Bringing Power to Our World

Today’s farm equipment never fails to amaze with its power, size, and price. Successful farmers continually adapt to the changes in the industry and deal with it. To guess what changes might occur in the future is beyond the ability of this humble pencil pusher to guess. It’s much easier to look back to the time when he’d fire up an old “B” John Deere.

I’m talking about an older model “B” that didn’t have a battery starter. It had a flywheel crank and a petcock for each cylinder which needed to be opened for compression release. With a spin or two or three the engine caught. Those two cylinders started whooshing and pushing exhaust out those petcocks until you closed them again for full power.  

There was a time when many-a two-cylinder “Poppin’ Johnny” could be heard and seen working in the countryside. But that engine possessed a fundamental weakness: it couldn’t grow. Engineers kept tweaking it as far as they could until they admitted they’d have to turn to four-cylinder engines, thus the 4010s and on into infinity.

Expounding on modern farm machinery soon reaches the limit of my intelligence, so it’s better to speak in historical terms. How about some oxen stories? We can safely guess no one living today ever saw them working in real-life, except maybe on some farm festival occasions. We’ve told the story of Don Stevenson and his large oxen-powered wagon train that supplied Fort Ransom when it was built. On their return trip to Fort Abercrombie his outfit stalled in a blizzard near Lisbon.

Not to be discouraged, Stevenson kept freighting westward that summer to the Missouri River. To cross, he rafted his wagons and swam the bulls across. One of his teamsters went to Stevenson with a problem, he couldn’t swim. A practical minded man, Stevenson said just grab a bull by the tail when they’re in the water and hang on. The teamster wasn’t confident that he’d be able to hang on all the way. He found some light rope, tied it to his wrist, and then knotted it on the selected critter’s tail.

When this unlikely pair hit the deep water, the bull looked back to see what was dragging and saw his unwanted passenger. As the story goes, the bull started to swim faster and beat them all to the opposite shore. And still that darn unwanted load kept hanging on which prompted the critter to stampede into the brush. That went on until the man became snagged on a stout bush, stopped short, and snapped the rope.   He stood up, clothing torn, cut, bruised, and like bullwhackers were known to do gave forth with a stream of loud blue lingo. That evening while gathered around their campfire, the men laughed and described to the hapless one how funny he looked bouncing along on the prairie.

 

Another story comes out of the Sheldon area when a couple of teen-age boys were sent to a flour mill with a wagon filled with wheat and pulled by a team of oxen. Think of oxen plodding along with impatient teenagers seated on the wagon wishing they could go faster. It so happened the 4th of July had just occurred and fireworks could still be found. Here the reader’s imagination must stretch to accommodate the scene. Wondering and laughing about what might happen, they lit a small rocket and goosed one of the oxen with it. 

The boys learned a powerful lesson that day when the firecracker struck the animal’s hide and exploded.  They could do nothing but hang on because the panicked pair of oxen proved they could run, stampede, in fact. A wheel fell off and the wagon careened to the side of the trail, struck a tree, and broke up. They last saw the animals topping a rise and high-tailing for home. As for the boys, they walked.

A noteworthy lady named Nancy McClure once lived in the eastern part of the county at Owego told a story of how she became involved in the Dakota War of 1862. Even though she and her Indian husband were on friendly terms with these Indians their lives were threatened. State and county lines did not exist at the time so exact locations can’t be determined. It came time for them to flee the danger and her husband told her to saddle her horse. Now oxen enter the scene.

Her words paint the scene. “We saw a wagon, drawn by two yoke of oxen and loaded with people, coming down the road at a good trot. They were all in great fright. They asked us to put our horses to their wagon as they could travel faster than oxen and to get in with them. This we agreed to do, and soon had the change made. I took my dear little daughter and just as we were about to get in I looked up the road and saw the Indians coming.”

McClure’s story will end here for the time being, but she has earned a secure spot in Ransom County’s history. There is a book length tale to tell of her life. If only I live long enough! As for the story of how we power our implements or convey ourselves around, we can be assured more changes will come.

RANDOM THOUGHTS - December 26, 2023

 RANDOM THOUGHTS - December 26, 2023

Ben Franklin says, “Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.” Trust me, it ain’t easy doing both … Now I know why Tom McGrath said one time that his hands hurt and it was hard to hold a pen. I can still type though … You White Christmas wishers got what you wanted, but did you have to bring ice, too … We’re like Garrison Keillor and have entered a de-acquisitioning stage of life where we don’t buy so much … New Year’s Resolution: Gonna try to lose ten pounds. Clothes don’t fit so well anymore … The writer Ivan Doig accurately states “There are so damn many ways to be a fool a man can’t expect to avoid them all.”

Lefse and Uff Da

 The kids remembered my Scandinavian side with a lefse blanket and an uff da shirt.

Wild Horses

 Wild Horses

Ten years have passed since the wild horse sale occurred in Wishek in September of 2013. Rangers at the Theodore Roosevelt National Park thought there were too many horses and decided to thin out about 100 of them. Why was this town, one rather far-removed from the badlands, chosen for the auction location? A sale of wild horses four years earlier in Dickinson proved to be a near disaster with one elderly gentleman injured and several people in the stands experiencing a near miss from a desperate stallion attempting to jump the fence. If memory serves, the Dickinson management refused to host it again. Wishek offered to hold it.

When notice of the new sale became public, I decided to attend. Strangers to the community had no problem finding the sale barn since dozens of cars and pickups surrounded it and filled every available parking space. A carnival-like atmosphere filled the air and there was no free lunch. It cost $10 to get in the door, another $5 to view the animals in their pens, and $10 for a catalog. I entered and found a seat just in time since it soon filled. Latecomers had to drive to the town’s civic center and watch on closed circuit television.

The friendly man sitting next to me who said to just call him Bill proved to be a good source of wild horse knowledge. I learned he was a retired Air Force F-14 top gun pilot and that his wife had followed him all over the world. Now it was his turn to follow her. She was present to buy a horse, train it for riding, and use it on their little ranch in California as a therapeutic animal for PTSD sufferers.

As the sale progressed, a strawberry roan stallion sold for $2000. Bill leaned over and said until then they had paid the top price of $1750 for one in Dickinson. Soon, another stallion brought even more, $2800. High numbers were not the standard, though. Most brought much lower dollar amounts.

The sale managers had learned from that unfortunate accident in Dickinson that there was a better way to handle the horses. To offer comfort to them as they entered the ring in twos and threes, a mounted rider rode slowly ahead and one rode behind them. Even the sights and sounds of a crowd of people did not upset them this day and the SPCA representative had nothing to complain about since the sale proceeded smoothly.

The biggest revelation in Wishek that day was learning how involved some people become in saving wild horses. One lady had traveled here, pockets filled with $28,000, to buy horses. She represented a group named Legacy Mustang in Virginia that raised the money to outbid so-called dog food buyers who might come.

Bill’s wife had started a Facebook page called “Wild in North Dakota” which I recently opened and found still active. The site claims almost 400,000 followers. The history of the 2013 auction event leads us to the present day when we wonder if another sale is in the works. Recently the National Park Service said the estimated 200 head roaming in the park are a non- native species and are not part of the native prairie ecosystem.

In 1965 the Dickinson Press quoted an old cowboy, “For as long as anyone can remember, horses have been an integral part of the North Dakota Badlands.” When the artist George Catlin visited the area in 1832 he made the first written word mention of them saying,

“The horses which the Indians ride in this country are invariably the wild horses, which are found in great numbers on the prairies.”

A year or so ago the language used by park officials seemed to indicate they intended to eliminate the herd altogether. Opposition voices soon rose to the point that our Senator Hoeven and Governor Burgum came out in support of the horses. One is left to wonder why the horses are in there and free to multiply in the first place. One answer is that they were accidentally trapped in the park when the park service built the enclosing fence. This story hasn’t played to its conclusion yet, but it’s a good bet the herd will be downsized once again and that a public sale will be held. By the way, there are nine longhorn cattle roaming around in there, too.

There was a time when we had a superabundance of horses all over the country. Horses used to power the machinery of war were no longer needed when World War One ended. Some of them were shipped back from Europe, but in addition farmers had been raising horses as a cash crop, and roundups of wild horses had accumulated large herds. Suddenly, the market for live horseflesh ended, so ranchers in the West simply opened their gates and let the herds escape to roam freely.

Horses rounded up in the West possessed a wild inclination anyway and relished regaining their unfettered freedom. The domesticated horses that ran through the gates with them soon veered to wild horse behavior. Wild horses still populate parts of the West in large numbers in spite of the BLM’s effort to eradicate them. Take the Wind River Indian Reservation in Wyoming for example where a resident said there were upwards of 10,000 of them in a mostly protected environment.

Groups like the Wind River Wild Horse Sanctuary located in Lander, Wyoming go so far as to track wild horse deaths and injuries due to Bureau of Land Management roundups. But there is a yin-yang force at work. The National Cattlemen’s Beef Association promotes removal of the horses because of the unwanted competition for grazing.

Advocating for one side or the other in regards to the elimination or preservation of the herds is not the intent of this article. It does seem though that letting a couple hundred wild horses roam freely in the Theodore Roosevelt National Park is reasonable.

RANDOM THOUGHTS - Sat., Dec. 16, 2023

What? A baseball player worth $700,000,000 … The Christmas season has given itself over to commercialization. Not much of a religious feeling … Today is the 250th anniversary of the Boston Tea Party … I notice all the restaurant servers repeat the word “perfect” with every part of the order … Bison play Grizzlies today (Grizzlies won in two overtimes.)

Helen Sandvig Has Passed On

Helen Sandvig passed away at the age of 112. The funeral was in Leonard, ND on Saturday, December 9, 2023, and we tried our best to attend, but weather made us turn around. Blizzard-like conditions meant strong winds, and slippery, snow covered roads. 

She was married to Eddie Sandvig and told the story of how his brother, i.e. my grandpa Andrew, gave them a pregnant sow for a present. The sow died, but I think they saved some of the piglets. She had a wealth of stories in her memory and freely told them, such as how as a young school teacher she had many chores to do besides teaching.

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Helene Sandvig Obituary

   Helene Sandvig, 112, of Fargo, died on Tuesday, December 5, 2023 at Bethany on University. Helene, widely recognized as Fargo’s oldest resident and the second oldest North Dakota resident, has been celebrated on many occasions.

   Helene Louise Sprunk was born November 25, 1911 on the farm home near Chaffee, ND. Her parents were Gottlieb and Augusta (Nienas) Sprunk. She was confirmed in Chaffee Evangelical Church. She attended school in Walburg School District 55 through the 10th grade and graduated from Chaffee High School in 1928. She received a teaching certificate from Valley City Teachers College and taught school one year in Logan County and seven years at the Bandy School near Leonard. It was there that she met Edwin Sandvig.

   She married Edwin in the Chaffee Evangelical Church in June of 1938. They farmed south of Embden five years, then bought and moved to a farm west of Leonard. They joined the Lutheran Church in Leonard. Helene was Sunday school superintendent for ten years, 4-H leader of the Leonard Starlets 4-H Club for twelve years and was a member of the Hollyhock Homemakers for over fifty years.

   Edwin developed bronchial asthma in 1973 and they decided to sell their farm in 1974 and moved into the John Heuer apartment. For fifteen years they spent their winters in Texas and Arizona. Edwin passed away in 1991. Helene continued living in the apartment. She enjoyed reading, sewing, crafts, her family and friends and working in her church in her younger years. She loved poetry and many times was called upon to give a reading at various occasions. She enjoyed traveling, making three trips to Germany, two to Hawaii and two to Alaska. She spent time with her nephew Wes at their lake home in Montana and at their home in Phoenix.

   She moved to Bethany Homes Assisted Living at the age of 103. There she enjoyed meals with her table-mates, playing bingo, attending chapel and Bible study. Helene liked being the center of attention, her Bethany birthday parties and being interviewed by Kevin Wallevand for WDAY TV. Covid brought its challenges to Helene’s doorstep with isolation in her room, no group activities or Sunday afternoon domino games with her Leonard friends. Throughout the years, Helene’s hearing began to fade, her eyesight weakened, and she wouldn’t turn down a hand to hold for support. She still enjoyed playing the piano beautifully, without a sheet of music. She fought the fight with dignity and respect having lived a long and good life.

   A sincere thank you to the Bethany staff for their care and compassion; and to Jane and Walter, Jeanie and John for their friendship, love and support throughout the years.

   Having no children of their own, Helene and Edwin enjoyed sharing in the achievements of the children of their relatives and friends and would say “we have been truly blessed!”  Helene is survived by several nieces; nephews; and great nieces and nephews and was preceded in death by her husband Edwin, her parents, Gottlieb and Augusta Sprunk; brothers, Elmer, Harvey and Edward “Eddie”; step brothers, Herman, Walter and Ralph; and step sister Elvira Sprunk Roeder.

Funeral:  Saturday, Dec. 9, 2023 at 11 AM at New Hope Lutheran Church, Leonard, ND with visitation one hour prior.

Burial: Leonard Cemetery.

A Man Had a Choice

 - A Man Had a Choice -

By Lynn Bueling

A man had to make his choice:

roll your own or tailor-made.

There was certain craftsmanship

in a man’s ability

to take a Zig-Zag paper,

furrow it just right, shake flakes

of Bull Durham from the bag

(which featured the well-known tag

that fluttered from a pocket)

curl one edge of the paper

under and roll the other

over; then with a quick lick

seal that tube for good measure.

To take the craft another

step, he’d reach into his pants

to extract a kitchen match,

and with a flint-thick thumb nail

scratch it to a plume of fire.

Then with double-cupped hands

he’d ignite his creation

— even in mean gusts of wind —

for a few puffs of pleasure.

TR and Grandpa

My paternal grandfather once said Teddy Roosevelt was the only president he ever liked. Dad mentioned that bit of family lore to me but added he didn’t know why. It’s fun to parse through TR’s life to try and figure out why, mainly to satisfy my own curiosity. The years of his presidency, 1901-1909, fit well with Grandpa’s prime of life when he was 22-30 years of age.

Maybe grandpa was simply impressed as a young boy hearing stories of TR’s time in the North Dakota badlands when he stood up to threats from Marquis de Mores or later his time in Cuba when he led a charge up San Juan Hill. Or it could simply be he liked things that got done in the White House during Roosevelt’s tenure. Maybe this is the reason. And just what were some of those things?

One of my favorite history books is The Bully Pulpit by Doris Kearns Goodwin. She describes a period of history where many Americans sat up and took notice of the extraordinary events swirling about. Grandpa most likely heard or read about them with interest. Ms. Goodwin makes much of the dynamics between TR and William Howard Taft but adds a third element: muckrakers. They uncovered corrupt politicians, the work of robber barons, and the exploitation of workers by the corporations.

The well-read Roosevelt borrowed a term from The Pilgrim’s Progress and began calling these journalists muckrakers because he thought many had crossed lines of decency. He imagined them mucking and rooting about in the swill of domineering industrialists. The negative term stuck even as investigative writing continued. Some of their findings were so glaring, however, that he had to become involved and see that action was taken.

The Jungle by Upton Sinclair describes the muck he waded in and discovered in the meat packing industry where he worked undercover for a few weeks. He wrote of filthy conditions and practices that could spoil your appetite at supper time.

After the book was brought to TR’s attention he invited Sinclair to the White House. He told Sinclair he didn’t agree with his socialist philosophy but knew that if the reports of unsanitary conditions were accurate, they must be corrected. TR sent investigators who found them to be true, and then used their findings to convince Congress to pass the Pure Food and Drug Act and the Meat Inspection Act. In order to guarantee this legislation would be enacted, TR threatened Senate leaders who were friendly with the meat packers that he would expose them if they didn’t support the bills. I think Grandpa would have liked that.

It was under the umbrella of McClure’s Magazine where much muckraking writing was published. The magazine supported investigations that uncovered misdeeds which aroused the country to the point of making political and economic reforms. Take the reporting of Ida Tarbell, for instance. She developed a personal beef towards John D. Rockefeller’s business practices, especially those that destroyed small businesses, her father’s included.

In a nutshell, Tarbell’s father was doing well as a small independent oil producer in Pennsylvania. Then the greedy hands of John D. Rockefeller reached out and made an alliance with the railroads and a few select refiners. Rates for shipping their oil quickly doubled, but Rockefeller conspired to make secret rebate payments to the refineries. It succeeded in driving small producers out of business and for his company to become a monopoly.

Tarbell’s tenacious digging into Rockefeller’s business practices exposed him and resulted in the establishment of the Federal Trade Commission and the Clayton Antitrust Act. As a disclaimer Grandpa died when I was only five years old, so I didn’t know him well. But from what I know I believe he possessed a strong moral core and would have approved the breaking up of a monopoly.

Another of McClure’s writers was Lincoln Steffens. He wrote a series of articles for McClure’s that looked deeply into corruption in municipal government. Grandpa worked hard to make a living for his family and would not have approved of crooked officials.

Ray Stannard Baker earned headlines with his reporting about America’s racial divide and wrote of the oppression and lynching of Southern blacks. A recent popular history These Truths by Jill Lepore displayed a picture of a black man hanging from a tree with a caption “one of thousands of black men lynched during the Jim Crow era.”

Too many other muckraking scenarios exist for inclusion here except for an abbreviated mention of a few. Edwin Markham and John Spargo exposed child labor. Frank Norris examined the struggle of wheat farmers against a powerful railroad monopoly. Nellie Bly got herself committed to an insane asylum to expose the horrible conditions in it. Samuel Hopkins Adams exposed false claims about patent medicines.

Journalism has earned a spot as the watchdog of all branches of government through constitutional freedom of the press. Some call it the fourth branch of government for their work of investigating, exposing, and urging reform. Through the work of investigative journalists, average citizens in the country became aroused to the point of pushing for reform.

This period in our history became known as the Progressive Era that focused on defeating corruption and monopoly. While President Roosevelt wasn’t necessarily responsible for their work, he provided his approval and saw to it that corrective actions began. I’m sympathetic to their work and have to assume that Grandpa was, too. I’ve reached across a century to assure myself that he would have supported it.

Berry and Link

 I recently came upon a Bill Moyers interview with the author, poet, and activist Wendell Berry. I like Berry’s soft spoken yet powerful message about conservation and preservation of what is good. He once said, “The thought of what was here once and is gone forever will not leave me as long as I live. It is as though I walk knee deep in its absence.” The coal mining companies in his home area of Kentucky caused toxic runoff that poisoned the river running by his farm, resulting in killing the trees that used to flourish along the river bank.

For some reason the image of our late governor Art Link rose up agreeing with much of Berry’s stance. Many people have seen the video called, “When the Landscape Is Quiet Again.” If they haven’t they should have. In it Link hoped the developers would leave the land as they found it when they left. Coal, oil, pipelines, maybe more threaten the environment. Here Berry says, “The point is not to make a killing but to have enough.”

Link’s obituary states, “Even though Art had the hands of a farmer, he had the finesse to fiddle a song that would fill a room with joy.” So, too, does Berry have the hands of a farmer and the finesse to craft a poem that causes people to sit up and listen.

RANDOM THOUGHTS - Nov. 22, 2023

Happy Thanksgiving everyone … Christmas shopping has been promoted for several weeks already … We’ve had beautiful fall weather … The end of 2023 grows nearer … Remember the fears of the new century and how the digital systems might collapse sending us into darkness … Why do so many water down the meaning of a solemn celebration and call it “Turkey Day” instead of Thanksgiving Day? …

Reeds on a Muddy Shore

 There was a time I was afflicted with a case of wanderlust that only traveling could cure. The following poem illustrates a time in Alaska.

Reeds on a Muddy Shore

Parting thick reeds

on the muddy shore

of memory, I spot

the M. V. Wickersham

with her narrow bow

and swept-back funnel

floating dockside in Haines.

Dreams of high life

in the storied north

had grown frail

with fear of nearing winter.

I fled Anchorage astride

my Impala, determined

to hurdle the span

of miles and mountains

to meet the southbound ferry

at its terminus. We ran

hard a long while and arrived

at Port Chilkoot

sweating slush and mud

with little time to spare.

I bought the fare to ride,

then turned to watch

the floating creature open

her mouth and swallow

my steed into her belly.

The ship, like a bobber,

floated up and down on Pacific

swells, my boarding ticket

the lure, and me,

the catch of the day.

Harvests - Past and Present

On a recent day while driving through the countryside I noted the harvest neared completion.

Clouds of dust followed combines in the corn fields and big trucks loaded with their yield stayed

busy hauling it to storage or market. Fast work is made of each field with the machinery eating

several rows at a time. The whole process from planting to harvesting varies greatly from that of

the last generation.

In the way of marketing, something new has risen on the Sheldon skyline. Recently several

conjoined concrete silos were poured in an around-the-clock construction project. When the

special railroad spur is built the facility will be able to handle the long trains of cars that meet the

modern idea of efficiency.

The writer looks back with old eyes to one row corn pickers that slowly worked their way

across the width of fields with small wagons hauling the cobs home to shovel into cribs. That

was even an improvement over what existed before. On the wall of our shop Dad had a strange

looking glove with a metal peg attached. He said it was a husking peg used to strip the husk from

each cob when they picked the corn by hand and tossed it in a wagon.

In those days of old-fashioned harvesting methods the Nonpartisan League was born. Exactly

one-hundred years ago in 1923, the “Nation” magazine pronounced, after the League’s heyday,

that the NPL was “one of the century’s outstanding political events in America.” A strong

statement like that deserves some attention.

Go back to the year 1912 and find where A. C. Townley lost his flax crop due to an early frost

north of Beach, North Dakota. His bonanza-like farm covered over 7,000 acres. For money to

operate his farm he had borrowed about $80,000 from various places which now couldn’t be

repaid in full. The money he had borrowed would be equal to about $2,500,000 today. A major

source of contention for him came when his remaining equity was wiped out on the Minneapolis

and Chicago commodities exchanges as they drove the price below the cost of production.

Recognized as a talented organizer, he soon found the focus for which he is remembered. He

knew things must change since farmers felt exploited. As a farm state with little infrastructure,

farmers found themselves at the mercy of out of state industries such as railroads, banks, and

grain millers that considered North Dakota a colony to exploit for raw materials.

Townley was determined to spread the word and recruit membership. He started by walking

from farm to farm where he’d convince them to join. His effort was supported in a few weeks

when supporters pooled their money and bought him a Model T Ford. As the word spread he

found farmers in agreement and the organization bought more Model Ts. At its peak there were

250,000 paying members in the NPL.

There is much involved in the way the NPL organized and operated to a successful end, but

simply by 1919 they dominated state government. We know that some of their successes live on

today in the Bank of North Dakota with its record profits that neared 200 million dollars in 2022.

The State Mill and Elevator remains a positive force in the state’s economy. The majority of the

grain it purchases is from North Dakota growers or grain elevators to the tune of about 206

million dollars. The North Dakota Mill receives no funds or financial assistance from the State ofNorth Dakota to subsidize the milling operations. Selling value-added milled wheat products

generates all operating funds.

The Public Service Commission was given authority over the telephone companies in 1915,

and over all public utilities including water, gas, steam heat, and electricity in 1919. One of their

responsibilities is maintaining standard weights and measures. I know that the gallon of gas I

pump measures an actual gallon or the bushel of grain I sell pays me a bushel’s worth.

As happens so often, the king of the hill comes tumbling down. The NPL met opposition from

the Independent Voters Association who were strongly supported by small businessmen and old-

line politicians who felt disenfranchised. Their strength began to wane and through the years

little attention is paid to the history of the NPL.

The NPL governor Lynn Frazier became a victim in an ironical turn of events. The state

historian Elwyn B. Robinson wrote to the point in History of North Dakota: “In 1920 the voters

had approved a League-sponsored constitutional amendment by which petitions could bring

about an election to recall a state official.” The governor signed off on it. Then voters turned

around and used it to kick him out of office.

It’s already forty-five years since a film about the organization’s beginning and initial success

made the rounds. “Northern Lights” was filmed in a grainy black and white format reminiscent

of the time it depicts. Restricted by budgetary concerns, filming needed to continue in spite of

conditions. Therefore we see a threshing scene captured in an actual snowstorm. You can feel the

cold!

The movie dramatizes the founding of the NPL and was recognized for a major award. It

represents a fictionalized version of the farmers movement, but the factual renderings can be

found in history books. It’s a fascinating time where farmers took control of their own destiny.

Lovers of our state history can take a deep dive into the personalities, accomplishments, and

demise of “one of the century’s outstanding political events in America.”

RANDOM THOUGHTS - November 11, 2023

Veterans Day - Will new Vikings quarterback look good again tomorrow? - I’m keepin’ busy as I wannabe writing pieces for newspapers -  Warm weather for next few days - News from Ukraine dropped out of sight after attack on Israel - I’m writing poems for the next gathering in Medora on Memorial Day weekend: blacksmith, feed store, etc. - I went to two funerals this week: Alvin Wall and Clint Devitt - Wishin’ success for school reunion next summer - Deer season started, be ready to duck - 

Remembering Ransom County's Veterans

    I remember the time one of my grandfathers took me fishing at Lake Tewaukon. I was too young to appreciate it and didn’t know the first thing about catching a fish. He helped me bait the hook, probably with an earthworm, and throw it in the water. Impatience ruled my six or seven year old sensibilities as I was having no luck at all. He was given to periods of introspection and probably didn’t want to be bothered because he told me to sit still, watch that bobber, and don’t take your eyes from it.

     I don’t know how much time passed before he finally decided it was time to head for home, something for which I was very glad. I could finally take my eyes from the bobber. When we arrived home, my parents were in the barn milking, and of course my mother came to ask how we’d done. I still remember looking up at the moon and seeing that darn bobber bouncing up and down in there. That episode with Grandpa came to mind again with the approach of Veterans Day. 

     We mark another Veterans Day on November 11th in remembrance of the fighting that ended in World War One on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918. Ransom County did its share in contributing to the war effort. Undoubtedly, the best evidence of that can be found in the book one-time Lisbon residents Ann and Michael Knudson wrote titled Ransom County’s Loyal Defenders. The book published in 1910 accumulates the information they rounded up from various sources.

     They reported over 600 of the county’s men and at least five women served in various branches of service. Their names appear in an index and many of their brief biographies fill the pages. It is easy to guess while reading it that on a per capita basis, Ransom County did its share, maybe more. 

     We don’t often think about World War One anymore. The last survivor died in 2011. He was one of about five million men and women from the United States who wore the uniform. In the short time we were overseas 53,402 of them were killed.

     That war had been grinding on since the time a young Serbian patriot shot and killed Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria on June 28, 1914. An amazing entanglement of treaties drew in participants from all over Europe. Soon all of Europe was involved.

     At first the remembrance of it was called Armistice Day and declared a legal holiday 20 years later. It was renamed Veterans Day in 1954 when President Eisenhower signed it into a law to honor American veterans of all wars for their patriotism and willingness to serve and sacrifice.

       Several reasons why this country entered the war can be given, one being the fact of a German submarine sinking the SS Lusitania which killed 1195 people, 128 of them Americans. Others included Germany’s invasion of Belgium, US bank loans to Europe could be lost if Germany won, German submarines were sinking ships at sea, and the decoding of the Zimmerman Telegram. It was a coded message to Mexico from Germany promising them a piece of U. S. territory if they’d help. Our citizens became stirred up and the United States entered the war in April of 1917.

     Unfortunately,Veterans Day, one of eleven federal holidays, gets little notice except for the fact that banks close and there is no mail delivery.  For many that’s an inconvenience. Personally, I try to remember it each year by writing something about it. 

     Back to my grandpa and his introspection while fishing, someone in the family asked if he’d talk about the war. He said, “You wouldn’t want to know.” He was keeping his thoughts to himself and that was that. To learn something of what he experienced I needed to dig up the history and read it for myself.

     He was a private in the 362nd Regiment of the 91st Division. History of this regiment and division is readily available and I put a picture together. Space won’t allow much detail, but one episode of their attack on a German position stands out. His regiment gained their objective but were forced to withdraw because regiments on either side could not keep pace and protect their flanks. He pencilled a brief remark of their retreat in a little pocket Bible, “We lost half our men.”

     Ransom County service members served in a wide variety of units and battle situations. According to the Knudson book, a total of 31 men and women died in service, seven of them were killed in action, two from accidents, and the others from illness, most likely from the flu epidemic that raged among them.

     We heartily celebrate Christmas and 4th of July, but a once popular Thanksgiving has mostly landed in the midst of Christmas shopping.  About as much enthusiasm is shown for Veterans Day as is Columbus Day. All of them claim solid reasons for commemoration but few care. I intend to recall Veterans Day by way of this reflection.