The Wagons Move Out, Chapter 2

The sight of a large train of empty wagons snaking across the prairie stays with a person. But maybe the sounds it makes leaves the bigger impression. Whips snapping, skinners cursing, steers bawling, chains rattling, and the dull thud of wheels dropping into badger holes all add to the clamor and disorder of the scene. Sometimes aligned in single file, sometimes two abreast, we needed to roll with a steady pace to cover distance with the plodding oxen.

For some reason, the outfit’s owner, Stevenson, didn’t come on this trip. On other trips he could be seen in his light buggy running back and forth along our line or driving on up ahead to check on the route. But for this trip he named Abel Finney his wagon boss, someone who none of us took a cotton to. We called him “Un-Able” because he always seemed to act recklessly without thinking much. But he’s the one giving the orders that we had to follow, and our suspicions of him were to prove correct.

Everyone had ready access to a rifle since the threat of an Indian attack accompanied us all day, every day, even visiting us in our dreams. The news had reached us of the so-called Wagon Box Fight that occurred a short while ago where a couple dozen soldiers were attacked by hundreds of Lakota in Wyoming. Most of the surrounded survived, but only because they possessed lever-action Winchester rifles and had really poured the lead into the Indians who shot mostly bows and arrows. No one with us had that kind of firearm, but this crew was a rugged, lusty bunch that could take plenty of punishment and hand it back. 

Pigeon Point was our overnight destination on the way back to St. Cloud, and we would’ve had the choice of two trails to get there. For some reason “Un-Able” steered us to the longer route called the High Water Trail. On it, we’d have to go round the big bend of the Sheyenne River going past Okiedan Butte. That caused some grumbling because it would take longer, but we soldiered on. We had plenty of time now to get lost in our own thoughts, and I called to mind one of the soldiers grabbing an old St. Cloud newspaper rolled up and stuck in the side of my wagon box. His eyes settled on an article headlined “Impeachment.” It was something about President Johnson catching guff for reckless violation of the Constitution and they wanted to throw him out of office. I wonder what happened.

The light rain a few days ago had frozen on the prairie and turned to a crusted glaze that glittered in the sun. The countryside rolled away on gentle hills and made for easy going. We saw lots of wildlife; maybe some venison would find its way into our cooking pots. But now something captured our attention. That dark bank of clouds rising from the western horizon became more threatening and what was a gentle breeze began to blow harder. The temperature started dropping and any of us who’d been on the prairie before when a blizzard blew up became very concerned we’d be caught without shelter. 

Un-Able didn’t seem to notice, and since he seemed to be in such a sour mood from making a lousy choice of route, no one approached him. We kept rolling along in our southeasterly direction to get around the big bend of the river. Soon we had no choice but to stop.

Next chapter - Stalled 

Time to Get Serious

Christmas is over and time to get serious!

Under the Christmas tree these two lovelies sat waiting to be opened and read - “Washington: A Life” by Ron Chernow and “Sailing True North: Ten Admirals and the Voyage of Character” by Admiral James Stavridis. Washington’s book is door-stopper in size but promises to yield much about the man. Reviews of the book rate it a top notch biography. In the first few pages, I realized a strong connection existed between it and the book by Stavridis because they identified the same character traits in the men they write about. 

While Chernow writes about one man, Stavridis looks at ten admirals throughout history who possessed strong credentials. He begins with Themistocles who excelled in the power of persuasion. It bore fruit in Greece where he convinced the country to build a fleet of warships which he then led to victory against the invading Persians and saved Athenium democracy, something which we revere today.

Chernow promises a complete picture of Washington, a man who has “receded so much in our collective memory.” Beyond being first president, legend has him chopping down a cherry tree. Besides crossing the Potomac, what else do we know? I hope to find a complete picture of the man.

AND, a $30 Barnes and Noble gift card under the same tree let me buy Timothy Egan’s “A Pilgrimage to Eternity.” I’ve met Egan, found him to be a well-grounded person, and read some of his work. In this book, after questioning his faith, what he calls “lapsed but listening,” he undertakes a pilgrimage looking for answers. My tendency toward the agnostic will travel along with Egan to look for some answers.

The Story of a Stranded Wagon Train

In our grandparents day serialized stories ran in the newspapers and provided reading pleasure for many. Pay a visit to the state archive library in Bismarck where you can read them in the microfilms of old newspapers. Since we’ve already experienced too much snowy weather this year, a story came to mind of another winter when a three-day blizzard trapped a slow-moving wagon train near present day Lisbon. It is December, 1867, and it will take a few issues of this newspaper to tell it.

The Story of a Stranded Wagon Train, Chapter One

We always start rolling early, as long as it isn’t snowing sideways like it does sometimes. Ox teams don’t cover much ground in a day, so we get them hitched up and start making those leather bullwhips pop.  It was a brittle December morning that made thick clouds of steam rise from their backs.

Today we headed east from Fort Ransom with an ox train of forty empty wagons. After they’d finished building the fort, their warehouse stood bare and needed stocking with supplies. The owner of our outfit, Don Stevenson, held a government contract to transport goods to the new fort. We’d come all the way from the Mississippi docks at St. Cloud where we’d loaded forty covered wagons with freight a few days ago. We hauled blankets, pots and pans, towels, flour sacks, sugar sacks, bags of dried beans, cases of canned peaches, ammunition, firearms and plenty more odds and ends I can’t even remember. 

Since the frontier kept edging westward, Fort Ransom had sprung up to protect settlers, gold miners, and railroad construction crews from Indian attacks. They named it after some Civil War general who nobody seemed to know much about, but Grant and Sherman thought he deserved the honor. Word was about two hundred men would live and patrol from here. It seemed like a nice location with access to a plentiful supply of spring water.

At any rate, it was good to get moving again. We’d had plenty of time to make repairs on our wagons and rest up. Besides everyone was getting restless and sick of the squabbling with the soldiers. It might not have been long until gunfire would start and somebody’d get hurt. Did I say we hauled cases of whisky to the sutler. Well, those bored troopers got into it. A lot of those uniformed men were what they called galvanized Yankees, in other words turncoat Southerners who’d been in Northern prison camps and thought maybe the Northern army wasn’t so bad because they seemed to eat pretty regular.

Our drovers are a mixed lot - Metis, freed slaves, even some Irishmen who couldn’t find work anywhere else, plus a couple like me who don’t know where they belong. Stevenson, the fellow who owns the outfit, he’s a Scotchman. At nighttime around their campfires, they separate into tight little birds of a feather groups. The wagon boss is big and strong and keeps a tight rein on the outfit, so even if the men don’t get along, they mind their manners because they don’t want to face him after he lays down his law.

It’s a good thing the boss has never tried to tone down our language. I think my mama would faint if she heard just a couple minutes of what came out of the mouths of these vulgar old bullwhackers. When I was still home she tried to raise me up right, and if I ever slipped a cuss word out, she’d scream blasphemy and shove a bar of soap in my mouth. All her efforts have gone to naught because this outfit’s salty language has rubbed off on me, and I can cuss with the best of them. 

In the next installment, Chapter Two -  the wagons move out.

Unlimited Expansion?

I just finished reading the ex-British spy John Le Carre’s latest book, Agent Running in the Field. I can’t forget something he said once: “If we go on believing that there is unlimited expansion in a limited globe, I think we are heading for destruction. The globe will survive but mankind won’t.” I couldn’t help but be reminded of my Scandinavian history when farms passed in the family to the oldest son. What options did the younger sons have? Maybe emigrating to the U. S. where the promise of free land drew some, but our land has filled up and is not free anymore. People are still on the move around this globe because of famine, drought, political unrest, invasion from neighbors, et cetera. Unfortunately, resources are limited, and in many cases nonexistent. The myths and legends of the Vikings say they sailed away in their long boats and seized what they wanted.

Propaganda

Long ago in my social studies and journalism classes, I kept running into a list of propaganda techniques that are foisted on us in a steady diet. In these congressional hearings of late I recognize several, if not all of them, being used:

1. Bandwagon

2. Card stacking

3. Plain folk

4. Testimonial

5. Glittering generalities

6. Namecalling

7. Transfer

Those are the ones I remember learning about, but here’s another list where the points are no less recognizable:

1. Ad nauseum = I’m sick of hearing it

2. Ad hominem = genuine discussion of the topic at hand is avoided by instead attacking the character, motive, or other attribute of the person making the argument

3. Appeal to authority

4. Appeal to fear

5. Appeal to prejudice

6. Bandwagon

7. Inevitable victory

8. Join the crowd

9. Beautiful people

Recognize any? And like the old drunk says, "It's enough to want me to take another drink."

A Limerick for Today

A limerick for today from an old cowboy carved 30 years ago who keeps mindful of the political scene.

At first I thought his mind was clear

But after watching, I thought, Oh dear

I was mistaken

Cuz he’d been takin’

Too many selfies from a mirror.

A Well-Developed Imagination

My mother always said I was born a hundred years too late. However I’m most content to live right where I’m at. When I want to walk in the old days and participate in some event, all I need do is open a book and find myself right in the thick of it. Yes, it takes some imagination, but over the course of a lifetime I’ve developed a pretty good one. Books have helped fuel it.

While reading the new Michael Beschloss book “Presidents of War” I ran across a statement showing how President Lincoln broadened his imagination and knowledge. Things weren’t going well for the Northern army in the early part of the Civil War, but the generals always had excuses. Lincoln had no military experience with which to counter their arguments, so as Beschloss wrote, “Trying to make up for his deficiencies, Lincoln studied books from the Library of Congress on military history and strategy.” 

Tara Westover gave herself a complete education from books. Born into a survivalist family in Idaho that was suspicious of many of the bulwarks of society, including public schools, she was home-schooled  and taught only what her parents wanted her to learn. Gradually as she matured she found books on her own and graduated from colleges, eventually earning a doctorate from the University of Cambridge in England. Read her best-selling memoir “Educated” to understand her journey. 

Our recent attendance at the South Dakota book festival exposed us to another young lady who broke the chains of strict family control to find her own truth. Megan Phelps-Roper wrote the book “Unfollow” detailing her story of the extremist Westboro Baptist Church, the one that ridiculed dead soldiers at their funerals. Through the internet she realized another world existed which she started to want for herself. Again, self-education through reading books gave her the foundation to set herself free.

The foregoing stories about Lincoln, Westover, and Phelps-Roper deal with real people changing their lives and stirring their imaginations through books. I have always liked the story of a fictitious dreamer and his wild imaginings in “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.” The American Heritage Dictionary defines a Walter Mitty as "an ordinary often ineffectual person who indulges in fantastic daydreams of personal triumphs”. 

James Thurber wrote this story in which Mitty imagines he is heroic in five different situations. He daydreams he’s a pilot of a plane in a hurricane and wins the respect of his crew, a skilled surgeon who must improvise a lifesaving technique while operating on a famous person, a defendant in a murder trial whose lawyer argues he couldn’t have killed a person but pride made him say he could’ve. He’s a soldier in battle who volunteers to race across the battlefield and retrieve ammunition which wins the commendation of his sergeant, and he faces a firing squad and stares back at them with contempt and daring. 

James Thurber’s imagination invented the character of Walter Mitty who in turn enjoys his life in the imaginative scenes he conjures. Unfortunately, something or somebody would always and sudden appear to pop the bubble and bring him back to reality. Lincoln, Westover, and Phelps-Roper imagined a change in their lives should take place and went about finding a way to bring it into reality. 

As for my imaginary life, I am on the stage accepting the Pulitzer Prize for literature. Uh, oh, my wife just told me to take out the garbage.

.

With a Limerick

Here’s a couple carvings from about 20 years back. They reminded me of the West’s history and were easy enough to fashion from small bits of wood. People keep asking if I still carve. I don’t, just got tired of it I guess. Now I like to write weekly columns in a newspaper, book reviews, and magazine articles. For the fun of it, I also play around with limericks.

This facebook thing is so much bunk
I’d like to dunk it, ker-plunk
But I’m always waiting
Anticipating
Something besides the same old junk.
...
There, I just added some more junk.

Ex- Model Builder

I used to do a lot of model building. This cannon is about the only thing left of them. Some have been collected in a little museum in the southwest corner of the state, VanHorns Museum in Marmarth. I know because while living in Mandan I had a phone call from them wanting more. I don’t know which ones they have that they’ve acquired from somewhere. We were in that museum once, and I was struck by how neat and well-kept it was.  A gentleman in the Sisseton area turned some brass barrels for me, and I repaid him with a finished cannon.

 

When Did the Party Start?

The recent hearings conducted by the House of Representatives brought to light the very essence of our representative form of government. When watching the televised proceedings, two opposing forces were much in evidence as they jawed, insulted, and discredited witnesses as well as each other. With a gleam in their eye they seemed to relish catching someone stumbling over a point or in a perceived lie. It’s enough to make a person throw a shoe at the screen if your inclination is not in agreement with the questions or the answers.

Whether or not a quid pro quo existed regarding Ukraine’s desire for U. S. dollars to buy defensive javelin anti-tank missiles is the question before them. At the least, we’ve learned the meaning of a Latin phrase which translates as “something for something.” I like to say it means “scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”

As perturbing as the whole affair seems, it needs to play out because the success of democracy “rests in large part on both the opposition and the government.” I wanted a reminder of how this political party arrangement came about, because after all, it’s been almost 60 years since I studied political science at the university.

The story goes all the way back to the presidency of George Washington who was a shoo-in as the first  U. S. president. Many actually Washington wanted to be king, but he wouldn’t hear of it. How well he read the classics isn’t known by me, but his terms in office parallel a Roman leader named Cincinnatus who left his farm to lead the Roman army and then, victorious, serve briefly as dictator. Shortly after, he relinquished his power and returned to the farm. So it was with Washington who begrudgingly served a second term and refused a third term to return home after two terms of office.

Political parties began developing under him. He soon recognized that this government was too big to run without assistance and surrounded himself with cabinet members he could trust. Alexander Hamilton received the nod as secretary of the treasury and Thomas Jefferson became secretary of state. As it turned out, these two men did not play well together. Hamilton led a group known as Federalists who supported strong federal power while Jefferson with Democratic-Republicans supported states’ rights and limited federal power.

Right there are the seeds for countless disagreements which occurred through the following centuries. Washington understood the need for a stable economy and supported the ideas of Hamilton more so than Jefferson’s. So the battle had been joined.

George Washington couldn’t help but see the fighting going on between the two factions and in his farewell address in 1796 warned that the creation of political factions, “sharpened by the spirit of revenge,” would most certainly lead to continual fighting for the public’s favor. This not unheard of, though. On occasion I’ve run across videos of the British Parliament and the way they sit in rows of benches facing each other and shout and bellow at each other while their speaker bangs his gavel yelling, “Order, order!”   

As I wrote at the outset I needed a refresher about the creation of political parties, and this is what I’ve found. Given all of its rough edges and weaknesses, it is what we have. If there were no opposing political parties fighting it out, one option would give us a dictator wielding favors and squelching dissatisfaction. Pure democracy would be another option, the old one man, one vote concept. Imagine trying to pass legislation under such a system. Our system survives on representative democracy and if we don’t like our representatives, we can just “throw the bums out!”

Visiting Mike

We visited brother Mike today, November 26,  who is in the hospital for an extended stay.

We visited brother Mike today, November 26, who is in the hospital for an extended stay.

Helene's Birthday

Helene Sandvig celebrates something very few of us will ever see, 108 birthdays. And she still enjoys life, walking, visiting, worshiping, living alone...

               

A Triggered Memory

Reading today in my battered copy of Wallace Stegner’s Wolf Willow I found his reminiscence of listening to an old Sunday School hymn where “instantly I am seven or eight years old…” Many things trigger remembrance of things past. When I looked over at my end table where a little 1931 Model A Ford pickup parked I remembered an old man at home who used to drive all over with a pickup that looked just like this. We never know what will trigger the next memory.

Doing It For Fun

A definition of the word “hobby” states that it’s an activity one enjoys doing for fun. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t keep writing these articles. The one hurdle in the process is finding something write about, a minor problem that can sometimes wrinkle the brow. After deciding on a topic, the ideas start to fuse into coherent writing. So it was this day when the mail brought a new Time magazine which featured an article that gave lots of food for thought.

Three big questions facing our society were posed in the article labelled “Put Your Faith in Science.” 1.Are genetically modified crops safe to eat? 2.Why are vaccinations necessary? 3.Is climate change an emergency? Much writing and airplay has appeared regarding each or these and conclusions should have been agreed upon by now. But as the Time article asserts, these questions have been polarizing, they haven’t seen a green light to run into the end zone. 

First of all, if science says it is so, I tend to believe it. Regarding GMO crops, I don’t believe science has given much in the way of warning, but enough concerns exist among some consumers that food companies make a special point of advertising their products using non-GMO grains?  What we now recognize as GMO has been around over twenty years and it will continue to exist since the seed industry has consolidated to the point that only four seed companies control 60% of the market. Furthermore, hasn’t genetic modification existed for centuries with crossbreeding efforts? I’m still at the point of eating most anything, and my waistline shows it.

Why are vaccinations necessary? I can still remember lining up in the early years of elementary school and getting vaccinated. Oh, how we carried on in fear of pain from that needle stick, but it has prevented those serious illnesses for which it was intended. There is pushback among some parents, anti-vaxers, who fear vaccinations cause undue risks. When polio vaccine stopped that cruel disease, it eased my mind because even as a young person it scared me. I continue taking shots, most recently for flu and shingles and am due to get a pneumonia booster. 

Is climate change an emergency? This is a question that uncovers all kinds of “experts.” Here is where I’m in complete agreement with the vast majority of climate scientists – 97 percent, reportedly 11,000 of them –  who agree that humans are causing global warming and climate change. That 97% represents thousands of researchers who for the most part applied the step by step scientific method in reaching their conclusions. Do glaciers disappear, waters rise, blizzards deepen, tornadoes increase, hurricanes intensify? It seems to be the case.

If my assessment counts, here is where I stand with these three questions. GMO foods don’t bother me much and won’t until some solid evidence comes forward saying they shouldn’t be eaten. Vaccinations are definitely appropriate and necessary. Climate change is real and a concerted world-wide effort needs to be undertaken to reverse its advancement, or, at the least, slow it.

Maybe naysayers and deniers render a good service because they make those on the other side work harder to prove their findings. There was a time people thought the earth was flat, the sun circled the earth, and coffee stunts your growth. Opposition to established beliefs brings honest answers, which leads to another question. Should opposition political parties question those in power? A democracy demands it, otherwise dictators arise. There’s the topic for next week. 

Honoring Veterans

“Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.” This old quote became reality for us a few days ago when we boarded a tour bus and headed to Branson, Missouri. I don’t like driving long distances anymore and now sitting back in a reasonably comfortable coach seat to ride along has become our preferred mode of travel. We travel with the North Dakota Farmers Union bus which has made it possible for us to visit 49 states. Because of the way the highways work out, we’ve never been in Delaware. That said, we have had some valuable takeaways in our travels.

Twice we’ve traveled to the northeast for the fall foliage tours, but we didn’t just look at colorful leaves. Our driver has taken us to the heart of New York City, Washington, D. C., Boston, and Philadelphia, cities that opened up to us like a history book. Without his expertise at driving, we’d never have gotten into the midst of it all. 

This recent trip to Branson was one of several trips to that entertainment center that we’ve ridden along on. Some of the shows are outstanding and the city stands open and willing to accept tourist dollars pouring in. Branson is a top motor coach destination with about four thousand buses arriving each year.  On this trip we saw many, each one holding 40 to 50 people.

In each nine of the shows we attended, special recognition is always made by the entertainers for the veterans attending. They are asked to rise and be recognized, sometimes playing the song that signifies each branch of the service. This article is being written on Veterans Day, November 11. In World War I the armistice was agreed on by all parties to be observed on this the eleventh month, the eleventh day, and the eleventh hour of 1918. Beginning in 1938, the date became a national holiday.

My maternal grandfather, Andrew Sandvig, came to this country as an immigrant from Norway, and like many, had not yet become a naturalized citizen. That made no difference to a nation looking for men to carry a rifle as we entered the war. In fact and according to a New York Times article, “…nearly a quarter of the draftees in 1918 were immigrants, the result of an influx that had transformed America’s demography into a ‘melting pot’ of lineages.” 

Grandpa soon became a citizen since upon induction he had to swear allegiance to the U. S. and renounce allegiance to King Hakkon of Norway. Like so many veterans in wars, he came back not wanting to talk about what he saw or did. He carried a little government issue New Testament in which he wrote a few comments, enough so that I’ve been able to construct his wartime experience from reading history of his units. It is little wonder that he wanted to forget.

Casualties were high. At the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery, 14,246 gravestones mark the burial place of U. S. Army soldiers who died in the battle that ended with the armistice. In one engagement he wrote something which I’ve been able to verify, “we lost half our men.” Service to his adopted country numbered him as one of the the millions who have served. Furthermore, he produced a line of descendants who served in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. To paraphrase the quote that introduced this piece, his service made him modest, humble, and honorable when he returned home.

Remembering Trains

After seeing an article about railroading the other day, memories of trains started running through my mind.  A branch of the Northern Pacific ran through my hometown, and as a young boy, I still remember the old steam engines rolling through, spewing smoke and steam. Just once more I’d like to see the fireman pouring coals to the boiler and making black smoke so thick you could almost cut it as it rose through the smokestack. I can still hear the steam whistle above the huff of the engine starting out from a stop at the depot. It seemed so soon that diesels replaced them.

The early development of North Dakota can hardly be separated from the building of railroads. Without them, it would have taken a long time to move past the stage of the open range. Issues of my hometown newspaper published in 1885-86 indicate the significance of the railroad in the early days of almost anybody’s town. “The timbers for the new bridge across the Maple River came last week. - Barbed wire is going off so fast that Karl Rudd ordered his second carload this week. - P. Goodman shipped a carload of fine hogs to Fargo yesterday, the first ever from Sheldon. - We notice the McCormick machines still keep coming in by freight and express. - Farmers are beginning to haul home their binding twine. - Two more carloads of lumber for the North Star Elevator arrived here yesterday. - Twenty cars of freight passed west yesterday. - Train loads of emigrants and emigrant movables continue to pass west. - K. Rudd received a carload of splendid looking brick last Thursday.”

The first trains came through Sheldon  in 1882 and were probably pulled by the 4-4-0 locomotives that proved so popular in building the West. In fact Around 25,000 of these locomotives were built by different companies. The number 4-4-0 represents its wheel layout: four drivers in the rear, four leading wheels in front that swiveled to follow curves, and no trailing wheels. As more powerful engines came on the scene such configurations as the Southern Pacific Overland engine’s 4-10-2 came into service.

Cattle were often hauled long distances by trains and when done so they had to be let off for feed and water before reaching their markets. Enderlin had a large stockyards where a full train of cattle cars could be offloaded and bedded down for the night. Many towns on the railroad lines built stockyards where farmers could bring small herds to wait for a train to stop. I still remember the one in Sheldon, a place where the news of the times says hoboes hung out. The city fathers saw fit to tear it down about the time I started remembering such things.

Stories of the West often give the idea that early railroads into the West were built by Chinese laborers. But others came, too, for a paycheck that often went back home with them. The writer of an article published in 1911 did not worry about using an offensive term to identify workers from a foreign country, Italy. “Section foreman John Caine went to Leonard Monday to supervise the laying of new steel rails on the Southwestern. He has a crew of sixty Dagoes under him and it keeps him busy all the time to see that the work is done properly. The new rails are 72  pounders and will be a great improvement over the 56 pound rails that have been in use. They will be laid as far west as LaMoure.” Another item from 1909 states, “A gang of swarthy sons of Italy have been assisting the regular section crew putting in new ties …”

Railroads seem quick to modernize and economize. A little train dubbed “The Galloping Goose” served our town towards the end. I remember riding it one day to Fargo on my way back to the university in Grand Forks. It was the last day it carried passengers, and there was no band playing to greet us when we pulled into the station.

A Long Line of Leaders

My life began in the presidency of Franklin D. Roosevelt, the thirty-second president of the United States. In an ever-lengthening line of office holders, an additional thirteen men have served the country in what has been called the most powerful job in the world. For those keeping score, the current president counts as number forty-five. 

Except for reading historical accounts, I don’t recall anything of FDR’s administration but do have memories in real time of his successor Harry Truman. A twist of political fate saw Truman chosen as FDR’s running mate in place of the standing vice-president Henry Wallace. In a few months Truman was sworn in as the president. His approval to drop the atomic bombs on Japan in 1945 escapes me, but I have seen his written note giving permission to do so. Firing General Douglas MacArthur as commander of U. S. forces in the Korean War created quite a storm, but he weathered it.

“I Like Ike” rang loud and clear as a catchy slogan in 1952. As the Republican nominee, he easily defeated Adlai Stevenson that year and in 1956, too. Previously, this Supreme Allied Commander led forces in the defeat of Germany. During the war he noticed the good highway system built in Germany, and as president successfully promoted our present interstate system.

John F. Kennedy, familiarly known as JFK, entered the office with a victory over Richard Nixon. Nixon had come up against a modern technique he didn’t know about yet: the use of makeup in front of a tv camera. JFK didn’t finish his first term but was assassinated while in Dallas. I will never forget the night he appeared on television warning us about the potential of atomic war with Russia over their placement of missiles in Cuba. The Russians backed off. I associate the Peace Corps and the space program with him.

The thirty-sixth president, best known by his initials LBJ, took office after Kennedy’s assassination. Lyndon B. Johnson, an action-oriented senator, was a frustrated vice-president ignored by the Kennedy administration. Now he successfully promoted civil rights, public broadcasting, Medicare, Medicaid, increased federal role in education, and more. The Vietnam War brought him down after a strong public outcry against it.

Richard M. Nixon never lost his desire to sit in the oval office and won the presidency in his own right in 1969 and 1972. Along with his sidekick Henry Kissinger Nixon accomplished some items of importance, such as ending the war in Vietnam, opening positive relations with China, and signing the anti-ballistic missile treaty with Russia. Sadly, he is usually remembered for his responsibility in the Watergate break-in and the secret tapes that would probably have implicated him. He resigned after being told he would not survive an impeachment trial.

The faces of successive presidents become clearer the nearer we approach the present day. Gerald Ford assumed the job as Nixon’s vice president but was not re-elected. Jimmy Carter brought two enemies together at the Camp David Accords, but rising energy costs and mounting inflation cleared the way for Reagan’s election. Of note was “the Great Communicator’s” call for bringing down the Berlin Wall. 

The remaining presidents, George H. W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, Barack Obama, and Donald Trump, bring us to the present day. Each is known for some good and some not-so-good. The reader might think this list is woefully incomplete, and it is. It is simply the musings of someone who has experienced living in a country where fourteen presidents served during his lifetime. As a high school graduate in 1960, my classmates now contemplate a 60th class reunion. There is so much in the rearview.