The setting of the story takes place in Korea during that infamous war fought in the 1950s. Chinese soldiers were pouring over the border during severe winter conditions to attack our military, many of whom were U. S. Marines. Frostbite, equipment failures, frozen C-rations, frozen fuel lines, frozen medical supplies all resulted from as much as -50 degree temperatures during the night.
Ammunition to stave off the attackers ran low and a radio man was ordered to order more, including mortar shells. He used the code word for mortar shells which was Tootsie Rolls. On the receiving end the radio operator didn’t have the correct code and took the message at face value. Somehow he rounded up cases of the candy and had it delivered to the embattled defenders. Apparently it didn’t turn out badly since the hungry men gladly ate them for the energy it provided. After thawing the Marines also used them to plug bullet holes in various tanks and radiators where when plugged in they re-froze and formed a temporary fix.
The lady who wrote the article is associated with the North Dakota VFW Auxiliary. To verify the story, I found much the same article on a United States Marine Corps website. The Korean War doesn’t receive much attention nowadays but if a reader wants a refresher, get a copy of David Halberstam’s book The Coldest Winter to read a superb one-volume history of the conflict.
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As settlers and miners started moving westward into those parts of the country known as Indian territory, forts were built to protect them. Like any small town of today they needed supplies to fill their pantry shelves. When the railroad came through, freight cars hauled it, but before that teamsters driving ox teams pulling covered loads furnished the necessities.
The job was not easy nor very high on the social scale. Who could be tapped to do the work of snapping bullwhips and swearing the beasts forward to a market? Emancipation freed blacks, some of whom took up these jobs. But another group, immigrants who were looked down on, became available, too. They were the Irish who started coming during their potato famine and continued coming to escape from under the harsh rule of the English government.
Many of these mule-skinners and ox-drovers who came through our area were indeed Irishmen and some of them stayed, not wanting to go back to persecution. Religious issues were paramount, that is Protestant versus Catholic. From what I know ill-feelings about it still simmer today meaning that it was very deep-seated.
An interesting catchphrase then came into being - “Beyond the Pale.” England maintained a strong presence in Ireland and found themselves being constantly provoked and attacked by Irishmen who resented them. To protect themselves, the English built a long fence called a pale through which Englishmen dared not travel nor Irishmen dared enter. Today the phrase can still be heard and I think is usually understood as being something happening out of the ordinary. It’s one of those phrases we can use freely but its original meaning has become lost.
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This cold weather gets old mighty fast. I’ve already started wishing it away. Like Tennyson should’ve said - in the spring a young man’s fancy turns to… baseball? Sounds good to me. The magazine editor I work with in Santa Fe, New Mexico is a walking baseball encyclopedia. He came to the craft of writing via being sports desk editor for Texas newspapers and has become a successful award winning Western writer. One of his books titled Camp Ford deals with baseball in a Civil War prison camp of that name. Union prisoners challenge their guards to play games of baseball.
Because of our association we communicate regularly and his last letter reminded me of spring and baseball and the sound of the bat and the roar of the crowd. He is a Kansas City lover who one time drove to see a game there and missed out on a Nolan Ryan no-hitter back home. I taunted him a bit on that, but he said he’d already seen Ryan pitch several times.
I used to go to baseball games under those lights where the big sign on the outfield fence proclaimed Hendrickson Field. I was born in Enderlin at a Mrs. Opheim’s house under the supervision of Dr. Hendrickson, so I’ll claim some attachment. I only wish I would have attended more games and watched those local baseball heroes: Janz, Foss, Utke, … My aging memory denies me more names. While visiting with Fritz Salzwedel at a funeral a few years ago, we talked baseball, especially that year he pitched all wins with no losses. He was modest and wouldn’t take much credit by saying he couldn’t fail with such a strong team behind him. I am left to wonder if anyone has ever taken on the job of compiling a team history. It would be interesting.
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