This is a cantankerous town that I am born to.
Cantankerous in the sense that this is a hard working no nonsense town inhabited by men who go deep into the earth to dig out the gold that lies therein. Lead. The very name says mining town. The name comes from the main lead of gold that lies buried deep under the town. This is the home of the largest gold mine in the world. Mining shafts run over a mile deep into the earth.
My father is a miner, one of the men who ride down into the earth to dig out the gold. You may have seen pictures of them coming out of the mine after a day of work, dirt on their faces and the carbide light bobbing up and down on their foreheads. That’s who my father is.
Cantankerous because during the winter months Canadian arctic air sweeps down over the Dakotas and puts the whole area into a deep-freeze. When the winter winds bring deep snow you may have to leave the family sedan and walk up the hill to get home. This is long before four-wheel drive, SUVS and that entire sort. One cold winter my Dad’s ’35 Ford would start, but despite his great strength he could not turn the frozen steering wheel.
Cantankerous because the folks at the Pentecostal church at the bottom of the hill don’t mind telling visitors that the main service is over and now they plan to get serious. Leave at your own peril. You have only your soul to lose.
These are the days that when you pick up the telephone to make a call an operator comes on the line and says, “Number Please.” Dial telephones are something you see in a movie.
My brother tells the story about how after being informed by my mother of my arrival some months away, and then being cautioned to say nothing immediately runs out and tells his best friend Bubby his secret.
Now these are the polio years and that dread disease struck at my brother’s friend, Bubby. After we move away to my grandfather’s house the news came that Bubby has succumbed to this dreaded disease. I still remember hearing those hushed tones that the conversation turned to on that dreadful day that we hear of his untimely death.
This must have been Camelot that I was born into. My father works in the mine and my mother stays at home to take care of my brother, my sister and me. The country is just coming out of the great depression and my father has steady work when most of the country is still out of work.
The location of our little house is about halfway up the side of the hill. White scalloped shingles adorn the sides and the sturdy roof supports green shingles. Built square and low to the ground the little house provides the necessary warmth to withstand the cold Dakota winters.
My brother tells me of the time he turned the water hose on a nest of wasps and when the little critters dried out they were mad as hell at the destruction of their home.
Then they came looking for any passerby and that happened to be me. Somehow I managed to survive my brother’s youthful exuberance during those early years.
Our family moves from the little house on the hill that summer to our grandfather’s house. We do so with the understanding that we will not be there very long because my father wants to go to Wyoming to farm with his brother. That fall my father gets very sick and the plans to move to Wyoming are put on hold.
Viewing our old home from the street with my sister and brother, during our recent vacation, we can see no signs of life. I imagine a mineworker and his or her family dwell there and they are about their work and their school.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Arrgh!! He's a Pirate
Henry Weaver, when quite a youth and not more than eighteen years of age, fired by that ardent patriotism which so distinguished the men of that day joined a crew of privateersmen. He was among the first that ventured upon the ocean under an American flag. When cruising the West Inda seas his ship fell in with a British vessel and after a desperate fight captured the British vessel.
In the act of boarding the British vessel Henry Weaver had three fingers of his left hand cut off by the stroke of a cutlass that was aimed at his head. After the capture of the British vessel they contiued cruising in the same area for a considerable time. Unfortunately for them they came upon a British Man-of-War of very superior size and they were in turn captured. Henry Weaver along with the survivors of the crew were captured and taken to England where he was confined to a British prison for eighteen months.
A treaty of peace was executed at Paris on November 30, 1783 which acknowedged the independence of the United States. Upon ratification of this treaty Henry Weaver was released from prison and was allowed to return to America
Upon his return to home in New York his family hailed his return as one risen from the dead, as they had long since considered him lost forever. His father had passed away during his absence.
Although Henry Weaver was eligble for a government pension due to the loss of three fingers of his left hand he refused to make an application for a pension to which he was justly entitled.
In the act of boarding the British vessel Henry Weaver had three fingers of his left hand cut off by the stroke of a cutlass that was aimed at his head. After the capture of the British vessel they contiued cruising in the same area for a considerable time. Unfortunately for them they came upon a British Man-of-War of very superior size and they were in turn captured. Henry Weaver along with the survivors of the crew were captured and taken to England where he was confined to a British prison for eighteen months.
A treaty of peace was executed at Paris on November 30, 1783 which acknowedged the independence of the United States. Upon ratification of this treaty Henry Weaver was released from prison and was allowed to return to America
Upon his return to home in New York his family hailed his return as one risen from the dead, as they had long since considered him lost forever. His father had passed away during his absence.
Although Henry Weaver was eligble for a government pension due to the loss of three fingers of his left hand he refused to make an application for a pension to which he was justly entitled.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Yellow Boy
Yellow Boy was a Lakota Indian charged with the theft of a horse.
In these frontier days stealing a horse is a very serious crime. It is a crime that can get you standing on a scaffold with a rope around your neck if the wrong people are your judge and jury. My grandfather argues the case for the defense in a South Dakota court of law and the jury finds Yellow Boy, a Native American of the Oglala Lakota Nation, not guilty. The grateful Lakota people come and camp in my grandfather’s front yard. They dance a victory dance, smoke their peace pipes and then give the peace pipes to my grandfather. Was I born too late, yes. Would I have killed to be able to be there, yes.
My grandfather has his home built outside of town. He and my grandmother have lived most of their lives in town. Maybe they just tire of living in town, not that our town is all that large. I imagine that when he found this spot of land he must have concluded that there was no other place as beautiful to build a home. Weeping willow and quaking aspen trees line the left side of road that leads to his home. There is even a tree that produces plump blueberries in the summertime. There is a rich meadow with tall grass that fat deer can graze on, and then quench their thirst in the stream at the edge of the grass. All fed by a meandering stream of cold clear water that flows from a myriad of bubbling springs high in the “Hills.” On the right side of the road there is solid rock peppered with “fools gold” or iron pyrite that sparkles brightly in the sunlight.
When the building of the new home of Robert and Estelle Hayes, addressed at 9 Roosevelt Road, was completed the article in the local newspaper might have read:
Prominent Black “Hills” attorney, Robert Hayes and his wife, Estelle, will soon move to their new home on Roosevelt Road. Construction of the new home has been going on for some six months now. There were some delays due to summer rains. Construction of the Hayes home, in record time, was due to the excellent spring weather we experienced and the cold not coming until early October.
The Hayes home features an enclosed attached garage. This will allow Mr. Hayes to drive into the garage and alight from his motorcar and enter directly into his study. The house also features a large kitchen with plenty of windows to allow sunlight in. There is a formal dining room where Mr. and Mrs. Hayes will no doubt entertain many of their friends and relatives. The first floor rounds out by the living room and the large and airy porch at the front of the home.
The second floor of the Hayes home contains a master bedroom and two additional bedrooms. Located also on the second floor is a full bathroom. The third floor remains unfinished and will no doubt be used to store many of Mr. and Mrs. Hayes possessions. Because it appears that it will be some time before the electric lines are run up to Roosevelt Road the Hayes home will not have electric wiring to provide for lighting of the home. Mr. Hayes says that he will look into wiring his new home for electric lighting when the electric power company is able to connect to his home.
Mr. and Mrs. Hayes will be moving into their new home on Roosevelt Road just as soon as Mrs. Hayes returns from a trip to Chicago. While Mrs. Hayes was in Chicago she had the honor of being elected a director of the Isaac Walton League of America. Mrs. Hayes, in her position as a director, is often mentioned in newspaper articles as one of the leaders of the “feminist” movement in the Walton League.
In these frontier days stealing a horse is a very serious crime. It is a crime that can get you standing on a scaffold with a rope around your neck if the wrong people are your judge and jury. My grandfather argues the case for the defense in a South Dakota court of law and the jury finds Yellow Boy, a Native American of the Oglala Lakota Nation, not guilty. The grateful Lakota people come and camp in my grandfather’s front yard. They dance a victory dance, smoke their peace pipes and then give the peace pipes to my grandfather. Was I born too late, yes. Would I have killed to be able to be there, yes.
My grandfather has his home built outside of town. He and my grandmother have lived most of their lives in town. Maybe they just tire of living in town, not that our town is all that large. I imagine that when he found this spot of land he must have concluded that there was no other place as beautiful to build a home. Weeping willow and quaking aspen trees line the left side of road that leads to his home. There is even a tree that produces plump blueberries in the summertime. There is a rich meadow with tall grass that fat deer can graze on, and then quench their thirst in the stream at the edge of the grass. All fed by a meandering stream of cold clear water that flows from a myriad of bubbling springs high in the “Hills.” On the right side of the road there is solid rock peppered with “fools gold” or iron pyrite that sparkles brightly in the sunlight.
When the building of the new home of Robert and Estelle Hayes, addressed at 9 Roosevelt Road, was completed the article in the local newspaper might have read:
Prominent Black “Hills” attorney, Robert Hayes and his wife, Estelle, will soon move to their new home on Roosevelt Road. Construction of the new home has been going on for some six months now. There were some delays due to summer rains. Construction of the Hayes home, in record time, was due to the excellent spring weather we experienced and the cold not coming until early October.
The Hayes home features an enclosed attached garage. This will allow Mr. Hayes to drive into the garage and alight from his motorcar and enter directly into his study. The house also features a large kitchen with plenty of windows to allow sunlight in. There is a formal dining room where Mr. and Mrs. Hayes will no doubt entertain many of their friends and relatives. The first floor rounds out by the living room and the large and airy porch at the front of the home.
The second floor of the Hayes home contains a master bedroom and two additional bedrooms. Located also on the second floor is a full bathroom. The third floor remains unfinished and will no doubt be used to store many of Mr. and Mrs. Hayes possessions. Because it appears that it will be some time before the electric lines are run up to Roosevelt Road the Hayes home will not have electric wiring to provide for lighting of the home. Mr. Hayes says that he will look into wiring his new home for electric lighting when the electric power company is able to connect to his home.
Mr. and Mrs. Hayes will be moving into their new home on Roosevelt Road just as soon as Mrs. Hayes returns from a trip to Chicago. While Mrs. Hayes was in Chicago she had the honor of being elected a director of the Isaac Walton League of America. Mrs. Hayes, in her position as a director, is often mentioned in newspaper articles as one of the leaders of the “feminist” movement in the Walton League.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Abraham Clark
1725-1794
Representing New Jersey at the Continental Congress
by Ole Erekson, Engraver, c1876, Library of Congress
Born:
February 15, 1725
Birthplace:
Elizabethtown, New Jersey
Education:
Self-taught, Surveying, Law (Surveyor, Lawyer, Sheriff)
Work:
Land attorney; High Sheriff of Essex County, NJ.; Member of New Jersey Provincial Congress; Elected to the Continental Congress, 1776 ~1784.
Died:
September 15, 1794
Abraham Clark was born into the life of a farmer at what is now Elizabeth, New Jersey. His father saw an aptitude for mathematics and felt that he was too frail for the farm life and so young Abraham was tutored in mathematics and surveying. He continued his own study of the Law while working as a surveyor. He later practiced as an attorney and in this role is said to have been quite popular because of his habit of serving poor farmers in the community in cases dealing with title disputes. In succeeding years he served as the clerk of the Provincial Assembly, High Sheriff of Essex (now divided into Essex and Union) County. Elected to the Provincial Congress in 1775, he then represented New Jersey at the Second Continental Congress in 1776, where he signed the Declaration of Independence. He served in the congress through the Revolutionary War as a member of the committee of Public Safety. He retired and was unable to attend the Federal Constitutional Convention in 1787, however he is said to have been active in community politics until his death in 1794. Clark Township, New Jersey, is named in his honor.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The first night I dreamed this.
This black limousine pulls up in front of our house and three men in saffron colored robes get out. Their dress is the same as I have seen in pictures of the Dali Lama. These men must be representatives of him. Wow, what a response I am getting to my letter. I open the door and they come in as if they knew exactly where they are. We all gather around our dining table. The saffron robed monks explain to me that the Dali Lama, in response to my letter, has sent them. They then go on to say that the letter I sent was different from the thousands of letters of support that they have received, because it floated out of the mailbag. It is at present time hovering at midpoint between ceiling and floor. They have cautiously captured it and opened it whereupon it has returned to its position suspended in mid-air. They explain to me that the sender of this letter would be the incarnation of the previous Panchen Lama. Well, okay, not a real bad job for a retired firefighter. Then I remember you had put the letter in the mailbox making you (technically) the sender. The monks then put a saffron colored robe on you and out the door you go with them. I run after you and the monks, exclaiming, "But he is Baptist." They assure me that they would not hold that against you.
I awoke with a start and got up to check to see if your head was firmly planted on your pillow. You were not there. I checked the one other place that I could count on finding you. Yes, there you were at the refrigerator with the door wide open. This time I did not holler at you to get you to close the refrigerator door.
The next night the dream continued.
Your mother and I now have an apartment in the palace in the capital city of Lhasa. We have a fantastic view of the Himalayan Mountains and it is ours for as long as we want to stay. We have the run of the palace, and the only thing required of us is that we bow when you walk by. Also we have to be careful that when we do sit together we do not sit higher than you do. I remember we had to do this when you lived at home so it is no big deal.
Batman, Superman and Arnold have combined forces to kick the entire Chinese Communist army's butts clear out of Tibet. They are cowering behind some rocks near their border, afraid that they are going to make Arnold mad again. Your mother is checking the Lhasa phone directory for the location of shopping malls. This day I will check out the Lhasa fire station where I can converse with the Tibetan firefighters about getting more gpm out of your ladder pipe nozzle and the merits of transverse hose beds.
I awoke with a start and went to look for you. I passed by the refrigerator and the door remained tightly shut. I headed for your bedroom and found you with your head firmly planted on your pillow. I closed the door softly so as not to wake you.
This black limousine pulls up in front of our house and three men in saffron colored robes get out. Their dress is the same as I have seen in pictures of the Dali Lama. These men must be representatives of him. Wow, what a response I am getting to my letter. I open the door and they come in as if they knew exactly where they are. We all gather around our dining table. The saffron robed monks explain to me that the Dali Lama, in response to my letter, has sent them. They then go on to say that the letter I sent was different from the thousands of letters of support that they have received, because it floated out of the mailbag. It is at present time hovering at midpoint between ceiling and floor. They have cautiously captured it and opened it whereupon it has returned to its position suspended in mid-air. They explain to me that the sender of this letter would be the incarnation of the previous Panchen Lama. Well, okay, not a real bad job for a retired firefighter. Then I remember you had put the letter in the mailbox making you (technically) the sender. The monks then put a saffron colored robe on you and out the door you go with them. I run after you and the monks, exclaiming, "But he is Baptist." They assure me that they would not hold that against you.
I awoke with a start and got up to check to see if your head was firmly planted on your pillow. You were not there. I checked the one other place that I could count on finding you. Yes, there you were at the refrigerator with the door wide open. This time I did not holler at you to get you to close the refrigerator door.
The next night the dream continued.
Your mother and I now have an apartment in the palace in the capital city of Lhasa. We have a fantastic view of the Himalayan Mountains and it is ours for as long as we want to stay. We have the run of the palace, and the only thing required of us is that we bow when you walk by. Also we have to be careful that when we do sit together we do not sit higher than you do. I remember we had to do this when you lived at home so it is no big deal.
Batman, Superman and Arnold have combined forces to kick the entire Chinese Communist army's butts clear out of Tibet. They are cowering behind some rocks near their border, afraid that they are going to make Arnold mad again. Your mother is checking the Lhasa phone directory for the location of shopping malls. This day I will check out the Lhasa fire station where I can converse with the Tibetan firefighters about getting more gpm out of your ladder pipe nozzle and the merits of transverse hose beds.
I awoke with a start and went to look for you. I passed by the refrigerator and the door remained tightly shut. I headed for your bedroom and found you with your head firmly planted on your pillow. I closed the door softly so as not to wake you.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Dear Michael,Getting your last email certainly lifted your mother and my spirits. I think we must have been sitting around here in some kind of funk. Sounds like you are settling in nicely with your host family and are enjoying your training. Your cold weather gear is on its way, although from your letter it seems that the stores in Ulanbaatar have plenty of cold weather items to help you prepare for the coming winter.
Your mother and I tell everyone that our son is serving in the Peace Corps in Mongolia and you will spend your time there teaching English to the Mongolian people. We are so proud of you. You are one person who is making a difference in the world.
Now that I am retired I am going to have a lot of time on my hands so I will write you a very long letter for you to read during those long Mongolian winter nights. I shall start off with the story of my grandfather and Yellow Boy, but first I have to tell you about this dream I had.Shortly before you left on your trip to Mongolia I had this weird dream about you. You should remember that I wrote to the Dali Lama to express my outrage at the savagery of the Communist Chinese government in its brutal takeover of sovereign Tibet. I explained to him in my letter that we both fled our homelands in the same year and that as a Christian my prayers go out to him and his countrymen.
Posted by Scott at 6:05 AM 1 comments
Your mother and I tell everyone that our son is serving in the Peace Corps in Mongolia and you will spend your time there teaching English to the Mongolian people. We are so proud of you. You are one person who is making a difference in the world.
Now that I am retired I am going to have a lot of time on my hands so I will write you a very long letter for you to read during those long Mongolian winter nights. I shall start off with the story of my grandfather and Yellow Boy, but first I have to tell you about this dream I had.Shortly before you left on your trip to Mongolia I had this weird dream about you. You should remember that I wrote to the Dali Lama to express my outrage at the savagery of the Communist Chinese government in its brutal takeover of sovereign Tibet. I explained to him in my letter that we both fled our homelands in the same year and that as a Christian my prayers go out to him and his countrymen.
Posted by Scott at 6:05 AM 1 comments
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