Lantern to Light Switch

 Memories stirred in my head as I read THIS IS HAPPINESS by the Irish novelist Niall Williams. He wrote of  the Irish community of Faha before and after electricity arrived. I am old enough to remember that same event when it occurred at our rural farm home. Gas and kerosene lamps lit our nights. Battery radios furnished our entertainment.  As I read I felt like I was walking on familiar ground that I hated to leave when my wife called at suppertime. To add to the story, the village sported only one recently installed telephone, a fact that brought memories of a party line with our ring of three shorts after someone dialed 5542. I can’t argue with the author when he said, “the truth turns into a story when it grows old. We all become stories in  the end.”

Williams narrates the story from the viewpoint of a 78-year old man who remembers that older time. Many quotable passages appear, “Faha then had more to it than it does now. The shops were small but there were more of them…” What was true for him certainly is true for me as I recall many small businesses along main street where most local needs were met but no longer exist. The list is long: grocery stores, barbershops, tv and radio sales, clothing, blacksmiths, drugstores, doctors, car sales and repair, hatcheries, and cream stations.  Earlier even more served the public such as sales and service for steam engines, threshing machines, livery stables, buggies and wagons, draymen, and more. The little towns themselves have disappeared, and the highway leads to Fargo.

He wrote that in his little community “eccentric was the norm.” People were more free to be themselves with all their quirks and oddities. They didn’t need to kowtow to corporate policies that squelched individual thought. With humor he wrote this line, “the 100-watt bulb was too bright for Faha.” He explained the bright light revealed unseen dust and cobwebs on every surface. For some of the older residents the shock of change brought discomfort and steadfast resistance to the new way.

While THIS IS HAPPINESS could have been about most small towns in our country, it was set in Ireland. By shifting the scene we can find one linked to this particular area. PASSING THROUGH: THREE FAMILIES IN NORTH DAKOTA, 1880-1950, by Fredric C. Bohm III paints a picture of three interrelated families with the surnames of Bohm, Opheim, and Hill.

First, something about the author. Bohm spent the early years of his life growing up south of Sheldon in the Sand Hills. Wanting an education he earned a Ph.D. in history from Washington State University. While there he worked as editor in chief for Washington State University Press, eventually moving eastward to become Director of Michigan State University Press. By exercising his professional acumen he has produced an excellent product. Printed on high quality paper with excellent binding, it has easy to read print with sharp, well-captioned pictures and illustrations. 

The old maxim that warns we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover does not apply here. True that PASSING THROUGH sports an attractive, inviting cover, but its pages reveal a wealth of information, too. He liberally footnotes his narrative to tell readers where he found his material. Many of them are worth reading as separate asides since they add to the story. In addition, the lengthy bibliography of work he consulted and published could be of use to someone who wants to zero in on their own reading. 

While not familiar with the Hill family, I can relate to the other two. If we remember how storks worked, one of them delivered me at ten pounds, six ounces into my mother’s arms at the Nick Opheim home in Enderlin on a cold February morning in 1942. My mother said Mrs. Opheim welcomed expectant mothers and cared for them until they gained their strength. I think she said Dr. Hendrickson came on the scene to assist in the delivery, as well. I learn later in the book Mrs. Opheim was the mother to Tex Bohm’s wife.

When the author spoke of his parents and his upbringing around Sheldon I naturally took closest notice. His father, a man well known in these parts as Tex, said he received the nickname from his friend Richard Johanneson. At a local rodeo on the Walter Golz farm, he had climbed aboard a bull that did its best to throw him. Tex stayed on his back until the bell sounded but since he  ended up contorted and sideways on the bull’s back, he didn’t earn any winning points. After that,  Johanneson started calling him Tex which everyone started using.

The Bohnsack Ranch employed Tex as a cowhand in 1940 to help Frieda drive a herd of 600 cattle to the stockyards in West Fargo. That event gained a bit of attention when the Fargo Forum sent a reporter to gather the facts and add some color. The pictures that Bohm published are sharp, much better than what I found in the Fargo Forum archives.

In a section called “Living the Dream - The Sand Hills Years,” we learned Tex and his family rented a small farm and kindly neighbors gave the family a hand up, one hired Tex to shock an oats field and paid his wife with a matching check when she helped, another forgave Tex a sizable loan made for cattle feed. He jogged my memory of  Frank Sallen who sold and serviced Gleaner combines in Enderlin where I’d go along to buy parts. Governor Langer brought relief by saving Fred and Gladys Bohm from the foreclosure of their farm.

There is no way a short piece like this can begin to recap two books. The intent has been to look at them, relish the pleasure brought, linger over memories awakened, and say to fellow book lovers that here are two good ones.

RANDOM THOUGHTS - Monday, Oct 21, 2024

NDSU pulled off a narrow victory … Vikings, not … We’ve voted … Dr. Isern, NDSU history prof, found Dad’s carvings in Enderlin museum … Reading a good book: THIS IS HAPPINESS about the before and after arrival of electricity in an Irish village, an event which stokes my own memories … Marker Stone that the two State Universities fought so hard over was one of an original 720 markers, placed every half mile along the 360-mile border of the two states … Big crowd came to celebrate Norma and Gary’s 50th … adios.

Our Rough Rider

The portraits of forty-nine people hang in the Roughrider Hall of Fame in the state capitol building at Bismarck.  They honor North Dakotans who have achieved national recognition in their fields of endeavor. It is probably no surprise that the renowned band leader Lawrence Welk became the first inductee on August 28, 1961. The list extends through July 30, 2024 when the portrait of James Buchli, a NASA astronaut, found its place on the wall. We presume more will be added.

In these parts the hall’s “Rough Rider” namesake can mean only one person, Teddy Roosevelt. He has become an advertising icon for the state. Many tales praising this rugged individualist have been told and retold to maintain, even inflate his memory as a tourist attraction. One author has written, “Medora supports itself by feeding off the carcass of Teddy.”

Next time you visit town just look around and find many references to the man. Of course, there is the Theodore Roosevelt National Park, Rough Rider Hotel, Bully Pulpit Golf Course, Medora Musical where he’s featured, articles of clothing for sale, an impersonator who pops up around town, hamburgers named for him,  Maltese Cross Cabin, and who knows what else I’ve missed. The Theodore Roosevelt Presidential Library will open on July 4, 2026. The town with its attractions keeps growing, as will the use of his persona. 

You can’t blame Teddy for the hype about him in Medora, or can you? We learned from history how he led the charge on San Juan Hill in Cuba. Apparently his troops did fight well, but the whole affair gained a little puffery along the way. The country had to rely on the reporting of correspondents that were present. He made sure to name the reporters who would accompany him. Richard Harding Davis, the writer, and Fredric Remington, the artist, portrayed TR and the Roughriders in the most glowing terms. TR treated Davis very well, Davis reciprocated, thereby helping to create the popular legend. His stories carried bold, eye-catching headlines coupled with Remington’s artwork which caught the readers’ attention and sold newspapers. Thus a hero was born.  

None of the foregoing is meant as a criticism of the man. In fact he was popular then as now. He’s the president who one of my grandfathers said was the only one he ever liked. In fact, I kind of like the man, too. He never lived to see his Medal of Honor for his gallantry in action of San Juan Hill because it wasn’t presented until 2001. Neither did he see his face carved on Mt. Rushmore in South Dakota, but it’s a pretty sure thing he would have liked both.

As for accomplishments, several can be attributed to him. He broke up monopolies, pushed to establish the Pure Food and Drug Act, asserted the U.S. leadership position in the Western Hemisphere, and promoted the construction of the Panama Canal. He was a conservationist and created 150 national forests, 51 federal bird preserves, 4 national game preserves, 5 national parks, and 18 national monuments. All told he placed 230 million acres under federal protection, portions of which greedy developers today would love to get their hands on.

He read widely and authored many books. A speech he called The Man in the Arena is still frequently quoted: “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” 

 

To condense his quote in a few words, we might use a reference from the baseball world that tells us you can’t get a hit if you’re not swinging. A past leader of India, Mahatma Gandhi, put it this way, “You may never know what results come of your action, but if you do nothing, there will be no result.” We can go to the world of country music and find one more reference from Lee Ann Womack, “And when you get the chance to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.”

RANDOM THOUGHTS - Wed, Oct 16, 2024

A trip to Sheldon yesterday where we picked a couple bushels of apples for apple sauce this winter … Hands are still cold … We received a piece of apple pie besides … Corn harvest is underway, some with good yields … Took a look at the new grain handling facility in town where one unit train has been loaded out already … Bar in town has a new owner … adieu …

McGrath Material

 I have a book of Tom McGrath’s poems titled “Death Song.” Published the year after the Sheldon poet had died, it contains a large number of shorter poems, some written with a lot of impact. The following selection appears here only in part. What is unique about it is the fact that he wrote it from the viewpoint of the cattle that have been hauled to slaughter. Did the stock pens standing onetime in Sheldon alongside the railroad tracks influence his thoughts? 

SLAUGHTERINGHOUSE MUSIC

First, we feel the train

Slowing.

Then we see the pens as the train stops.

The doors open.

We leave the excrement-covered floors

Of the cattle cars and the stench of our journey.

A joy to stand in the ankle-deep dust and dried dung of the yards!

Sun?

And a high blue sky!

We blink in the glare of light and our cries go up:

Bellowings, snorts, grunts, whines, farts and whinnys -

A bedlam of many languages lifts toward heaven.

Then we stampede to the watering troughs and the sparse food.

As evening grows out of the earth,

Uneasy in the failing light

We push at the fences …

Moaning and bleating,

Sending our separate cries

Into the open range beyond the wire…

A kind of singing in all our languages

Out…

Into the desolation-

The emptiness that we once thought was home.

…

The last section of this piece talks of letting a few cattle at a time enter the killing floor where those waiting outside hear, “a dull thudding as of wood mauls on wood stumps.” One strike of the heavy hammer against their head was all it took.

…

The picture shows part of my collection of McGrath’s poetry. Other materials such as newspaper clippings are not pictured. Given my advancing age, what will I ever do with them?

Keepsakes and Souvenirs

  

Many of us form attachments to objects that remind us of significant events, places, or people in our lives and go on to collect a few of them. I do. In this room where I write there are a dozen or more such things hanging on the walls or setting on shelves. For the most part I give them no mind, they are taken for granted, but occasionally I do stop to ponder.

For instance there is a framed picture called “Found” hanging near my desk that is a lifelong part of my life. My parents received one as a wedding gift in 1941 and when I was born in 1942, it hung there for me to study and wonder about. The scene depicts a collie dog standing over a small lamb lying on the snowy ground in a storm. In the background a few crows have gathered in anticipation of a meal of lamb, but the collie’s find has deprived them of it. Through the years I have owned a print of the picture and I plan to keep hanging it on my wall.

I purchased a colorful little Viking figurine in Stockholm, Sweden when several family members traveled there to touch base with relatives. Many memories swirl about the figure, such as the grand welcome we received. The older generation could not speak English but needed an interpreter for each conversation. Those my age and younger all spoke English, some quite well. We packed a lot into touring rural areas, spending time in the city of Stockholm, a daylong cruise through the archipelago, eating great food, and visiting the church where my great-grandpa was baptized. Life in this country included liberal vacation time, health care, and low crime in this highly-taxed country which seemed to agree with them. We never heard much grumbling about taxes because they realized what it provided for them.

When my wife and her sister traveled to Rome with a church tour, I made one request of her: bring me a cross of San Damiano. She did find one and it hangs on my wall. There was a time   of deep soul-searching when I had found reference to it and began appreciating the message of this crucifix. For one thing, the Christ figure is alive and looks at us with outstretched arms. Symbolism surrounds him. The Ascension is portrayed with a host of angels welcoming him into Heaven, and depicted around him are the Holy Virgin and Saint John the Evangelist, a small rooster, several saints, Mary Magdalene, a small boy who’s been healed, and even more. It all represents to me in high art the Christian story.

A model of the railroad engine that carried the country westward sets on a shelf in front of some history books. About 25,000 of these little engines were built and used in the 1800s. It didn’t have the power to carry it into the 20th century and soon became obsolete. Being a student of that period of history, I purchased the model found thrown in a box of miscellaneous items at a sale. We’ve seen pictures of the  golden spike ceremony on the transcontinental railroad where two of these engines, one from the east, one from the west, have met and parked head to head.  To test the strength of the Northern Pacific bridge between Bismarck and Mandan, eight of them parked on it. One develops respect for its place in history.

A small framed picture of the M.V. Wickersham floating in calm waters rated a spot on my shelf. I rode it one time when the waters weren’t calm on the Alaskan Marine Highway. The ship was a mainline ferry vessel that passengers and freight rode from point to point in the north. A ship worker drove my car into the hold, and I rode topside for thirty hours. The picture holds the memory of a time when this young man wanted to get out of North Dakota and see some different sights and experience new things. The long drive to Anchorage, some of it on an unimproved highway, some sightseeing, and the southward cruise comprise a strong memory. The ship’s namesake, James Wickersham, became a district judge in Alaska and brought the excesses of Alexander Mackenzie under control. The affair became a favorite history story of mine for the reason that I ended up in Greeley, Colorado and enrolled at the University of Northern Colorado and earned a master’s degree.

Dad told the story of  a time he experienced a runaway team of horses. He was loading hay but paused briefly to look up at the camera. Something startled that team, maybe the click of the camera,  and they took off. An artist in Bismarck named Gary Miller had painted a scene that looked so much like it that I had to own it. More items set here and there:  a picture of a Gleaner combine loaded on a truck that I drove to southern Kansas for wheat harvest; a picture of bale haulers hangs above me; a model of a famous rodeo bull Little Yellow Jacket from Mandan will forever buck off riders on my shelf; a Model A Ford pickup that looks just like the one in Sheldon that I used to see and yearn to own, but I’ve settled for its toy model; and carvings. During a ten year period I carved ducks, geese, cows, people, clocks, shelves, and love spoons.

Yes, I’ve formed attachments to these and a few others that I didn’t bother to name. Someday I suppose they will be thrown out with the other brick and brack of my life, but for they hold a place in full view because they represent my life.

 

More Glory Days

 

Is there a sport where more statistics are gathered and analyzed than in the game of baseball? Take this one for example: The rarest baseball feat was posted when Fernando Tatis, Sr., a playerfor the St. Louis Cardinals hit two grand slam homers in the same inning in 1999 against the L. A. Dodgers. A number of players have hit two grand slams in the same game but never the same inning.

Baseball has inspired several songs such as John Fogerty’s “Centerfield.” Fogerty wrote and sings it. As a young California kid where no major league teams had yet located, he dreamed of being a centerfielder. After all, his hero San Francisco native Joe DiMaggio played centerfield for the Yankees. He said he also found inspiration from his frustration at watching a favorite team losing on TV and imagining himself a rookie on the bench jumping up and shouting, “Put me in coach, put me in!” The song is such a baseball standard that another statistic lists when Fogerty in 2010 became the first and only musician honored by baseball’s hall of fame.

Turning our attention to the local baseball scene we find some information about Cy Pieh at pinstripealley.com, a New York Yankee history site. Two things about him caught people’s attention. One was his natural talent. The other was the odd way he acted which caused him to suffer the butt of jokes. His frustrated wife told him to “Stop making a fool of yourself, everybody thinks I married a dunce.” Pieh is buried in the Enderlin cemetery.

Lynn “Line Drive” Nelson signed to play baseball with the Fargo-Moorhead Twins independent team in 1925. Upon arriving a boxer known as the Fargo Express, Billy Petrolle, spotted him and talked him into training for the ring, too. Lynn’s manager would not approve of his wish to box.

They agreed on a solution where Nelson would don a mask and be billed simply as the Masked Marvel. Middleweight Lynn Nelson recorded 21 early knockouts in 21 professional bouts. After a standout season in 1925 with the F-M Twins, Nelson caught the attention of a scout from the Kansas City Blues of the American Association. During his pro career, he tallied a record of 33 wins and 42 losses with 29 complete games, two shutouts, and 255 strikeouts.

Terry Bohn’s research and writing about amateur baseball in North Dakota deserves a closer look. I ordered from Amazon two books he authored. I’ll borrow from, especially “Lots More Fun That Way: The First 30 Years of Amateur Baseball in North Dakota.” He expands beyond the thirty year mark a bit when he includes some late as 2013 accomplishments.

He liberally sprinkles Enderlin teams and players throughout his narrative. He tells us Johnny Janz threw a perfect game against Tuttle in the quarter-final of the 1955 state tournament. The team’s thirteen-year-old pitcher named Ray Henkel beat Cooperstown in 1932, but doesn’t say if  he pitched the whole fourteen-inning game. 

Dr. Hendrickson died in 1948 and Pete Redmond guided the Indies to success.The reason for the team’s success throughout the years has been analyzed by many, but the fact that resources were gathered to hire coaches plays strongly. For instance, standout player/coaches

like Johnny Janz, Owen Wallace, and Pete Redmond made for a positive influence on young players.  

Another reason for success recognizes the strong core of good players that stayed together. Adding to these three are John Utke, Wes Peterson, John Foss, Oakley Larson, and Ralph Graalum. The third reason Bohn states for success includes the field lights that permitted long days of play.

Bohn scoured various sources to discover that Janz in 1955 and Jerry Jerdee in 1956 pitched state tournament no-hitters. John Foss in 1955 hit two home runs in one tournament. A dozen team members have been inducted into the North Dakota Sports Hall of Fame in the amateur baseball section: Redmond, Utke, Janz, Wallace, Wes Peterson, Larson, Foss, Abbie Peterson, Haskins, Halverson, Adair, and Bratland.

A section in Bohn’s book includes other information that proved educational for me such as in one chapter “The Influence of McLeod.” The familiar name of Joe Milton enters the picture for

being a strong promoter of the sport and leading that team to the state tournament in 1948. Dale Sveum played in the major leagues for twelve seasons. John Olerud was an American League batting champion and a two-time all star. Two good pitchers, Gerald Ankerfelt and Clayton Johnson, received a thumbs-up mention.

I taught at the Wahpeton Indian School for a long spell where the name Woody Keeble is held in high regard. This wartime hero won many commendation medals including the Medal of Honor

posthumously for his bravery in the Korean War. He used his strong and accurate pitching arm to hurl grenades with deadly accuracy. He had been recruited by the Chicago White Sox in 1941, but entered the Army when World War II broke out.

One other person whom I did work beside for many years in Wahpeton was Don Berg who receives mention in the book for his athleticism which Berg himself never spoke of. I only knew him as a middleweight golden glove boxer, but there was more. In the 1949 state baseball tournament Hettinger wanted to add Berg from the Ellendale team to their roster, but he ran intoa conflict. College classes had started in Ellendale where he was a star halfback on the football team.

Letters to the editor about the sporting scene in and around the area would be welcomed. More articles about it will appear as material presents itself. And as John Fogerty’s “Centerfield” opened this article, we’ll close with Bruce Springsteen singing “Glory days, well, they’ll pass you by…”

Glory Days

 

“His line drive came right at me. When I reached for it the tip of my glove deflected it enough to rise and sail over the fence. Good thing I didn’t lay a hand on that ball or it would’ve torn my

hand off.” So said an acquaintance of mine who was playing first base for the Blue Ribbon Allstars when Enderlin Indies player John Foss came to bat. I’d seen how hard Foss could hit and

knew my friend was not exaggerating.

Baseball memories! For some people they’re the best. One can dive into the game’s rich history or attend games for enjoyable entertainment. Now it’s spring and my thoughts have naturally

turned to baseball. Like many others I search for diversion from the sad state of political and social affairs encountered in our daily news feed.

I claim a flimsy relationship to Hendrickson Field in Enderlin because, after all, Dr. Hendrickson delivered me at the Opheim house one cold February morning in 1942. What better reason to talk

about the Indies and other teams in the area?

Organized baseball experienced difficulties early in statehood. For the most part farmers worked long hours six days each week. Sundays offered their only day for recreational activities, but the

farm boys found a roadblock. North Dakota’s constitution banned sports that day, terming it “sabbath breaking.” Even earlier, the move to ban it gained traction.

 Here is what the editor of the Sheldon Progress wrote in 1885: “Some of our young gents, not having the fear of their creator before their eyes. indulged in a match game of baseball last Sunday. Don’t do so any more, boys.”

Sixteen years later, a later editor of the same paper, wrote this admonition: “Some of the Sheldon young gentlemen who think more of worldly affairs than they do of spiritual things so far forgot

themselves as to mix-up with the hobo crowd Sunday in a ball game. Playing ball on Sunday is shameful, sinful, and unnecessary and should not be allowed.”

He went on to say he was “reading his Bible but afterwards learned the score stood 5 for Wiper and 4 for Bill Sorenson.” He must have felt obliged to criticize this Sunday game, (but wink, wink) reported the score for interested readers. Finally, in 1917, the yoke was eased when legislation removed the Sunday ban.

A player from this area named Cy Pieh, “Cy” because his pitch seemed to come out of a cyclone, earned some national prominence. One noteworthy event came in his career while playing for the Yankees in 1915. Babe Ruth, the starting pitcher for the Red Sox, hadn’t established himself as a hitter yet, but this day he hit the first of his career 714 homeruns on a pitch Jack Warhop threw in

the third inning. Cy Pieh, a spitballer, came in as a reliever in the ninth inning, pitched five scoreless innings, and received credit for the victory. Pitching spitballs wasn’t outlawed until1920. For reasons unknown here, seventeen pitchers were grandfathered in and permitted to continue using “the wet one” throughout the rest of their pitching days.

Lynn Nelson was born at Sheldon in 1905 and played major league baseball for all or part of seven seasons with the Chicago Cubs, the Philadelphia Athletics, and the Detroit Tigers, from 1930 to 1940. A pitcher, his win-loss record was 33-42 with 255 strikeouts and an earned run average of 5.25. Nelson’s nickname, “Line Drive,” seems to have come from either of two reasons: he batted well, but he gave up lots of homeruns. 

Before concentrating on baseball, he exhibited some prowess as a middleweight boxer and took pointers from his friend Charley Retzlaff, the Leonard, ND, heavyweight who had fought Joe Louis.

The Society for American Baseball Research wrote about the time Nelson was asked about the origin of his nickname. He said, “I would like to say it is because I hit so many line drives, but

the fact of it is that they tacked that name on me several years ago when I was a member of the Chicago Cubs. The opposing batters had a habit, most annoying to me, of hitting liners past my ears, and one of the baseball writers decided I should have a nickname along those lines.” 

As a pitcher he was a good hitter with an overall batting average of .281. Terry Bohn’s work of collecting and publishing facts and anecdotes about amateur baseball in the state gives as good a picture of the sport that I know of. In one book, “Lots More Fun That Way,”

he alluded to a feature article in the Jamestown Sun that tried to explain the continued success of the Indies. The number one reason given, “A core group of very good players stayed together for many years.” Several of those team members have been named to the North Dakota Amateur Baseball of Fame. 

A second reason given was the installation of lights in 1948. Several pages of baseball history written by Carole Tosseth were included in the Enderlin centennial book. The story includes a picture showing the installation of those lights which brings back a memory. My dad liked watching games and took me along. The caption lists the year of 1948 when the towers were raised. Then in August, 1949, a big dedication ceremony was held, and if memory serves, I was there.

It’s necessary to draw heavily from other people’s experiences and collections of memories for baseball writing. Various centennial books, Terry Bohn’s books, the Sheldon Progress, internet sources, and first hand accounts like the one in the first paragraph all add to this writer’s meager store of information. Do you have any to share? I would be willing to collect them and share them with the audience that reads this paper. Email me at lynn.bueling@gmail.com. 

Anecdotes make for interesting reading. Stories from any or all teams and communities are welcome and contributors’ names won’t be used without permission. We know other towns in the surrounding area fielded teams, too. Through the years, Sheldon made a strong showing with some great players. McLeod wrote with pride of their baseball history in their centennial book in 1986. Alice included pictures of teams in their 1975 jubileebook. In fact, the makeup of the area Blue Ribbon League from 1950-1968 includes the nearby

towns of Alice, Sheldon, Buffalo, Chaffee, Fingal, Nome, Oriska, Tower City, and more.