand and all the way to the elbow.

I do remember another time that I was what they called real sick, with a temperature that was really burning me up, but I wasn't "out of my head" which had on occasion happened with such temperatures. I believe this was before my above noted broken wrist happening. The more I write, the more I see what a "sick" kid I was and must have been a really "no good" one, a real joy. In the instance I started this paragraph, Mom was in and out of the living room where I was laying on the day bed. She would check my forehead, ask me how I felt and did I think we should call the doctor. Or she would say, "I think we ought to call the doctor." This was no small decision and Pa was some distance out in the field, so couldn't help in the decision making. So the program continued. I think I must have been a mean kid because after a few more inquiries about should we call the doctor, I said, "Mom, wait until the next time you come back." She said "What good is it to wait until next time?" I said "Maybe you could call the undertaker instead of the doctor." I'm kind of surprised at making that remark as I'm much nicer now. Incidentally, this time, as several other times the doctor was not called.

My next encounter with the doctor was a few years later when I developed chronic appendicitis. I would have mild attacks at different intervals and the doctor felt that it could be controlled and that an operation might not be necessary, which sounded very good to me and to my parents. We could ill afford anything like an operation, there was no such thing as insurance or hospital care in those days on the farm. The treatment prescribed was some reddish ill-tasting medicine which I believe was supposed to keep the bowels loose and theoretically the appendix un-inflamed. I took this medicine off and on for about three years and the attacks came and went and I doubt the medicine made much difference. This went on until I was fifteen and then had a severe attack. I was up all night vomiting and diarrhea and as sick a kid as I had ever been. In the morning it was decided that I had best be taken to the hospital at Ortonville, Minnesota, some 30 miles from home. At that time we had a car but for us it was quite a trip in a 1928 Packard that Pa had acquired for a small gasoline engine plus $36.00. By the time we left, the vomiting had ceased and I was feeling much better, but with a centralized pain in my right side. The night before it had just hurt all over. The roads were gravel and quite good at that time of year, August, but with usual spots of holes and washboards and every time we hit a hole or a so-called washboard, it would awaken the pain in my side.

I was nearly 15 at that time, ready to enter my junior year in high school, and had never been this far from home before. It would have been a real adventure had I not been so apprehensive. We arrived early at the hospital, a brick structure that I believe had once been a large home, and now served as the hospital for the surrounding area. It looked large to me, but by present standards was very small. If I recall correctly, it had eight rooms for patients, an office, an operating room, kitchen, etc., on two floors. We sat in the office waiting for the doctor to arrive, they had three doctors in the city at that time and they all served the hospital but had offices downtown. The doctor arrived, questioned my parents, looked at me, got a pin from somewhere stuck it in the lobe of my ear to extract a blood sample. I was sure he had torn the whole lobe off my ear, actually that hurt almost as much as the operation. We waited 15 minutes or so for him to come back, and when he did, he announced that I had appendicitis and would have to have an operation right away. He discussed the operation with my parents. This was 1936 and I remember him telling my parents that they had a new kind of anesthesia that they had started using here and that it could be used on anyone 15 years and older and that as I was almost 15 they could use it on me and that I would not have to have ether, which had such ill after effects. Then he explained that I would be awake through the whole operation but not feel a thing. I hadn't spoken a word until then but then I spoke up and said that I wanted no part of being awake during the operation and that I would take anything else. The doctor ignored me and turned to my parents. My father said nothing. I suppose he was mulling over my wishes, but good old Mom was right there and said whatever is best for Gordon. The doctor assured her that the spinal anesthesia would be much better for me and that was the decision.

A nurse came and led me out and to my new room, had me undress and get into this absurd short pajama top. I'm surprised that I didn't die on the spot. As a matter of fact, I wished that I had just simply died the night before and avoided all of this ordeal. Small things seem vivid in memory and I remember her coming to give me a hypodermic and she had a small piece of cotton smelling of alcohol and she washed off the spot on my arm where the needle was to go and I recall looking at the spot and marveling at what a nice, white, clean spot it made. I had been working in the fields the day before, had lots of good clean dirt all over and hadn't had a bath. Shortly after that the doctor came in shaved my whole stomach and pubic area and painted the whole area with a red substance which I presume was merthiolate, but never did know. I was now ready for the operation.

THE OPERATION
Away I went to the operating room, nervous as a cat, and 100% apprehensive about the whole deal. I don't remember how I got on the operating table, I first remember laying on my side and the doctor telling me to pull my knees up to my stomach. No one told me what was going on but they really didn't have to when I saw the doctor with a hypodermic that looked to be at least two feet long. I suppose it was about half that size. The pain was excruciating when he inserted the needle into my spine. I don't know how I managed to lie still just being told to do so. Today I'm sure it would take the three doctors and nurse who were present to hold me down. It seemed like hours that the needle was in my spine but I'm sure it was only minutes. Then he had me roll over on my back, stretched out, and I saw the nurse standing at my head as they strapped me down, arms and all, so that I couldn't move and then put a sheet over my face. It unnerved me a good bit when they strapped me down, I think I had it in mind to jump off the table and make a get-away. The doctors kept up a running conversation all the while that I heard for lack of any alternative. Then I began to feel the numbness setting into my legs, it seemed as if it started from my toes and just kept moving up. It kept moving up further and further until it began to affect my breathing. I remember pulling hard to breath, puffing and struggling for breath and wasn't consoled much to hear one doctor say to another "I guess we almost gave him too much." I often wondered why a doctor would make a statement like that with the patient conscious and a child at that. The breathing began to ease up and the surgeon proceeded. There was no pain when he made the incision but I could feel it being made, a very strange sensation. But as he got inside there was no question as to feeling it, it felt as if someone had hold of my intestine and was literally pulling it out of my stomach. Then I heard the surgeon remark, "Well, we got that one in time". That didn't sound too bad to me. Then it only seemed a short while until it was all over and I was on my way back to my room. I remember seeing my mother and then the nurse coming in to check on me.

I stayed in the hospital eight days and remember the folks coming to see me every day. The visits were good and I hated to see them go. I didn't mind the stay in the hospital, I liked to think and that was a good place to just lay and think. One day I overheard two of the nurses in the hall talking and it finally dawned on me that they were talking about me and I remember one of them saying "He just lays there and doesn't ask for anything". At that age and under the circumstances that I had been raised, I didn't realize that you could just ask for something and get it.

Everything went fine until the 6th day when they decided that I should get up and walk. The trouble was I was bent over like an old man and no way could I straighten up, the spine just wouldn't straighten. The nurses did a lot of coaxing and at that time I didn't realize their concern. Later I understood that there had been some difficulty along that line with that type of anesthesia at that time. On the 7th day the head nurse threatened that if I didn't straighten up and walk straight, I wouldn't be able to go home the next day. That was the ultimate threat, but it didn't work, I just couldn't do anything about it. Nevertheless, they did let me go home the next day. I don't know if I ever did get really straight after that, I do know that for a long time after getting home I was encouraged to straighten up - that I looked like an old man.

The scar wouldn't heal properly but with liberal doses of peroxide it finally came around and looked pretty good to me. I thought no more of it until I was 19 and having a civil service physical examination and the young doctor in Washington, D.C. looked at me and said what happened to you. I said "what do you mean?" and he pointed to the scar and said "the scar." I told him I had my appendix out and had the presence of mind to ask him if that wasn't the usual result. He said that generally it was quite a bit smaller than that. Mine happened to be about eight inches in one direction and then another inch cut at one end at a right angle.

The same fall that I had my appendix out in the summer, it was decided that my sister and myself should have out tonsils removed. Of the children, the two of us had greatly enlarged tonsils and every winter had severe throat problems. The doctor forewarned my parents that my sister's tonsils were particularly bad and would be difficult to remove, but that mine were large, round and seemed almost loose and would present no problem. As mine would present no problems, again, against my wishes, it was decided that a local anesthetic should suffice. I was taken to the operating room and seated on a stool and the surgeon sat himself on another stool facing me. This was the same doctor that had removed my appendix. Mom sat on another stool in the corner of the room, at least part of the time, but in the middle of the operation she had enough and left the room. I remember looking at the clock on the wall and thinking, "Oh well, in an hour this will be all over." What an hour.

The doctor had a hypodermic with what appeared to be a long curved needle. He inserted that several times in my tonsil and throat area and it hurt. I was already nervous, in fact I don't think I had completely recovered psychologically from my previous experience in that room a few months earlier. He then brought out an instrument that looked as if it had a circle of fine wire at the end. He waited a few minutes and then began. He circled one of the tonsils with the loop on his instrument and severed it and brought it out with no difficulty just as he had predicted. This didn't seem too bad. Then he went to work on the other one and he was havong trouble and I was bleeding and coughing. Finally he clipped and removed the tonsil and I coughed and spit blood. He looked again and said, "I only got half of that one. I'll have to get the rest or it will give you trouble." That's when Mom left the room.  I was beginning to shake, my knees were actually jumping and the more I tried to control myself the more I shook. I remember looking at the reflector on the light he had on his forehead and noted how blood splattered it was. I was now coughing almost continually from the blood running into my throat and it splattered all over the doctor, his face, his uniform and his light. He looked like a butcher. He was beginning to get nervous and he said again, I've got to get the rest of that one. Every time he got the remaining part circled it slipped out of the instrument's noose. Finally he got it hooked and clamped and brought out another chunk of tonsil. Then he took another look, smiled and said, "I got that one out way up to the ear." I was still shaking and near exhaustion, but the surgeon became very relaxed at that point. He daubed something inside my throat and chatted. Then he reached over to the side table where the tonsils were and picked one up with a pair of forceps and held it up for me to see and said "Isn't that a dandy?" At that point I was far from interested. That night I had problems with breathing and coughing, but my sister who was to have had all the trouble, had no problems and slept the night through and ate fruit the next morning while I could barely open my mouth to slip in a piece of chewing gum which had been prescribed. At least that prescription suited me as gum was a real luxury in those days.

We stayed at the hospital that night and in the morning the folks came down to pick us up. I remember that there was the bill to be paid before we left. Pa talked to the head nurse and the bill for the operating, room, surgeon's fee, and everything that is now listed in scores, was a flat $25.00. This was a fortune to a bankrupt farmer and Pa asked the head nurse if that couldn't be reduced inasmuch as there had been two of us at the same time. She said she would have to speak to the doctor that performed the operation. We waited for him to come in. When he did Pa said his piece and the doctor said OK $20.00 each. Pa was delighted, Ma didn't think he should have said anything, and even in my weakened condition I was amazed at Pa's business ability.

Insofar as dentistry was concerned, our small rural community was fortunate in having a dentist in our town. However, as far as our family was concerned it was dentistry of an emergency situation. You didn't go to the dentist for care of your teeth, but rather to have them pulled when they became too decayed and painful to be of further use. Unfortunately, my baby teeth had roots similar to second teeth and most of them would not fall out as the second teeth came in so that was another emergency situation and most of my first teeth had to be pulled by the dentist. What a terrifying experience to go to the dentist. Either he didn't believe in Novocaine or he didn't figure it was necessary on baby teeth. In any event, I never had Novocaine for any of the pullings and each time he would remark, "I've never seen roots like that on first teeth." To this day it is a nervous sensation to go to the dentist even for cleaning and a check-up.

After finishing high school and having earned a few dollars, I thought it would be a good idea to go to the dentist to have my teeth cleaned. This I had never had done before. I was 17 at that time. The dentist cleaned the teeth, looked them over, and remarked that I still had one of my baby teeth. He said it should come out. I inquired as to whether the second tooth would then come in and he said he didn't know at this late date. Then I asked if the tooth that was there wouldn't be just as good. He said it wasn't as good as a second tooth but that it would be alright for some time, but nevertheless he said it should come out. I said maybe it would be better to keep this one for as long as it is good rather than to gamble on the second one coming in at my age. I sat there debating what to do while he was poking around in my mouth and before I knew what had happened he yanked the offending tooth, held it up in front of my face and said, "See it's a baby tooth." The decision was made and there was no use in considering it further, but I was much dismayed. There I was 17 going on 18, self conscious in the first place, and there I was with a disastrous hole in my smile. I soon learned not to smile. Some six months passed and nothing happened to fill the vacant spot, no sign of the new tooth. One day when we went to another town, Brown's Valley, Minnesota, some 10 miles from home, I went to the local dentist there and inquired as to whether he thought the tooth would come in. He looked it over, said he couldn't say, but if it didn't we could try lancing the spot and see if that would help. I was to come back later. About two months elapsed and then much to my joy and amazement, the second tooth started coming through. I was most happy as I had given it up as a lost cause. It came in fully and beautifully.

Segment 14: Jobs

Jobs were scarce, money was scarce, and for school children it was even more so. Ten cents was a lot of money in the 30's in the Dakotas. We didn't get an allowance, but in the summer time, when we worked in fields we always received something before going to town. It generally ranged from $.10 to $.25. Ten cents was a little disappointing but twenty-five cents was sheer joy. We could spend a dime and still have money left for our savings. We were great on saving and despite the meager income we all managed to save several dollars before reaching high school. We had a regular income on our birthdays. We always received $.25 and we looked forward to that. On the 4th of July before going to the lake on our annual picnic, we generally received $.25. Occasionally Grandpa would give us a nickel or dime, but unfortunately that source of income dried up when Grandpa died when I was still quite young.

Up to the age of 15 or 16 there was no work for a boy other than work at home on the farm. After 15 or 16 if you were as big and strong as a man, it was possible, when there were crops, to get some work in the grain fields or with a threshing crew during harvest season that would pay cash. The highest wages I can remember was $2.50 a day during the threshing season and that would be from dawn until dark. In the fall also, there was a limited amount of corn picking to be done that would pay as high as $.08 per bushel picked.

One year in high school I was very fortunate. The WPA had a work program for the very poor and we easily fell into that category. As I remember, we were paid something like $.30 an hour for a total of not more than $4.00 per month. I worked in the Superintendent's office, typing, cutting stencils, and doing any other assigned tasks. I always got in my full time and had a fortune of $4.00 a month. This supplied me with the necessary money for transportation to and from school and any other expenses. None of it went for frivolity. After school, all of the farm kids would walk the three blocks to down-town where they would gather for their rides home and, of course, fool around for half an hour. How I envied those kids who could afford to buy a $.02 square of chocolate. At that time there was a $.02 square of chocolate that was of really good size and extremely good. I don't ever remember buying a piece of candy after school, but on weekends when we came to town we would generally spend a few cents for candy and those chocolate squares were mighty good. We could never figure out where all the money came from for some of the kids who could buy a piece of candy every day. Such was the hardship to be poor - the difference between having and not having a $.02 chocolate bar.

The summer between my Jr. and Sr. years at high school at which time I was 15 going on 16, I was very fortunate in getting a summer job. In our small town there was a small insurance and farm management office operated by a lone individual at that time, who unfortunately had become alcoholic. Mr. A., a sharp, intelligent business man of about 45 had simply taken to the bottle from which he was later cured and conducted a good business until he was past 75. At the time that he hired me, he managed about 35 farms for non-resident insurance companies who had acquired the farms during the depression through foreclosure on the individual farmers. The farms were now rented to the farmers on a share-crop basis.

The farmers did the work and got 2/3 of the grain and the insurance companies received 1/3 of the grain. He hired me to go to the various farms during threshing and supervise the dividing the grain at the threshing rig to assure that the insurance companies' shares were properly received and hauled to the elevators in town. I was hired at a flat rate of $25.00 for the entire summer. I had never heard of nor seen a fortune like that before.

The first problem was transportation for me to the various farms scattered in a radius of 30 miles from his office. He had a huge Harley-Davidson motorcycle which he decided would be appropriate for me. Of course I had to learn how to ride it first and for a kid who had never even been on a bicycle, that presented problems. However, he sent my half-brother (who didn't know he was my half-brother and I only knew it through overhearing a conversation) out to the farm with the motorcycle. He was 5 years older and very good on the motorcycle. He hauled me on it out to the main gravel road, showed me how to rev it up and how the brakes worked and about 30 seconds of other instructions. Then he held it while he had me climb on and told me to go ahead. I turned the gas handle and roared away into the ditch with the motorcycle landing on top of me, but not breaking a thing except the skin on my ankle. He drove me home, dropped me off, and reported back to my boss, who called me and said I don't understand why you can't ride that thing, it's no different than a bicycle. I said that may be so, but I've never been on a bicycle. OK he said, I'll send a bicycle out, you learn to ride that first and then you will be able to handle the motorcycle fine. Good. The bicycle came out, a nice shiny one that he rented from a kid in town. We all practiced on the bicycle, riding it all over the rough farm, nearly ruining it, I'm sure. I heard later that the kid who had rented it was aghast when he got it back. I learned in a week to ride moderately well and then the motorcycle came back and away we went again. This time my half-brother took me up to a country dirt road, thought that might be better than the gravel road. He said, "Do you remember how to handle this?" and I was all confidence. Climbed on the seat, revved the engine, roared away, down the road and must have gotten all of 50 feet and into the ditch and over again. He didn't let me try again, took me home, and then my parents said no more on the motorcycle. Threshing season had started and my boss still needed my services, so he propositioned a 15 year old that could drive a motorcycle and who was crazy about it that if he would deliver me and pick me up at the various farms, he could use the motorcycle for his own pleasure in between delivery and pickup. A splendid arrangement that worked very well for all concerned and why both of us didn't get killed I will never know. We would travel wide open on gravel roads, dirt roads, and across fields. Wide open was 73 miles an hour. Smooth tires, only one blew that summer and that was when he was barely moving, again a good piece of fortune.

I only had two problems with the job, one that I had too many farms to attend to and secondly, I couldn't always locate my boss when I needed him so I was pretty much left on my own. I was considered old for my years, very reliable and I was a whiz with figures so did fairly well under the circumstances. Later in life, I often have wondered what the large eastern insurance firms would have thought if they had known that a 15 year old kid was handling their interests on some 10,000 acres of land during the crucial threshing season when their cash crop was coming in. I will never know how much some of the farmers stole for it was impossible to cover all the farms but I imagine a fair amount was drained off on some farms and on others I am sure not a kernel went wrong. After it was all over and the settlement papers had gone to the firms on the various farms, only one was rejected and it was a rather unusual situation. On one of the farms the fields were a mixture of two grains - rye and oats, as I remember it. Two elements entered into this. First rye was somewhat more expensive than oats and secondly different parts of the farm yielded a different percentage of these respective grains. The farmer was interested in having the grain with the greater percentage of oats, but this was worth less in cash than the grain with the higher percentage of rye, so of course he wanted more bushels for his share to equalize it monetarily. I had no way of contacting my employer some 10 miles away, and if I had he wouldn't have been in any condition to help anyway. He would have said, "You take care of it, you know what to do." So I calculated the differences and negotiated the deal with the farmer to his satisfaction and mine and had what I had figured to be the insurance company's share shipped off to the elevator. The problem - the amount of grain the insurance company received did not show it to be 1/3 of the total yield - both figures of which we had to furnish the company involved. This particular report was kicked back from New York as unsatisfactory. My boss gave it to me and said "You'll have to straighten this out". I was a good typist and wrote a pretty good letter, so I kicked off an explanation and sent it back. It didn't hold though, the company was not satisfied. It came back rather firmly that they were not satisfied, that they had more grain coming and they wanted it taken care of. My boss, still feeling no pain, handed it to me and said "You're going to have to get this thing straightened out." I went into detailed explanation, I quoted percentages that must have appeared that a chemist had analyzed every load, and then I came through with a strong finish, subtly (I thought) questioning whether they had anyone there who really understood mixed grains and assuring them that they had received every penny they were entitled to and that the farmer could not be expected to take the cheapest grain bushel for bushel. My boss signed it without reading it. It went in and shortly a closing acceptance on the report was received from the company. Later it amused me, but at that time I was glad that what I then considered well educated, well dressed, affluent insurance officials could not see the 15 year old farm boy in overalls, sitting at an old typewriter taking care of their business for the magnificent sum of less than an average pay of $1.00 a farm. With the return on that report I was through. I had earned my $25.00 and I got it. I was rich. School was ready to start and I was entering my senior year with a good summer of business experience behind me.

My next big job came after I had finished high school. There was a government office at our county seat, 25 miles away, called at that time the AAA office which stood for Agricultural Adjustment Administration. It was a Federal farm program that paid specified amounts to farmers for not planting certain percentages of their farm land. Each farmer that signed up would have a base acreage from each type of grain, based on what he had of that particular crop in past years. He would only be permitted to plant a percentage of this base acreage, the balance to be left idle for which he was paid. This was supposed to reduce the farm surplus, raise prices, and cure the dust bowl ills. I was hired in this office to draw plats of the various farms, showing the different fields of different grains, and calculating certain acreages. I worked hard at it, liked the job and worked there about six weeks, renting a room and living on my own for the first time. I was nearly 17 at the time and the experience was good. The only thing I didn't like was the way in which my employment was terminated.

I had not been hired for any specified period of time, it being understood that it would be for as long as I was needed. Quitting time was 5 o'clock but I generally worked a little later as I liked the work and didn't have anything in particular to do and the hours compared with the farm hours seemed mighty short. This Friday night I had worked late, all the rest of the help (6 others) had left at 5, I cleaned up my desk, put on my hat and was passing through the outer office to leave and was rather surprised to see the boss still there. I started to say goodnight when he spoke, called me by name and said, "Well, we're getting pretty well caught up, so you won't have to come back anymore". That was the end of my job and the first indication I had that it was the end. I packed my bag that night and headed for home and never did get to say goodbye to, and as a matter of fact, never again did get to see any of the people I had worked side by side with for six weeks.

Segment 15: Trapping

For boys there was one other way of picking up a small amount in the winter and that was with a trap line. We did have wild weasels and skunks that could be trapped. They had to be skinned and dried and then the local fur buyer would generally pay us $1.00 for a skunk skin and $.10 to $.60 for a weasel skin. It wasn't much but it was something. We would start trapping when we were about 12 years of age and continued through high school. I was the proud owner of 5 traps that I set in various spots within a mile of home. In what we considered a good winter we would each average about two skunks and three or four weasels. You can see we wouldn't get rich but our goal was to come out of the winter with about $5.00. A fortune at that time.

Skunks are extremely hard to skin, as they are generally fat, and the fat adheres to the skin and I never really became proficient in skinning the skunks. The weasels, however, skinned easily and I became quite good at that. I only remember one mishap in the weasel skinning in all my boyhood winters. After removing the skin from the carcass, the final operation is to remove the tailbone from the tail. This we did with care by taking a pair of pliers to the bone and while holding the fur of the tail, firmly but gently pull the bone out as the skin peeled right off. On this particular weasel, a nice white fur, easily worth $.40, something went wrong and as I pulled, the whole tail came off. I remember my father looking disgusted and saying, "what are you going to do with that?" I said, "sell it." He said, "you can't without a tail." I said, "I'll tie the tail back on." He said, "you can't do that, the buyer would spot that first thing." Forty cents was a lot of money and I felt low about the blunder, so I got Mom's white sewing thread and went to work. I'll admit it wasn't the best looking job in the world, but on the other hand the skin now had a tail. Pa looked it over and just shook his head. I put it away with the two other skins I had to dry and when the time came, took them into the buyer. He barely looked at them, tossed them on a pile of other skins and gave me $1.25 for the three skins. What a day! I fairly danced all the way from the fur shed to the country store where Pa was buying groceries to tell him of my good fortune. I don't know why, but the question of ethics never entered into the picture at that time, although generally we were raised in an atmosphere of what was right. It may have been because this was the only place where furs and skins were sold and it was generally considered that the farm boys were given precious little for their furs, but had no alternative but to sell there.

I had another interesting experience that winter when I was skinning a small red fox. I had never skinned a fox before but it had to be done. I had no idea as to its value but reasoned that surely it was as valuable as a skunk. I proceeded with the skinning process. Everything was going well, I was skinning out in the open in the yard when our only cattle buyer stopped in to talk business with my father. The cattle buyer was a relative newcomer to our community, a buyer who moved from Minneapolis to our small town to buy cattle in the area and ship them to market. Previously the farmers had all shipped direct, but this buyer would make an offer for the cattle on the hoof, pay cash, and then haul them out. He made a nice living and my father didn't have much time for him. He never sold him any cattle. He would always offer him some but at an outrageous price that the buyer had to refuse. On this particular day, as usual, he accomplished nothing with my father, but he stopped to observe my skinning process. He said, "how much do you want for the skin?" I thought fast and figured that if it was worth the same as a skunk I should have $1.00 so I said $1.50. He said, "It's not worth that. In fact it probably isn't worth anything, but I'll give you $1.00." I held to my price. He said, "Well, I have to go up to your neighbors, about a mile from here and on the way back I'll stop and if you want to take $1.00 for it, I'll buy it."

I proceeded with the skinning and all went fine until I got to the last part, removing the skin from the head. Then I really messed up the job, butchered it badly, cut up the ears and it was generally a mess on that part. My father came by, took one look and asked what happened. I told him I just messed it up and didn't know why. Then I told him about the cattle buyer and said "the way this looks when he comes back, if he will still give $1.00, I'm going to let him have it." But my father said, "don't do that, never lower your price, raise it." He said stretch it, put it up with your skunk skin in the grainery, and then tell the buyer that the price is $2.00. I was reluctant, but hated to not follow my father's advice, so I proceeded on his advice. Soon the buyer returned, looked around and said, "where's the skin?" I said it is up in the grainery drying.  He said, are you ready to take $1.00 for it?" I said, "no, and after I got it stretched it looked so nice that I decided it was worth $2.00." He said, "You can't do that. You said the price was $1.50." I said, "right, I did say $1.50, but you refused it at that price, so the sale was off at that price. He sputtered, he talked, he argued and I held firm. Finally he said let me see the fur. So I went upstairs in the grain house and brought it down. He looked it over and said, "I'll give you your $1.50 for it" and I said "no, the price is $2.00." He carried on for quite a while and finally, in what appeared an angry mood, took two dollar bills from his pocket, tossed them at me, took the fur, told me how unscrupulous a kid I was and that the fur wasn't worth $2.00 and the only reason he gave me $2.00 was because he wanted it for his daughter and he had a friend in the cities what could tan it for him. My father stayed out of the transaction until it was all over, never came out of the house until the buyer left, then came out to see how I had made out in one of my first financial dealings. I know that he was proud of me, but no more than I marveled at the kind of advice this man could give about something that he knew nothing about.

Segment 15 Cont'd: My First Hunt

Ma had a phobia about guns and Pa wasn't much interested although he had a monster of a 12 gauge shotgun called a Long Tom. As children we were not permitted to have guns of any kind, although the boys would dearly loved to have had a BB gun. Our weapons were limited to slingshots with which we incidentally became quite adept. Our particular game was gophers which species had spread all over the prairie and could nearly dig up a pasture in a summer and would also eat the newly planted corn. When we went hunting in an afternoon with our slingshots, we could expect to shoot half a dozen to a dozen animals each. As for real guns, Mom laid down the hard rule that until we were 15 we could not shoot, possess nor handle a gun. I don't know how she arrived at the 15 age, but I suppose when we were 10 or so the age of 15 seemed a long time away. I am sure that she sorely regretted not having made the age much older as time passed and we neared 15. I don't remember the occasion of my brother, 2 years older, going on his first hunt, but I know that shortly after 15 he had the use of my father's Long Tom. I could hardly wait until I was 15 and I kept reminding Mom that then I could go hunting; I wanted to establish it as a guaranteed fact for I knew that she would like to have back tracked on her commitment. The day came when I was 15 and that was what I was waiting for and took no time in making my claim to a form of manhood. I suppose it sort of took on the significance of a Jewish boy's Bar Mitzvah. Mom reluctantly stood by her rule. I got the gun down and a pocket full of shells, all the time getting instructions on carefulness from my mother. Pa was out working in the field. There was a bit of trepidation on my part, although I'm sure I put forward a most positive attitude.
 

Never having handled a gun before, never having loaded it, not having shot it, I really didn't quite know what to expect. Nevertheless, I took off for a slough area to go pheasant hunting some half of a mile from home. As I approached the slough I loaded and cocked the gun and proceeded forward. As I stepped into the slough, three pheasants roared up practically in front of me, nearly scared me to death. I'm still surprised that I remembered to pull the gun up to my shoulder and fired without taking aim. By pure blind luck a large rooster pheasant was hit and dropped to the ground. I grabbed the pheasant and tore out for home quite convinced that I was a natural born hunter and that there really wasn't anything to it. I found out differently, going hunting several more times that season, scaring up plenty of birds, but never hitting another one the rest of that year. What a rude awakening as to my hunting prowess.

Segment 16: The Farm

The farm we tenant farmed consisted of 640 acres, or one section, which is one mile square. There was a large pasture of about 160 acres and the rest was divided about equally half hay land and half cultivated farm land. It was considered poor farm land with little topsoil and an abundance of rocks. The rocks were rather small, most of them small enough that they could be lifted or rolled onto a "stoneboat" and hauled away. A stoneboat was a flat raft-like affair made out of heavy wood that a team of horses would drag around while Pa and several of us kids would load it with rocks and then it would be dragged over to a rock pile and unloaded. This was a constant fall occupation when there was nothing else more pressing to do. The "stoneboat" was also used to haul manure out of the barn as we didn't have what was called a manure spreader. So the manure was loaded onto the stoneboat, hauled out to the fields and we would pitch it off with pitchforks, thus spreading it around the field.

As children we began to help in the fields as soon as our size permitted or we were of any value in the field. Up to that time we were limited to chores around the house, barn and farmyard. We were about 13/14 when we started in the fields and handled a team of horses. In the early summer one of the field duties that farm boys performed was to cultivate corn. You sit on a cultivator pulled by a team of horses. The cultivator straddled the row of corn and had three small cultivating shovels on each side which plowed the dirt and removed any weeds. The horses also straddled the row of corn and it was the driver's duty to guide the horses and at the same time manipulate the shovels on each side by means of a foot lever for each foot, which would move the cultivators from side to side by means of foot pressure; pressure with the right foot would move it to the right and pressure on the left would move the shovels to the left. By this means you avoided cultivating out the corn and getting only the weeds. This was a monotonous job from morning until night, but the air was fresh and it gave you time to think. The worst part of it was that you had to sit on a metal seat which had holes for ventilation but the movement on the seat combined with the heat and perspiration and fine dust from the field was a real irritant and after a season of cultivating, one's seat was one solid red mass of swollen itching bumps that would take the rest of the summer to clear up.

Harvest time was another time when kids came in handy. They could do a lot of that work. The small grains - oats, rye, wheat, and barley - were cut with a grain binder pulled by four horses. It cut the grain and tied it into bundles which had to be set on end, grain end up, 6-12 bundles in a stack depending upon greenness, and this we called "shocking." Pa or my older brother always drove the binder and the shocking, which was a rather undesirable job fell to the rest of us. I remember both my mother and older sister also helping with this job. It would put you in good condition, you had to bend over and pick up each bundle, turn it and set it on end - doing this all day long. The barley was the worst to handle as the heads of the grain had saw-tooth edged shafts about an inch long on the end of each kernel of grain, that produced a lot of irritants just in one head of grain that had many kernels. These shafts would get into your clothing and between your clothing and were sharp enough to rub and draw blood. That and walking in the stubble field were two undesirable aspects of this duty. The stubble or root end of the grain about 6 inches high was cut straight across, leaving a sharp cutting edge on this end of the straw part of the grain plant. Every time you took a step you had to step into this sharp stubble of grain and it would scratch or cut your leg right above the shoe top (we had high top farm shoes). At the end of the day your legs were pretty well scratched.

Green corn was also cut and tied into bundles. The corn would be six feet tall, some taller than us kids, and the bundles would be extremely heavy. As small kids we could not always lift some of the bundles but would drag them to the spot where they were to be set up and then set them on end. You dragged them or lifted them by the twine which tightly tied the bundle. After a few sessions of this, your fingers on your right hand would get quite swollen and sore and hard to bend. The part of your fingers around the knuckles would stay thick and somewhat swollen well into the winter. I think this job was the most hated of the field jobs. After the corn had dried out or cured, it was hauled into the farmyard by the barn and stacked for used in the winter as feed. The corn that was not cut would be left in the field to dry or ripen on the stalk and then in the fall the ears of corn would be picked. At that time the ears of corn were picked by hand. A hook was strapped to the palm of one hand, you grabbed the ear of corn on the stalk by the other hand, ripped the covering from the corn with the palm hook, then broke the ear of corn off its stem and threw it into a wagon that was pulled by a team of horses. One side of the wagon was higher than the other in order that you had a back stop for the thrown ear. This was a lot of bending and hard work and extremely hard on your hands and the skin on your hand, the corn pickers used corn-huskers lotion during that season just to keep skin on their hands. A good corn picker could pick up to 50 bushels of corn in a day. He received about $.08 a bushel for his labors which was considered extremely high wages. I never got to be much of a corn picker and did very little of it as a boy on the farm. I do remember picking parts of days and one day all day and managed to get 20 bushels picked, but thought I would never recover from the ordeal.

The small grain, after it had stood in the shock long enough to dry and cure, was at that time hauled together and set into cone shaped stacks. The stacks would be as perfect as high ice cream cones set on end. Very few farmers were able to set these stacks in perfect cones but my father could. We would load the bundles into hay wagons hauled by a team of horses and haul them to the stack site where 8, 10, 12 or more stacks would be set. Pa would stand in the stack as we threw the bundles of grain to him and he would turn the head of the bundle in and lay them side by side filling in the center and circling the stack as it would rise to a beautiful cone shape as high as we could throw the bundles from the hay wagon. They were a beautiful sight when they were finished. This was one of the jobs that was good for the muscles but we also found rather pleasant. The grain would stand in the stacks for at least six weeks until it was fully cured and then a threshing rig would be brought in, hauled up alongside of the stacks, powered by a huge tractor with a long heavy belt, and the bundles would be pitched into the thresher and threshed, the grain running into wagons drawn alongside and the straw blown into huge stacks of straw some 30 feet tall. If as a young man you could get on with a threshing crew in the fall, you were considered very fortunate as the pay at that time was $2.50 a day and no other place or way could you earn $2.50 a day in the Dakotas during those years of the late 30s. When I was nearly 18 I got a job pitching bundles into the thresher and I know I got the job because the owner of the rig was also to do our threshing. Nevertheless, I was most happy and looked forward to all that prosperity. The day started early, up before six and the machine running at 7 AM, one hour off for lunch and then back to the machine until 7 PM.

When you first started out in the morning the bundles were light, there were always two of you in the stack, each taking his turn to throw a bundle into the machine, and it seemed like great fun. As time wore on, the bundles got heavier and your turn seemed to come faster. I was paired with an old timer with a good sense of humor that made it more pleasant. By noon your arms ached, your back was sore, and you wondered how in the world would you make it all day. After a noon rest, it wasn't too bad the first of the afternoon, but by night I thought I would die. I was so sore and worn out that I don't think I slept at all that night, the following days weren't any better, but then gradually as I became hardened and in condition, it became easier. And by the time the fall threshing season was over it was just getting to be a descent job.  I have never been in better physical condition than I was at the end of that fall when I became 18 in November. The fortune that I earned was the money needed for me to go on to the Business College that winter.

The other main farm field activity that I helped out with was in the putting up of hay. We had a couple of hundred acres of hay land which had to be mowed every late summer and stacked into haystacks to be hauled in during the winter for horse and cattle feed. The hay was cut with a mower which had about a five foot sickle bar pulled by a team of horses. The hay would then be raked into rows with a hay rake which when pulled by a team of horses would rake a swath of about 12 feet at one time. Then the rows would be cross raked into fair sized piles. These piles would then be brought to the stack site with an outfit called a hay bucker. This was a contraption pulled by two horses abreast about 10 feet apart, the hay being carried between them in this bucker and pulled to the place of stacking. The horses would pull the hay right up onto the stacker platform and then back the bucker off, leaving the hay on the stacker. Another team of horses would then pull a cable a distance of about 50 feet which would lift the platform on the stacker with the hay and throw it into the stack. Someone had to set the stack. That someone was one of the things I could do. You would stand in the stack, trying to avoid the load of hay that the stacker was dumping into the stack and as soon as it landed scatter it around and tramp it good and then wait for the next load. This continued until the stack would be about 10 feet tall and then it had to be rounded at the top in order that rain would run off. A stack of 6 to 8 tons of hay could then be set in stack in a day's time.

Segment 16 Cont'd: The Pasture

We had a large fenced grazing pasture of some 160 acres. We generally had approximately 40 head of cattle of our own, some sheep, hogs and 6 to 8 horses. When the weather was good and rainfall plentiful the pasture would accommodate more animals and then Pa would take in cattle for the summer for a small fee. A few summers my father's uncle, the uncle who had first immigrated to this country, would place some of his cattle in our pasture. One summer one of Uncle's cows gave birth to a fine calf with the exception that it had no tail or practically none. The tail was a stub about three inches long which the calf could stick straight up in the air. We had never seen this happen before. I remember my father calling his uncle on the phone and telling him that one of his cows had given birth to a deformed calf and would he please come over immediately and see what he wanted to do about it. Uncle inquired as to the deformity and father said it was difficult to explain and that he had best come right over. He lived on a farm about 4 miles from us. In short order my uncle arrived and again asked what was the matter with the calf and Pa said he could see for himself, that the cow and calf were in the pasture. Uncle, my father, two of my brothers and myself all walked out in the pasture a quarter of a mile to where the cattle were grazing. This cow and calf were off to the side of the herd and as we walked toward them they stood facing us, staring at us as cattle will do until you reach a certain distance and then they turn and run. This cow and calf stood their ground until we got quite close and Uncle said, "I don't see anything wrong with the calf." At that moment the cow turned and then the calf turned and ran directly away from us, bobbed tail straight in the air. Pa said, "Now can you see what is wrong?" Uncle just stood there and laughed. I had never seen him laugh that much before. We all laughed then. We boys thought it was quite funny. Then we went back to the house and Pa and Uncle had coffee and visited. One of the pleasant interludes in a rather drab daily life.

I remember another time, it was mid afternoon on Sunday, when another uncle of my father's by marriage to his first wife arrived at the house and visited with my father and asked about putting 33 horses in the pasture for the summer. My father said no that the fence wasn't good enough, that he had plenty of cows, not too much grass, and that besides horses get too wild. The conversation went on and it developed that Little Pete, as he was called, had bought 33 horses as a lot up in the Blue Hills Range about 25 miles from our place and had no place to put them. Pa said leave them where they are and Little Pete said, "I can't do that." I remember Pa saying, "Well, where are they now?" and Little Pete said, "Well, they should be here in about half an hour." Pa didn't often get exasperated, but that was one time that he was really put out. This was great excitement for us kids, a whole herd of horses coming our way. It wasn't long before we could hear the thundering hooves as a rag tag herd of half wild horses came driving down the quarter mile of dirt road to our yard, three so-called cowboys herding and driving them the best they could. Pa was boxed in. He was right, they gave him nothing but trouble all summer, and as far as I know he was never paid a cent for their keep. Relatives are wonderful.

Segment 16 Cont'd: The Outhouse

After the tornado hit our farmyard, our only building casualty was the outhouse. We had a white conventional farm outhouse set practically in the middle of the yard - most convenient but also a bit obvious. The tornado didn't just move or upend this structure, it simply shredded it and tore it all to pieces leaving nothing to be salvaged. Losing an outhouse must be somewhat equivalent to city folks having their plumbing stopped up. Anyway the problem was to get a new one. The farm wasn't owned by us as we were merely tenants, and all the building structures, replacements, and maintenance was the responsibility of the owner who lived in California but had a local representative. Pa contacted the local representative, who said he would send someone out to build a new one. Mom was quite pleased about this, after all a new outhouse was something to be proud of and, too, she could have it placed where she wanted it - a little more out of line of constant immediate vision. She decided on a spot directly north of the house which really was more appropriate. The day arrived for the new one to be built. Two laborers, not carpenters by trade, arrived from town with a load of old, used lumber painted yellow to build our new outhouse. Mom was a little dubious when she saw who was going to build it, but said nothing until they started unloading the lumber, then she let loose. The lumber was all used lumber salvaged from another torn down building, it was old, it was painted a dirty yellow that had started peeling, it was full of nail holes, and looked about as disreputable as used lumber could look. Even to my young eyes it looked terrible. Mom complained to Pa and he said he would take it up with the local representative. I don't know if he ever did. In the meantime, the outhouse was being built but slowly as the "carpenters" weren't experienced in the fine art of outhouse building. It seemed ages, but as I remember was more like the better part of a week and we had our new monument. All of us kids laughed, it really looked like something out of a comic strip. Mom cried and Pa knew enough to keep a straight face and keep his mouth shut.

Segment 16 Cont'd: Taking a Bath

As there was neither running water, central heat, or electricity, taking a bath became a major operation. That's why there weren't too many of them, particularly in the winter. In the summer it was a usual Saturday night affair. After we were through working in the fields and doing the chores, the bath was the next order of business. A large boiler was set on the wood burning cook stove and the water carried up from the well and heated, then it was carried to the tub on the porch where we took our baths. The tub was a round galvanized wash tub that couldn't accommodate all of your body at once, but you could sit in it with your feet placed on the floor outside the tub and then you had barely enough room to scrub away at your body. Everything on the farm served as many purposes as possible and a container such as the bath tub had many useful purposes in-between bath times. One of the favorite uses in the spring and early summer was for baby chicks that could not survive outside or had been hatched in the incubator. That too became a discouraging aspect of taking a bath if you first had to get rid of baby chicks or whatever also might be in the tub at the time. In the wintertime it was nothing short of hazardous to take a bath, there wasn't any place in the house warm enough to
undress and bathe, unless the old stove was really "stoked up" with added coal.

Segment 16a: Water

Water for drinking and personal use as well as our farm animals came from a well located next to the barn yard. Probably placed there as the cattle and horses took most of the water. The disadvantage to this comparative location was that the land where the well was located was slightly lower than the barn yard which, when it rained, the surface rain drained toward the well. So after a good rain the well water had a strong bad taste for a few days. Did we still drink it? Of course, but not any more than necessary. The milk still tasted o.k.

When a well went dry, the farmer had a real problem and had to haul water until a new well was dug or drilled. Our well did go dry, rather slowly, but a new well was necessary. Little Pete, Pa's uncle (you read about him and the horses under the Pasture Segment) was a well digger and a good one- digging straight down with pick and shovel and having the dirt winched up and out in a winch-sized bucket. He would at times go down 30 feet or better. He installed wood curbing as he dug down.

Pa called him and he agreed to dig a new well. He started the next day doing the digging and my father winched out the dirt and at the end of the day Little Pete would step into the bucket and Pa would winch him up. Everything went fine the first few days and as I recall, when he was down over 20 feet he hit rock - solid rock, and tried for the better part of a day to remove the rock or break it up with pick, shovel, crow bar, sledge hammer and anything else that he could think of to use. To no avail. Finally, he said to my father, "I don't like to, but I will have to dynamite." He finally decided to dynamite the next day. The day arrived, he had his dynamite in the bucket and he gave some last instructions to Pa. I remember him talking to Pa and telling him to stay at the crank of the winch to start cranking the minute he gave the signal of a loud "holler." He told Pa that the dynamite would be lit and he would be in the bucket and to start cranking as fast as he could, holding it steady and not to leave or quit for anything until he stepped on the ground. We kids stepped back a fair distance and waited. Little Pete called up that he couldn't get it lit. Then the holler came loud and clear - "Start cranking, start cranking - the fuse is lit and burning." Pa cranked for all he was worth and it seemed a long time but it actually was probably less than a couple of minutes when Little Pete showed up - he grabbed the curbing quickly, pulled himself over and stepped on the ground. He stepped back waited and Pa pulled the winch away.

A few minutes passed and Little Pete was getting nervous, walking back and forth saying it  should have gone off by now. He said it was lit good and it should have gone off - he didn't know what could have happened. He and Pa discussed the situation and brother Melvin and I listened. Little Pete finally said I will have to go down again, but not today. It's too dangerous, I'll go back tomorrow. He walked over to the well, leaned over on the curbing and to take a look down into the well, I suspect, wondering what went wrong and could he see anything. He had been leaning over the curbing for probably less than a minute when there was a tremendous roar and all kinds of dirt and debris came spurting out of the well and up into the air probably 30 feet or more.

I was standing looking directly at Little Pete and he was standing straight up as if the dynamite blast had literally taken him and stood him upright in the spot where he was standing. He had been wearing a loose type summer hat that sort of stood out over his head. His hat now, as I had first seen it, was floating up in the air some 20' above his head. He turned around and started sort of stumbling forward, his face was nearly completely black with smudge and dirt and grime, and scratched with blood on his forehead. I was so happy to see him, even in that condition. I was afraid that his head might have been blown off and didn't really want to look at such a scene.

We got him in the house and Mom started cleaning up his face. Having had seven children on a farm, she was pretty good at that. There were only two more serious injuries which involved small stones buried in each of these. At the time, Mom only found one of the large pea sized stones. She told him she would see if she could get it out. So she got her medical equipment for such an injury which consisted solely of a crochet needle. With much patience on both the part of Little Pete and Mom and much prodding, Mom recovered the stone, dressed the place with iodine, our one purpose medication for open wounds, fed Little Pete and sent him on his way.

When Mom next saw Little Pete, she asked him about his wounds. He said that one was fine, but the other one wouldn't heal. Mom said let me look at that. So she took a look at it and said the one that's o.k. is the one that I took the stone out of. The other didn't look like it had one buried - but let me look at it again. Out came the crochet needle and she proceeded. She said, "I think there's a rock here, too, do you want me to try to get it out? It won't be as easy as the other one as it's more embedded." He said, "OK, go ahead." I left the room, but he emerged announcing the rock came out and he felt fine.

So what happened to the well? My memory is sketchy on that, but I do think they had to bring in drilling equipment to finish the job. I do know that the well served our purpose all the time I remained at home.

Segment 17: Pa Sells a Cow

Milking the cows was done by hand. It was a family enterprise. Al the children from about age 10 up and Mom and Pop. We quite often had 20 cows to milk and that averaged out to about 4 or 5 for those available to do the milking. We had one cow that I will never forget. A gorgeous animal, red and white, with an udder that was full and nearly to the ground. Her udder and teats were like rocks, it literally wore out your hands to get that pail of milk morning and night. Somehow when she came in fresh her milking fell first to one of us kids and then to another, with all of us complaining bitterly. Finally, my father disgusted said that he was tired of such nonsense complaining and that hereafter he would milk this cow himself. This he did for a few weeks and then he announced that he had decided to sell this cow - he needed the money. We also had another cow that gave the same amount of milk, was a delight to milk, the milk practically ran into the bucket without effort. Now this cow we all loved.

When the ad came out in the local weekly newspaper advertising our cow, we found the ad called for two cows for sale by one Lars Christensen. We, of course, immediately asked Pa what two cows because we had thought only one was for sale. Sure enough Pa had advertised the gorgeous cow that we all hated and the ugly, homely beast that we all loved. Mom was furious. Pa kept his counsel and said it would all work out.

There were a few calls of inquiry and then the first buyer arrived. He asked to see the cows. Pa had put them in separate sides of the barn so they couldn't be seen together. Pa took the prospective buyer in to look over our delightful, ugly cow. He wasn't impressed. He asked about the other cow, whether or not it had been sold, and Pa said no it hadn't been sold but that he had decided not to sell the other one. The prospect asked if he could see it anyway and Pa obliged by taking him into the other barn and there stood that magnificent animal with an udder that looked like it would burst and the prospect could hardly contain himself. He told Pa that was the kind of cow he was looking for and wouldn't he consider selling. Pa was first with his no and said he was sorry that he had ever advertised the cow. The prospect became insistent, he argued with Pa about it. Finally he questioned Pa's honor and told him that it was not fair to advertise something for sale and then change your mind and that he had put his reputation on the line. Pa began to back up gently and the prospect forged ahead. Finally Pa gave in and reluctantly agreed to sell the cow that he had wanted to sell all the time and didn't have to take any cut in asking price which at $75 at that time was top price. Pa informed us that if anyone else called in regard to cows for sale that we had no more cows for sale. He sold the cow he wanted to sell. He kept the cow we all wanted to keep. And all of us young ones learned a valuable lesson in psychology and in salesmanship. I am sure that we held Pa in much higher esteem for at least a day or two.

Segment 18: First Auto

Our first automobile, a 1921 Buick, was acquired in 1930. Prior to that time we went everywhere by horse and buggy or wagon. This was a big day in our lives. It was a four-door sedan that had the old canvas top only the canvas top had been taken off and the former owner had built a new top of rather square design out of wood. The windows were made out of celluloid framed with wood and hung at the top with hinges so they could be lifted from the bottom, swung in and up and hung on a hook at the top in the center of the auto if we wanted the windows open. It was a big car, but hardly enough room to accommodate all nine of us, but there was a good deal of room between the back seat and front seat. Enough to set a small bench that two of us children would sit on. We got it right before one 4th of July and Pa didn't know how to drive, but the salesman gave him one easy lesson and then he was on his own. Came the 4th of July and time to go to the lake and Pa was well aware of his driving limitations. It was finally decided that he would drive it to the top of the hill just before getting to the lake and there we were met by Mom's young brother who was an experienced driver. He piloted it the rest of the way down the hill. The first thing to go on the car was the celluloid windows, they lasted one season. Then we covered the window frames with black oil cloth and that lasted much better. In fact, it went this way for at least a couple of years before the whole top deteriorated and just couldn't hang on any more. So then the top came off and we drove that way. It was a good car and it lasted a long time. Long after we got another car this old 1921 Buick still performed and was used as a pick-up type vehicle on the farm by taking out the back seat and filling the back with coal, fuel, or whatever had to be hauled. It was still going strong when I left the farm in 1940.

Segment 19: The 30's

The 1930's were catastrophic years for the South Dakota farmers. First they were hit by the depression and then the dust bowl years. During the depression time farm products were worth less on the market than it cost to produce them. I remember my father taking a load of oats to town to sell and received $.05 a bushel. The cost at that time to have it threshed was $.02 a bushel which left $.03 to cover the cost of the seed, machinery, horses, labor, etc. Strictly a losing proposition. The government bought cattle at $20.00 a head and had them slaughtered and buried in huge trenches. It was a very disheartening time for farmers. Most of them spent some time on WPA, the federal government work program, in order to just subsist.

The early 30's were called the dust bowl years. A lack of rain and plowing up grazing land that should never have been cultivated turned millions of acres of earth to fine sifting dust. All it took was a strong, high wind and you had dust storms that would remind you of blizzards in the winter time. The dirt would blow and sift across roads and lay in drifts just like snow in the winter. I remember a particularly bad day when we were at the country school. By noon it was hazy and the sun was partly shadowed and as the afternoon progressed it became darker and darker as the air filled with fine dirt and dust. This was not surface contamination of the air - it extended upwards for miles, and the area extended westward and southward covering several states. By three o'clock it was so dark in the school that we would have needed lights, but there were no lights. My father arrived in the farm wagon, called a lumber wagon, pulled by a team of horses, to pick us up. This in itself was most unusual as it is the only time that I can remember him ever coming to get us at school. The wind was not blowing fiercely at that time, just a steady motion, and it was as if the entire world was blanketed in a vapor of dust. It kept getting darker and darker and by the time we had driven the mile and three-quarters to home it was as dark as night - yet only 3:30 in the afternoon. It was the first time that I had seen my parents alarmed about the eminent dangers of the dust storms. They had been apprehensive about the far-reaching effects, but this was a today situation and we had no way of knowing what was going to happen. But by morning it had begun to lighten again and the sun rose in a hazy mist of dust and we waited to see what would happen, but no other day to my recollection ever became that dark.

The economic loss to the farmers from the dust bowl years and the depression couldn't be measured. To some of them it was complete, they lost their farms, their machinery and their animals, and left the farms destitute to try and find work in the cities. Others managed to hang on one way or another until the 1940's when farmers first began to manage economically. My father had lost his original farm but was renting and managed to hold on. He said that the only reason the bank didn't foreclose on him was because his mortgage was so high that they would have realized only a few cents on the dollar on selling him out and would rather carry the paper at full value. This was probably true in several cases and eventually most of those old mortgages were paid off. While it completely disastrous to some, to those that held on some advantages did come forth. As times began to improve, it took some time for land prices to begin to go up again and in the meantime a farmer could buy a farm with practically nothing down and at very low prices. Some very good land was sold as low as $20.00 an acre. My father managed the low down payments and bought two 160 acre farms and one 80 acre farm at bargain prices.

During the dust bowl years nothing that was cultivated would grow. There was only one thing that seemed to withstand the elements and that was the so-called wild Russian thistle which grew into large round balls covered with sharp cactus like thorns. They were some two to three feet in diameter, they would dry in the fall, break off at the base and roll with the wind. They would roll until they hit an obstruction, usually a fence. Then they would pile up against the fence into huge solid walls and then as the wind grew stronger would quite often crack the fence posts off at their base and the fence would fall and the thistle could roll on to the next fence. Farmers hated this noxious weed. I remember the summer that there was absolutely nothing on hundreds of acres of land but these Russian thistles. When they were growing they were soft and green. Ordinarily cattle would not touch them. My father decided that he would cut them green and stack them as he would hay. I recall the other farmers laughing at him for doing this. He cut and we stacked Russian thistles from some 200 acres and had some 120 to 150 tons of green Russian thistles stacked with no known value. As winter came on and the cattle came in off the pastures and meadows which were already bare, there was nothing for them to eat but the Russian thistles. We had about 40 head of cattle that winter and though they usually wouldn't eat them we found that they will if there is nothing else. They ate thistles all winter and got thinner as the winter wore on and developed a mild form of diarrhea. There apparently was not much food value in thistles but it did keep them alive until spring. They were mighty thin and weak by that time. I recall that by the time the pasture grass started coming in that spring some of the cattle were too weak to get up by themselves. I can still see Pa taking hold of the rump of a thin weak cow and lifting and helping her get to her feet. But the cattle survived, the other farmers had long since stopped laughing and Russian thistles were recognized as an emergency feed.

Segment 20: Mom

Then there is my mother. You have seen that I have previously made references to her, but I doubt that you have formed a full picture of her. She is a most difficult woman to put on paper. I, of course, didn't know her when she was young, but seeing photos of her in her late teens or early twenties, I know that she must have been a beautiful young lady. I think of the statement one of my sons-in-law made when he saw her photograph - "that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen."

As I have mentioned, Mom, as a small child emigrated to the U.S. from Denmark with her parents and lived with them and her siblings on their homesteaded farm. As a young lady she started dating this handsome, young Dane who also had emigrated from Denmark. Mom expected marriage, but something went amiss and he apparently "dumped" her and married the sister of his uncle, his sponsor to this country. We don't know why, but suspect pressure. The lady he married became the mother of my half-sister. She then became pregnant again and died at childbirth when my half-brother was born. In the meantime, my mother had not married. It wasn't too long before Pa was dating Mom again and they soon married. I think that Mom loved Pa but could never quite completely forgive him for what he had done. It didn't make for a happy marriage.

At this date, my first recollection of my mother was at the time of the "washing machine incident" which I first related and really couldn't tell you what she looked like. However, as time passed, while we were on the farm, I would see her as a short, stout, motherly figure.

Mom was a tremendous worker. Thinking of it now, I don't see how she could possibly have done all the work she accomplished. How could she have raised seven children under the severe conditions of that time and place with none of today's conveniences such as electricity, running water, etc., meals to prepare, laundry to wash, children to care for, well or sick. Also she maintained a good garden, at times would help with the milking chore and take care of her chickens. I can't even think of all she did. Is there anyone in today's society that could or would do that?

What was Mom like and what was her life like? Aside from the work, her children were pretty much her life. I'm sure that she loved us, but I don't ever remember hearing the words. We never verbally expressed love or hugged even on departure. As we got older, Mom's primary goal was to keep all of us children at home or on a close by farm. She really wanted to control all of us and basically wanted us within sight.
 

She had an uncanny ability to lay a "guilt trip" on you so delicately and to the point that you might not even be aware of it at the time. With her finesse, you could probably call it an art. She also, too frequently, would make a point of down-grading herself and her worth. What can I say? Our mother who was a hardworking, strange, unhappy person whose only joy was in her children and they all wanted to get away.

I'm not real good at this, so be sure to check brother Clifford's coverage of Mom as he does a much better job than I.

Segment 21: Pa

Pa, or Papa, as we generally called him, emigrated to the United States in 1905 at the age of 17. We had an aunt and uncle who had previously emigrated to the United States and had homesteaded a farm near Wilmot, South Dakota. He arrived in this country unable to speak a word of English. Scandinavian emigrants were usual arrivals in New York at that period of time and interpreters were available to give directions. As he told it, he managed to get on the right train headed for the west coast. Milbank, South Dakota, about 25 miles from where his aunt and uncle lived, was the closest whistle stop on this transcontinental line. He had no idea as to exactly where South Dakota was or where his getting off stop would be. It was at night and he was asleep with jacket, shoes, etc. removed, when the train hit Milbank. The first he was aware of his location was when the conductor hustled him to the door, shoved him still half asleep out the door. As he stood there in the snow in his stocking feet, the conductor threw his shoes, clothing and baggage to him, as the train pulled away. So the young lad had arrived at his new home.

How do I describe my father? I really didn't know him - I don't know if anyone did. I know he was an intelligent man, a lonely man, and a disappointed man. But most of all I remember him for his sense of humor, a brilliant sense of humor, a sense of humor with perfect timing. His humor, combined with his facility for the use of the right word, the right phrase at the right time, made him very popular with his peers. Yet I place him as a lonely man, a man generally keeping his own counsel.

Lars stood at 5'10", slight of build, dark hair and gray eyes. A handsome man of good features. He was 34 when I was born and I remember him first when he was in his late 30s. I remember him as a young man. He always seemed young and always looked young. To the time he died at 65, his hair never turned gray and he never became bald. I remember once when visiting our cousins, my father, then past 50, was kidding with his young nephews and during the encounter, grabbed a low branch of a tree, swung his legs over and hung by his legs - they were quite impressed and I thought he was fortunate in not falling and killing himself. He tried to learn to roller skate at the local rink when he was past 50, put in several bruising sessions, but never quite mastered the situation. He tried to learn to play the violin at 55, but his hands, hard and work worn, just wouldn't cooperate. He was bankrupt at 50 but managed to acquire three farms and a home in town before he died at 65. He thought young and kept trying until he completely gave up a few years before dying.

As children, we never got very close to our father. He never seemed to be around much. In the warm weather he was in the fields from early in the morning before we got up and stayed until after dark. In the winter, he was mostly in the barn with the livestock doing chores. Our upbringing was left practically to our mother. We respected our father but rather held him in awe when we were small. He never physically disciplined us and seldom disciplined us at all. However, if the occasion arose, all he had to do was to speak sternly to us and we would literally wilt. My father was in a sense my "savior." Let me explain: In 1940 at age 19 I took a Federal Civil Service examination for employment in Washington, D.C. as a clerk-typist. It was close to World War II and the old War Department - yes, it was named the "War Department," offered me a temporary appointment. At the time, I was working in Sisseton, South Dakota for a plumbing company as bookkeeper. Sisseton, a small South Dakota town, population about 2000, was about 25 miles from where my parents still lived and farmed. Now I had a real dilemma, to go or not to go to this new job in Washington. I wanted to go but I was somewhat afraid - I had never lived in a big city and I didn't actually know how it worked. I feared getting lost in Chicago, on the way to D.C., where I had to change to a different railroad station. Mom, of course, didn't want me to go - I would be the first chick to flee the nest and she actually couldn't conceive of any of her children leaving home.

I got absolutely no support to go and time for a decision was near. Finally I said to my father, who had said nothing, "What do you think?" As I remember, he said that it would be alright, that I could always come back and that it was just temporary. That was all I needed - in my mind I was on my way. That was the end of my farm existence. I had escaped - saved by my father. On January 16, 1941 at about 6 P.M., my brother drove me to Milbank, South Dakota where I boarded the train for my trip to D.C. My farm life had definitely come to a close.